It now feels like a distant memory. I was a young girl. I grabbed life by the balls. I kissed boys and flirted with girls. I wrote poems at night and slept in till noon. I embraced melancholy. I thought I could write novels while in its territory.
I sat on the rocks with my cup of tea, stirred with honey and milk, in my uniform. I should dig my pictures to see what I looked like. My hair was always short and I’ve always loved purple. Two things have never changed. And also this little spot in Cyprus. There was a swing on the hill facing the Mediterranean. I pushed myself fast, faster and faster. It got higher and higher. One last push I could’ve touched the water, so it felt. The only mornings I got up early was only if the work pick up was early. Oktay Amca’s Mercedes would show around the corner and I would shake my melancholy off, leave the boys behind, the empty tea cup on the table and head to the airport.