LUCY ÅžiiENIZ
Sweet and Melting
When I thought of my childhood, my home from home, it felt like peering through frosted glass; I could see the shapes moving but couldn’t place the necessary detail. ​​​
I am welcomed with open arms.
I came back home with great difficulty, to be honest. I felt strangely winded just by the first breath.I carried bags full of hazelnuts to the station where they were cleaned and deshelled and I was amazed that such a place existed and for a split second it felt like that was what was being done to me too. I was often confused, waking up with a new found existentialism and I wept at the back of the bus like a girl should at times like these. I ached and I laughed and I made jokes out of the shattered pieces and grew to love the missing parts. I wore myself vulnerable for a while, let myself be quiet and softer than my usual abrasive self and it felt like it could be a nice colour on me.
My grandma taught me prayer before mealtimes, she pulled down my skirt and laughed at the way the new words came out my mouth. “Slowly, slowly” she said and it was gentle. All of it.
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I made tea and learnt the shades of life that my grandma weaves in and I became used to the television singing or murmuring in the background. I befriended the neighbour like I was 9 again. The whole thing felt like I was 9 again. I felt beautiful without the need to be desired and it was more than just a week but all those empty years without coming home to her peering behind the door like it could be anyone else but me.
I fell asleep on the sofa and woke up the sound of pans in the kitchen or the kettle or the crickets or the mosque calling and I pulled myself awake to sort through beads on the balcony and make jewellery out of stones and wire for my sisters. I learnt the names of more cousins than I can count on both hands and I have so many aunties with kind eyes that look like mine and even when I grew frustrated that I couldn’t process the words they spoke I understood everything, sometimes language failed me and but still, I understood everything.
For the first time, I dream in a language I cannot fully speak. I lie down so that I can convince myself that the earth is still spinning and real and if I focus hard enough I think I can feel it. The ground underneath us is slipping until we’re falling into deep water. We swim far out, smoke to the ends.
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The forest is loud and creaking, alive and the roots of the trees are twisting and fighting for air under the pine needles. I watch the birds until they become faint specs in the distance and I remember drawing them as little V’s as a child. Blue crayons and a yellow blur where the sun was supposed to be. I spend a lot of time staring out the window of a car. I have always liked the idea that we could be stationary and go somewhere at the same time. The tide sits so perfectly on the sand and I am in awe of its consistency.
In the mountains, I see a wild horse running free. It is the first time I've ever seen a horse free like this; no reins or rider but using its strength for its own purpose. I suppose I always had an obsession with finding meaning in things. The timing makes me laugh.​
I am no longer in wait of something greater. It clicks. It's the same sensation of when you put your first pair of glasses on: it's strange to realise so late the detail that you've been missing. Life became sharper, clearer. It was comforting to finally understand why things felt so out of reach before.
i promise i'll come back when i can speak better. don't change too much or grow old before i can ask you everything that is burning inside of me. wait for me, wait for me because i miss you already and isn't it cruel the way i've come home just to leave again? i can it slipping away from me already and i am too aware that we haven't had enough time together. i'll return soon, i can taste my future here sweet and melting on my tongue the way you taught me.