Staring death in the face...

Those of you who know me are well aware of how petrified I am of dying. I can practically hear the distant chuckles from those of you who are saying ‘‘who really isn’t afraid of death’’ and perhaps you’re right considering there really isn’t much you can do about it, it’s a primal fear all living things are ingraved with but for us human beings (well for most of us) there are ways of dealing with it. That part I haven’t discovered yet. So for those of you who are just getting to know me, let me introduce you to thantophobias Açelya.

The concept of death, the notion of physically disappearing from this world as I know it, the unbearable mystery or perhaps the lack there of it is completely incomprehensible to me. When I think about death and really concentrate of what it means to me the first symptom I feel is fluttering in my stomach. For that split second it reminds me of the queasiness I felt in my stomach during my first kiss but on the second half of that second I am reminded of the reality of my thoughts. Panic creeps in and gives way for terror to settle in. The terror sinks me into a deep static state where the world just starts caving in. For those of you who have watched inception its similar to the scenes of a dream collapsing. In this endless hole that I build around myself I start shaking, lose track of my breathing and finally my heart starts racing so much that I feel as though I might actually collapse that very moment. Just as I am about to hit ground zero…BAM I’m back. Life’s back to normal and I’m actually driving across the Bosphorus bridge starring at what I call the most majestic view this world has to offer wondering how it is possible for me to feel so horrible amidst a simple moment of admiration.

Yesterday something happened and I came to an understanding that beauty that I admire in all its grandeur or modesty ironically brings forth an unexplainable terror that occasionally torments my life for a very simple reason.

Here is what happened.

I was driving in over to a friend’s house after a long days work. I find the end of the day drive from work to be the time where I am most vulnerable. I cry the most, I laugh the most, I yell the most everything seems to be in extremes during that time of the day. So anyways….

As I approach city traffic I come to a halting stop. An ambulance has its sirens on, the back doors are wide open, paramedics are hustling inside the confined space and there is young man that appears to be in his 30 starring at me. This man is the patient. I don’t quite know what’s wrong with him but his face tell me he’s not in good condition. Suddenly, as if something has entered his almost lifeless body he turns towards me and looks me dead straight in the eye. (No pun intended here). He’s starch white and his eyes are glazed over with fear. The fear of death.

So here I am staring at this guy, maybe in what would be his last minutes of life as he knows it and I’m looking at him as though he’s my ninth grade science project. I signal no signs of panic. In fact I’m calm and collected. I’ve got my shit together at a moment where I least expect it. On top of this I have the audacity to give this guy a nod. A fucking nod!!!

Bam!!! The ambulance door shuts in between our eyes. Life as I know it continues. His life…who knows what happened. Perhaps he’s alive, if he is all hats off to you guy. If he’s not, rest in peace, I’m sorry the last thing you got to saw was my nod. To you it was a nod but for me it was far more. I realized that the fear of death surrounds me when I’m cocooned in my own understanding of beauty but when it vicariously stares me straight in face through another person it doesn’t make me flinch.

Vicarious death is far too passive voice for me to react to.
It’s when my reality combines with my subconscious thoughts of death that it becomes far away from passive voice.

Twirl twirl twirl like a little girl

Prologue:

I really good childhood friend of mine (as in we used to run around in diapers together, wait no, I ran he chased) decided to quit his job earlier on in the year. He said he had it with work, that he needed a break to live again, that he was gasping for fresh air and the list goes on and on. I respected this decision of his for I always found the ability to just drop everything and leave an admirable attribute. Days, weeks and months passed and it is actually about that time that he starts looking for a new job. I’m starting to get ridiculously jealous of how his priorities have been mixed up lately. He’s entered the blissful glee, the vicious circle of not working, not wanting to work, not needing to work hence as Milan would refer to as the ‘‘unbearable lightness of being’’. His state of mind and energy is so strong that sometimes it has the ability to pull me, the ever so pessimist cynic, into his world.

When I get pulled into this world nothing but trouble comes around….

And it begins:

My friend calls me in hysterics yesterday telling me all about how this formerly very rich old man is now bankrupt and is selling his wife’s ridiculously lavish fur coats for peas and carrots. Apparently, my friend’s mother, who loves lathering herself in expensive accessories or any other sign of wealth, had decided to buy every single fur coat that the old man was willing to sell. However, she first wanted to check whether or not they were real. So she dragged these coats to a fur store in Beyoğlu. Now mind you let’s not forget how heavy fur coats are, so the sight of this little lady stomping down Istiklal in search of the authenticity of dead animal is hilarious all by itself. A dead animal only really becomes valuable when it’s shaped into a garment and I’m pretty sure, if the exact lady who was clutching on to these coats with her dear life saw the corpse of this animal elsewhere she would probably freak out and enter some sort of conniption. Moving on…

After getting the A-OK on the coats, my friend’s mother proceeded to bring the coats home, called my friend downstairs and made him watch her fur coat fashion runway. Him not having anything to do admitted to enjoying the little gig but couldn’t prevent himself from thinking just how much profit he could make if he sold these coats. As his mother tried on the starch white lynx coats and pranced around the house playing dress up, my friend found himself drifting away from profit zone entering the experience zone: the wanting to try the lynx coat on zone. Although the other coats were laying on the bed including a perfectly asymmetrical leopard fur coat his eye was set on the lynx. He wanted to try, touch and engulf himself in the lynx.

Blinded by the white….
He runs upstairs to his own apartment and that’s when my phone rang.

As he explained this story to me, it occurred to me that although I am against wearing animal fur it would be an amazing experience to dance with one of these coats. I wouldn’t wear this coat with clothes underneath though. I would just have my bra and panties on and some comfortable kicks maybe converses, maybe ballerina flats….

I would dance dance dance…
I don’t just mean prancing around the house dancing though. I mean flat out dancing, at a club, with strobe lights flashing and loud music. Dancing like a spaze, twirling around so that the coat flares open and comes crashing down as I slow down. The air trapped between my body and the coat would act as some sort of ventilation, as if a cool breeze was brushing against me. I envision it to be similar to the wind blowing in your face as your driving.

Twirl twirl twirl like a little girl.
Yes that’s right I said it.

I want to wear a fur coat on top of my bra and panties, strap on some comfy bubbles and just dance. AND yes all of this in a public arena.
This would be my way of expressing the ‘‘unbearable lightness of being’’.

I am totally bound to get into some trouble but that’s what I do best staying away from passive voice.