A Rigmarole Life

Havva is also arrested -with her a-year-old son. She has two sons to take care with; four-year-old one is now motherless.

I am angry with myself, with myself…

You’re in a refugee-camp as you see, shut that Twitter up. Spend the money the country you took refuge in gives you every month as you wish. If it’s too much to spend, save it for later.

Why don’t you follow those courteous Turks came to Europe and rent a house? Don’t excuse the toilet, aver the children. What are you persisting for, woman…

668 babies in prisons is none of your business. Aren’t they with their mothers? If they are cold they could be dressed thicker. It’s surmountable. Do not overthink about it.

And look, for all those 17.000 women and 668 babies, people from many countries staged protests. Calm down already!

Why are you insisting for signatures? What will happen when the number of signatures will be 100.000?!

Then you came up with a tag. I don’t understand what you are doing anymore… What will change if #StandUp4HumanRights and #668Babies will be Tweeted together?

It’s not that urgent to enter the UN’s agenda. All in all, there had been broadcasting in ever country for an hour. Photographs, videos, articles etc. These are enough. They will immediately release the babies, I bet. Just chill.

…

The bizarre adventure starts like this every morning; firstly, I talk to myself. Not satisfying. Rigmarole thoughts and words of an insane. Pinches, slaps and echoes of the words ‘come to yourself woman’.

I face off with myself. I choke back and try to regain consciousness.

Then another woman shows up. Chewing gum and kneading dough. We bicker and ignite and the words flit. ‘’What in the world you could understand, shut it up already!'' I snap. Then she leaves me with the dough in her hands like a fairy.

Then guess what happens?

I feel sleepy. Getting tired when caring the children. Shattered psychology may also have affect, I guess. I just wish for an unremitting sleep. Despitefully, trying –pardon, struggling- to stay awake.

Yet, let’s look forward for the final destination.

I am in the final destination, where I mirror myself…

I visit the door of the most merciful. Knock knock… Is the door opening? Am I getting inside? Unknown… As soon as the arrival, the lectures starts ‘Havva is taken today. She couldn’t take her older son. She is in jail with his little son. Are they cold? Is it okay if they won’t? How is that poor little boy? The little one is with his mother but what is the older one going to do without his mother? How will he survive? …’

I relieve after some crying. The sea of the oblivion shows up. I swim, and swim, and swim. I feel the independency as I swim away from the shore. I ran away from that nuisance. From all nuisances. I am so far that can only be seen by a bird’s-eye view.

It’s iftar time now. Meal is ready. My source of inspiration is Nuriye and Semih, whose weight is reduced to 35 and are not able to walk anymore. I pray for them while ending my fasting.

Forgive us.

Forgive so it may end.

Save us, save us so the tyranny may end...