49

I wish I had made a habit of coming to this coffee shop every day weeks ago. I wish I had finished translating this book here. Then I could have said to myself "I translated that book in New York." 

I am insatiable. At the beginning of this year I had made a wish, a wish of translating a novel, I had wanted to see my name in print. I had wanted the hours I spend in silence to have a witness. It is almost the end of the year and I am translating my third book, and here I am wishing I could say "I translated that one in New York."

A blond, colored eye boy asked me last night "Have you enjoyed your stay in New York?" and I looked at my friend as if asking her for the reply. "Yes, " I said, "sure." My stay in New York was about visiting my friends. They had been inviting me for 5 years now, and I finally got my ass off from my chair long enough to get a passport and a visa. 

"You've been here a long time, what have you been doing?" asked the Indian girl. Well, I went to New Orleans. I had an appendectomy. I went to Chicago. I walked around Central Park with an old friend of mine. I saw a Broadway musical, attended a classical music concert, and listened to the read through of another musical. I found a book store and spent hours in there. I walked on the streets. I did grocery shopping. I went to the lab my friend works at. I attended one yoga class. I walked around Central Park on my own and sat by the lake. I saw many photographs waiting to be taken around the city, I didn't take any of them. I loved being anonymous. I hated the way everybody was in a rush. But I found fellow laid back humans in certain coffee shops. I ate. I read. I slept. I cried. I laughed. I drank coffee and had bagels. I chatted with strangers. I wrote letters and cards. I missed my boyfriend. I had video chat dates with my mother. I probably had 20 ciggies and had too much candy. I went shopping. And I moved very very slowly among the New Yorkers that wanted to beat the speed of light. And, yes, even though I couldn't finish the book, I translated. 

Is that enough living for 5 weeks? Does this justify me taking this trip? What else should I have done? I constantly feel like a tourist, so being an actual tourist makes no real difference in my life. The funny thing is, I feel less like a tourist when I am travelling. I guess back in Istanbul the expectation of feeling like I belong makes me feel more like a tourist. 

In New Orleans several people thought I was a local. I didn't correct them, I just looked at the map and gave them directions...

I do want to go home. But I am not so sure if home is a place now that I have found that person I have all my inner dialogues with. I guess I need to be by his side for my mind to go silent and let me rest. Home is where you rest, no? And with that logic death may be my true home. Yet until then let me use his embrace.