September 1
Julia says probably it’s just cold and rainy in Berlin, and he’s not sure of me and wanted to hear it again.
“It’s true, I am afraid of cheating on him,” I say, quite drunk.
We talk on the phone. He apologizes for being so weird about Volkan, but I know he only brings it up to be able to hear me reassure him again, and this is the only way he can bring it up. I don’t apologize.
Volkan had wanted to do something tonight, but I told him Elisabeth was having her going away party, and he was with Erc.
September 2, 2007
Elisabeth leaves. Really quite happy about it. As always, I wake up almost feeling he’s there, and knowing he’s not, and then missing him a little, but still feeling good that he was here a week ago. Now that he was here, I can almost always pretend he still is, if I don’t think too much about it.
Anytime anything near me vibrates, I assume it’s my telephone, and I assume it’s him. I think: if there were an earthquake and I were to die before I saw him again, I would like to die imagining that I was getting a phone call from him. And yet I’m not really happy when he calls. Partly because I’m always partly expecting some drama with Nico, and partly because it reminds me, really, that he’s not here.
“Who is the real stranger – the one who lives in a foreign land and knows he belongs elsewherer or the one who lives the life of a foreigner in her native land and has no place else to belong?” – Shafak, The Saint of Incipent Insanities, 350-351.
Julia says probably it’s just cold and rainy in Berlin, and he’s not sure of me and wanted to hear it again.
“It’s true, I am afraid of cheating on him,” I say, quite drunk.
We talk on the phone. He apologizes for being so weird about Volkan, but I know he only brings it up to be able to hear me reassure him again, and this is the only way he can bring it up. I don’t apologize.
Volkan had wanted to do something tonight, but I told him Elisabeth was having her going away party, and he was with Erc.
September 2, 2007
Elisabeth leaves. Really quite happy about it. As always, I wake up almost feeling he’s there, and knowing he’s not, and then missing him a little, but still feeling good that he was here a week ago. Now that he was here, I can almost always pretend he still is, if I don’t think too much about it.
Anytime anything near me vibrates, I assume it’s my telephone, and I assume it’s him. I think: if there were an earthquake and I were to die before I saw him again, I would like to die imagining that I was getting a phone call from him. And yet I’m not really happy when he calls. Partly because I’m always partly expecting some drama with Nico, and partly because it reminds me, really, that he’s not here.
“Who is the real stranger – the one who lives in a foreign land and knows he belongs elsewherer or the one who lives the life of a foreigner in her native land and has no place else to belong?” – Shafak, The Saint of Incipent Insanities, 350-351.
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