Acceptance, Judgments bonafide mistress.

Often times us humans are caught in the limbo of judging or accepting. Our innate human character forces us to uncontrollably judge, our emotional human touch reprimands this raw behavior and dictates acceptance. The odd thing is that these paradoxical acts are trapped inside every single human being and are interchangeably used when needed.

So I ask myself is really a difference between judging and accepting? Does accepting solely determine that you no longer judge or is it simply ‘‘judgment’s bonafide mistress?’’

The alarm goes off at 6:15 AM. Fifteen minutes earlier than necessary, Lil Miss Mafs needs her playtime. She licks my eyes, my nose, my nostrils, my mouth, my ears. She trots over my empty stomach, I supine grunt comes out of my mouth. She jumps out of bed, prances to the living room and brings back her ball. The grunt gets louder, ‘‘no Mafs not now!’’ I roll over turn on the bedside lamp and check my blackberry. No pressing matters on the agenda right now, I reach over to my IPod dock turn on some music, crawl out of bed and head to the kitchen.

Alternate scenario:
Pressing matter…The grunt turns into a murmur ‘‘oh God what now?’’ I type away on the blackberry press send, reach over to my IPod dock turn on some music and crawl out of bed.

Flick. I turn on the kitchen light.
Creaking. I open the cupboard and feed Ms. Mafs.
Tuk. The orange light of the water boiler.
Puk. The boiler’s orange light is off, alerting me that the water is ready.

Füürrp. I make myself some coffee: instant coffee, lactose free milk with a pinch of cinnamon.
Stir, stir, stir, ting, ting ting. The spoon scraps against the mug.
Shuffling. I pack up my breakfast and stick it inside my meal sack.

Flick. I turn on the bathroom light.
Pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, apply my body cream, then my face cream finally my eye cream.
Pıssss. Deodorant.
Pıst. Pıst. Perfume

Flick. I turn on the bedroom light.
Creaking. I pick out my clothes.
Pufff. I sit on my down comforter to put my socks on.
Shuffling. I get dressed.
Zip. I open my make-up bag.
Swoosh. I apply eye shadow, mascara and blush.
Zip. I close my make-up bag.

Flick. I turn on the entrance light.
The grunt has turned into loving voice ‘come on Mafs lets go potty’.
Tık. I open the door.
Bam. The door slams behind me.

Cling cling. I enter my house again. Mafya wants a treat. ‘‘Good girl.’’
Panting. Mafya is way too excited.
Piieeewww. I turn off my iPod dock.
Flick, flick, flick, flick. I turn off all the lights.
Bam. The door slams behind me. I’m out.

I drive out of the neighborhood that I love. The neighborhood that has brought me the sense of unity. I say bye to the guards, the shop keeper on the side of the street, the obese taxi driver that waits in the very same corner everyday as though he’s waiting to wave goodbye. I drive over hills. I drive to a distant place that awaits me.

My iPod keeps jamming. I sing. I beat my hands over the steering wheel. I am, so to say, totally in my element.

The rising morning sun catches my eyes and pleasantly blinds me. The light wind that seeps through the window brushes against my cheek and floats within my hair. The roads are empty, tranquility has settled over the busy streets of Istanbul. I drive over the hills and reach the Bosphorus bridge. Struck by beauty, as I’m crossing over, I look left and right as if to check if everything is in place, whether or not the Bosphorus is still flowing. The sense of belonging is powerfully ignited.

Just after I cross the bridge I take the third exit.
I drive into a neighborhood that is so distant to me. A neighborhood that has brought me the sense of judgment. I say hi and wave good morning to its own people. I conquer its hills. The sense of belonging ceases to exist.

Swoosh. I weave in and out of a 7:45 am traffic jam.
Beep. A cab toots its horn.
Screech. Cars slam on their breaks.
Honk. A bus slams on its horn as it skims the back of the car in front.
Agggh. Men screaming profanity at one another. Men degrading women.

An orchestra of noise pollution. A symphony of chaos and destruction.
I notice all this in its grandeur and all the while I judge. The people that throw themselves onto raging traffic. The bus drivers that try to make a metal sheet out of my VW Jetta. The nonsense traffic that has occurred at 7:45 AM. The men that yell at me. The abusive language.

Most of all I judge myself. I judge myself because I do every single thing I have written uptil now every day. I judge myself because I have accepted my judgment and pretend to live like ‘my norm’.

So here is the answer to my own question: No there is no difference between judging and accepting. Acceptance is judgment’s passive voice. This passive voice is hidden within reality because we human beings see acceptance as a positive demeanor. How many times have told our parents ‘‘can’t you accept the way I am?’’ . Their acceptance would reflect in our eyes as a positive approval where in fact they are so far from approving. They are actually simply sugar coating their judgment and condemnation but you as the victim have not opened your eyes to it.

Open your eyes and realize.
Acceptance is merely judgment’s ''bonafide mistress'' that's prancing around like a little princess.

Acceptance, is a reflection of passive voice.