New year, same me? January came by carrying nothing a brand-new slate, and I chose this opportunity to leave everything behind, officially and unapologetically. So far, it’s a jumpy ride, which is understandable as I am trying to get used to the new chapter. Winter is making me cold, and I am trying my hardest to warm my heart with a book and a blanket. Though not everything is going my way, there are still eleven months in the year.

Listening to Derdim Çok by Hande Ünsal (feat. Ozan Doğulu) + Kulup by Demet Akalın (feat. Ozan Doğulu)

Drinking garden cress seed drink

Wearing a preloved vintage watch

Eating (or drinking?) chicken soup

Challenging myself to not eat chips for 30 days

Also challenging myself not to be in bed until bedtime

Contemplating buying a new bookcase

Welcoming a new member to the family

Starting the first bullet journal of the year

Feeling moody and uninspired

Babysitting kids and kittens

Failing to read as avidly as I read last year

Also failing to find time for myself

Craving a bouquet of flowers

Feeling active and inactive simultaneously

Hoping for closure


Shape me to your heart’s desire

I am your clay,

Shape me to your heart’s desire.


Curve my body,

Cinch my waist,

Broaden my hips,

To a figure men

Lust for.

Is my hair silky enough?

Smother me,

In case I wept;

Society hates the weak.

But feelings have you not?

Ruthless freak!

Shape me to your heart’s desire.


Should I

Man up,

Or woman up,

Damned if I labored,

Damned if I don’t,

Women don’t belong

In offices,

But oh so futile,

If you prioritized your

Offspring over a career,


What do they serve,

If you did not wed yet?

Shape me to your heart’s desire.


Do I exude excess kindness?

Guide me; tell me to be grotesquely mean.

I am too bitter?

How do I soften my core?

Men love the gullible.

Make me gullible.

Pour more rough sand

Into my mixture;

My people call me innocent,

Let my blood seep virility,

And then please dampen the clay,

For men love soft women,

Shape me to your heart’s desire.


Inform my hungry spirit

Of what more to alter,

Do I silence my burden?

It induces pity anyway!

I am stronger that way anyway!

They call it fake strength, though,

Do I spell it out then?

Won’t I be craving attention then?

My brown eyes,

Do I change those as well?

Tell me what else to repair,

Shape me to your heart’s desire.



My walls are high,

“Demolish them before you lose more people”

Then I burn my bridges for tenants,

That abused their landlord,

But, sure, for you, I’ll bury my worth,

In the same sand you’re carving

Your commodity with,

What about patience?

Gauge how much I should exert,

And when to be silent?

When to speak?

Where is your rules book that

I need to abide by?

I lent them my light,

And went to sleep in complete darkness,

How dare I ask for glimmer back?

You’re right, my sleepless mentor,

Hence why I beg your finger to,

Shape me to your heart’s desire.



Enslave me to your vision,

Of perfect existence.

I lie idle on your pottery wheel,

Allowing your coercive fingers

To narrator my life story,

To form your product.

I am your clay.

Shape me to your heart’s desire.

She Is The Star Indeed

**A dear friend of mine wrote me this**

As far as she may be, I can’t ignore the Star that accompanied me in my darkness. I once adored the Moon and adorned her with my words on stationery. There were times when even the Moon would leave me in my darkness. She would shy away and leave me to decay. But the Star was always there shining her light. Even her distant luminance would give me an ounce of hope. A feather’s weight of chance of smiling, and I did smile.


She shone every day as the Moon went through her phases. Sometimes at peak and other times very weak. I was hopeful the Moon would come back but she has remained dark for quite some time now and has left. I waited for the Moon’s return but there is no trace of her at all. And even if the Moon does come back, she won’t be the same. This was her final phase. She is a New Moon and I do not know her now.


The Moon would outshine the Star every night. I was always so blind to see that the genuine light came from the source. The Moon only reflected off of the Sun. Like a parasite, she would take the light and make it seem as if it were hers. But the Star… she produces her own light. Sometimes the closest thing that shines is fake. Sometimes the truest of people are distant and one must travel to them to fully understand them.


And what intrigues me is that despite her being far, she cares enough to shed light on me. To guide me. To correct me if I am wrong. To gleam her innocent light in my life. To remind me of myself. I was the Moon’s Sun. She only came out to use me. But the Star is like me. If I were to have held a mirror between us, one would see similarity. The example of a true friend is she.


She is the star indeed.

