from: yonca güzelpınar
title: ...
form: text; e-mail letter

London, November 1, two thousand
..
..I was twenty-three years old...I had memorized all streets of Beyoğlu district a long time ago...Those were the days when I uttered sentences about suicide for once and all...
I had made a list of all the people with whom I experienced fullly- or partially-fledged affairs...
One day I gave that list to a person standing beside me, and told him:
“If I die, call all of these people to Demgah, let those who don’t know each other meet...Let them talk about me, as far as they know, with each other...So that maybe the halves will be completed...”
..
..
..
..I didn’t die
..
..Had I gathered those people at that time, and had I confronted them, maybe, just maybe those painful times would pass quicker...I don’t know.
..
..Now I am thirty-one..
..

You were one of the ‘encounters’ I had experienced among the crowds, at different sections of Beyoğlu..
I didn’t get to know you in detail..
We never needed to look deeply into each other’s eyes – or we didn’t want to...
We used to greet each other and to have small talk, probably because we were part of a group who had shared Beyoğlu and movies...
..how many people we were anyway?!
..everybody had an idea of each other ‘without speaking’!
..our encounters continued during the years when I put up ‘district borders’ between myself and Beyoğlu...
..Neither did your smile turn into a laught...nor did your sentences prolong...
..I was neither talkative, nor to stay in Beyoğlu..
..You were continuing to create...So was I...
..But we never asked – never knew ‘what’...
..We never had a plus...nor a minus...
..I shall be there in the first days of two thousand one.. and I think we shall encounter again one day, on the most crowdy street of that crowdy town called Istanbul...