from: zaika güleç
title: don’t worry, hakan
form: text; e-mail letter

Don’t be sad if you cannot go back to age 8, if you still keep what you lived like rusty bottle caps you couldn’t find the heart to discard,
if you wouldn’t trade them for your friend’s shiny caps, but become joyous when you have such a shiny cap;
if you just love to talk while sitting at the dinner table as you did back in the old days when playing games was more important than enjoying your meal, when your dining never ended but went on and on;
if you can define love as resuming to run after falling down while running like hell and after shaking the dust off your clothes in spite of your hurting knee;
if you can perceive endearment as a glass of lemonade served to you when you came home sweating and panting, very tired of playing games;
if to you friendship is like your mother’s hand caressing your forehead while you are getting fever;
if you consider your successes to be at par with reaching the biggest apple of the tree you climbed up at the expense of letting your shirt be torn;
if you can dream of fighting with aliens from outer space while driving through the traffic;
if your credit card makes you feel secure as the penny given by your grandfather;
if the hours you share with your friends make you happy as much as feeding a kitty with milk you secretly took from your kitchen;
then only your face, not your heart, will get wrinkled...