A few days into November, I caved in and informed the world of my timid fancy that I have for a child of November. It wasn’t an easy transition, but thankfully it was a fleeting feeling. I was then infused with stress and anxiety this month that blinded me from the world. Lost in my bubble and my “don’t share anything with anyone” protocol, I found myself too inundated with this month’s routine, followed by nightmares, along with overconfidence and doubtfulness all merged. It was just frustration upon anxious mornings upon insomnia. If there’s a silver lining here, I wish the skies would hint me something.

Drinking toffee nut latte

Eating Lindt Excellence milk chocolate bar

Listening to Sıfır Tolerans by Hadise + Hun Bun by Cira

Wearing a black-and-red plaid shirt around my waist

Shamelessly obsessing over Edis Görgülü

Feeling exceptionally anxious and stressed

Consumed by fear and overconfidence simultaneously

Failing to finish reading my currently-reading books

Rewatching Little Mosque on the Prairie

Gradually going back to my bitter persona/attitude

Terminating online conversations

Collecting jasmines and tabebuias

Setting up a flag pole for the upcoming national day

Petting new kittens

Reflecting on the past eleven months

Chasing the clouds

Wishing for calmer days


Why I’m obsessed with blogging

It’s 11:50PM (well already November by the time I post this). I am lying in bed, immersed in my pillow; one eye closed and two hands typing on the phone.


I was tallying my blog posts a few minutes ago, and the number somewhat disappointed me. I was expecting more from myself, and it got me thinking: why am I so obsessed with my blogs?

Given that the majority of my readers come from social media, it’s very apparent to them how obsessed I truly am, and a part of me decided to run here to explain.
This blog, along with my shared blog, is entirely created, designed, and run by me for me. And I became attached to it only recently, and I will elaborate on that soon.


This blog–believe it or not–was more than just a place to contain my word vomit. Within these published words, I felt liberated, heard, and understood by international readers. You can say I felt unstoppable because I got support from everyone and with every compliment, I just wanted to try harder and harder.


But my recent obsession stems from nothing but emptiness. It’s not views or validations that I seek. I come here–as sad as this may sound–to fill in the voids in my heart. I keep challenging myself to push 100 blog posts a year because what else can I do during my miserable unemployment? I swear it has kept me full, and sometimes even yearning for more.


This space is my very own product; I never hesitate to pronounce even the words I usually fear to speak. I am free here. The more I write, the more my mind is too busy to be overthinking about everything that’s wrong in my life.


I view this as nothing but a healthy obsession. I will never stop posting. This project is my baby. 


I begrudge the eyes

That get to meet yours

Every day.


I am jealous of the pillow

That gets to feel your gentle face

Every morning and every night.


I envy the cigarette

That gets to kiss your soft, pale lips

Every evening.


I covet your warmth.

Why is it that your clothes get to tug your

Coffee-infused, cigar-intoxicating scent?


The whims are driving me insane.

You’re enticing,

And I wrongfully crave your affection.


I thought the poetry bug would have jolted its way out of my life after September declared its end, but to my surprise, it kept buzzing in my ears words lusting for attention. So much confusion came with October: aiming high then landing hard on concrete. Perhaps it’s because this month, I chose to completely neglect my bullet journal, and with that, I fell off the map. There’s good things in aiming for a no-specific-goals month where my agenda is open for ANYTHING; however, the bad news is not knowing if what I’ve done was enough.

Drinking Pumpkin Spice Latte

Listening to Ağlar mıyım? Ağlamam by Ziynet Sali + İnsan Sevmez Mi? by Soner Sarıkabadayı

Eating Kitkats and coffee biscuits

Obsessing over my black platform boots

Also obsessing over Aydın Kurtoğlu’s latest music video

Reading Moan About Men by Juliana Foster

Contemplating starting either a commonplace book or a poetry journal

Feeling perplexed, frail, and stressed

Wearing a white loose tee and pastel blue pants

Pressing yellow oleanders in poetry books

Blushing excessively

Also feeling proud about my writing for ONCE

Making peace with my current personality

Craving the darkness of November

40 phrases people have told me that PISSED me off

I am well aware that the majority of those phrases are compliments, but praises like these are usually either gratuitous or ludicrous. They make me very uncomfortable as I am well aware of all these points, and I do not need to hear people’s observations of me. I present you with forty comments I’ve gotten from people that have irked me.    


1- You’re so innocent

2- Why are you shy?

3- You write like a kid

4- With your body, ANYTHING would look good on you

5- You’re a nerd lol

6- Look at your white hands! Henna must look great on you

7- Are you 17?

8- You’re cute

9- What grade are you in now?

10- You need to be more social

11- Are you like… always on Twitter?

12- Why do you like that celebrity?? He’s old…

13- He looks very average! Are you okay??

14- Attention seeker!

15- You’re sensitive

16- Do you eat?

17- You’re so picky!

18- You need a husband

19- When are you getting married?

20- Spill the beans, are you secretly engaged?

21- To whom do you write?

22- Do you take pictures of everything?

23- We never see you anymore

24- Did you get a job yet! How come not yet?

25- But like why do you journal?

26- Do you carry journals with you everywhere?

27- Why do you hate men?

28- Are you getting braces any time soon?

29- You’re shorter than I expected!!

30- So like… what did you do all day?

31- What’s your GPA?

32- Do you not watch anything at all?

33- What do you mean you dislike the cinema?


35- You’re so pure and prude


37- What shoe size do you wear?

38- Marriage is fun. You should get married.

39- Can I get a hug?

40- Omg…. She …. Talks!!!!

When you fall for a spring

I had feared the day where my fingers would tap incessantly on the keyboard, admitting a faint-hearted feeling I had wished I kept to myself. But here I am, again, avowing, as a writer would, because words are smothering me.


My treasured readers, you haven’t the slightest of clue what if feels like developing feelings for a child of spring. I try to paper over this harmless craze, except dwellers took notice of me snipping and sniffing oleanders mid-autumn, in spite of their virulent toxins. My cheeks flush in primrose, baring me from every shameful secret my blushes covertly told.


Earlier today, a grasshopper attuned to my heart’s symphony and sprang atop my head, as if craving to hear me speak more of him; and I hailed its notion because my heart would not stop sprouting timid words. I had a music box for a heart.


Loving him is so chaste that every time I lied down to a siesta, my hands would only yearn for his delicate grip, and nothing more. The sound of his name buries my timidity in flowerbeds and plants lilacs in the crevices of my inky-blotched fingers.


I am reading poetry mid October and pressing morning glories in my poetry books; his flowery touch has made springtime eternal.