2017 recap

My 2017 in a listicle

  • Had a bad interview
  • Panic attack
  • Graduated
  • Published 105 blog posts
  • Turned 24
  • Discovered Edis Görgülü
  • Bought a typewriter
  • Participated in national poetry month
  • Driving anxiety
  • Started driving lessons
  • Found a muse
  • Read 20+ books
  • Got a bunch of job offers
  • Had a few successful job interviews
  • Blessed with a nephew
  • Wrote outside my comfort zone
  • First writing collaboration
  • Educational account turned two
  • And we hit 1,000 followers on it
  • Started bullet journaling
  • Started habit of buying myself flowers every month
  • Visited a bunch of new cafes
  • Celebrated 10 years of dancing
  • Failed a TON
  • One year of no hair dye
  • Cut my hair
  • Lost a few pounds
  • And then gained a few
  • Started an art journal
  • Set up my reading nook
  • Set up my desk
  • Expanded my book collection
  • Two years of Currently posts
  • Two years of unemployment
  • Took life one day at a time
  • Lost all of my friends
  • Faced one of the worst phases ever
  • Filmed, documented, photographed a ton
  • Read Arabic books
  • My cat family grew
  • Reached self acceptance


December started off on a strange note; I found myself so depressed, standing by the harbor, watching the sunset with a Costa latte in hand yet feeling nothing at all. Wherever I went, I just wanted to be back home even though I trod my favorite places. The month was a blur, honestly, where I read at days, then ignored my books completely. And writing would never knock on my door. Toward the mid of December, gray clouds, heavy rains, and lightning started to bless our skies. They were the perfect distraction to my densely-polluted head.

Listening to Yaktım Gemileri by Uğur Etiler + Gel De Uyu by Soner Sarıkabadayı

Reminiscing over Costa Coffee

Also reminiscing over the chapters of 2017

Drinking caramel latte

Eating barbecued burger

Feeling exceptionally emotional, especially over losing a kitten

Also feeling very tired and sleepy

Collecting montages and polaroids to commemorate the year

Failing to write (but what’s new?)

Wearing a turban

Buying journals, camera sheets, and books

Slowly trying to beat my gratuitous anxiety episodes

Taking life one step at a time

Reading a poetry collection by Thom Gunn

Anticipating good news in the upcoming weeks

Come to my happy place?

Let me paint you my happy place; it’s technically not one place, but it’s a fusion of tiny guilty pleasures. Living minimally has kept my bitsy heart so full, quick to saturate with a sip of coffee or a hint of a passing cloud.


And though my unintentional attempts at sentimentalizing the small specks on this planet always induced pity and sympathy, that hasn’t stopped me from following the clouds with two cameras wrapped around my neck.


Gripping my cup of cappuccino with both hands, inhaling its scent and warmth, brings me an indescribable joy. Browsing the aisles of a stationery store and scribbling on loose paper until I find the perfect black pen is a tiny victory to me.


Putting my book on the side and petting my kittens is just pure happiness; life doesn’t get any better than this. My God, their fluffiness and their small legs as they skip around the grass is a sight so pure and precious that my heart inadvertently shatters and gushes with empathy.


Happiness is jolting across my bedroom with my favorite songs on both good and bad days because dancing always heals. Dancing is my therapy and my escape.


Happiness is reflecting and taking time away from my day to appreciate the friendshipversaries, the birthdays, the former fall season, and how life was on this particular date two years ago. It’s wearing makeup after neglecting it for a week or switching back to an old bag and recalling the thought process behind purchasing it.


I find joy in laughing away life’s troubles and keeping files in archives in case a former friend decided to come back to my life because there’s room for you; there’s always room for you in my heart.


My guilty pleasure is buying a new journal. My guilty pleasure is running out of space for my new poetry books. My guilty pleasure is turning red because I love feelings and I love emotions and I love love.


My guilty pleasure is the flower crown section at Forever 21. It’s my seven-year dedication and loyalty toward Costa Coffee for all the memories and conversations that took place there.


I love singing, and I could spend the rest of my life just singing my heart out, in bathrooms, kitchens, even as I walk up and down the aisles of my local grocery store. It’s pausing in the middle of shopping upon realizing that the store is playing a song of your favorite underrated Youtube artist.


My happiness is trying on a dress for no valid reason, and setting up my camera on a tripod to take pictures for, again, no reason. It’s that swift run to make it in frame after setting the DSRL on self-timer. It’s commemorating every passing second and putting a timestamp to every moment, even when people question your strange urge to take photos of everything.


The weirder the shoes, the more I am intrigued. The macho the clothes, the more I am driven to purchase them. That’s me; that’s my delight. That’s my happy place.


Happiness is stopping to smell the flowers, people-watching on a harbor, and living life as if you’re on a never-ending honeymoon with yourself. Where’s your happy place?