I measured over seven years in psycho housemate drama (the 5-pairs-of-cops-in-5-years party was a good time), shenanigans that featured yours truly as Anais Nin, broken dishes, broken hearts, fulfilled hearts, secrets that shall remain secrets in my wine-dark room, whale sounds coming from a trumpet slowly starting to sound like a jazz tune, Nintendo until 3 am (mixed with a housemate having sex in the next room), Buffy marathons, rewinding, replaying, rewinding, replaying that one scene from Evil Pink (what? girls watch porn?!??), obsolete chore lists, spills on carpets, wooden beams on the ceilings, trips out the fire escape to the roof to have World Sausage & sunbathe when it was those three days of summer, spontaneous wine and cheese parties with the housemates, the brilliant line "Does anyone know a generous squid?" in response to an empty ink cartridge, many a night of standing in front of a fridge with barely any room and wondering aloud, "What shall I eat?", subletters gone awry, housemates grown friends, friends grown home, a home full of laughter (and forgetting, and nerdiness like this literary allusion)...
I think of all that my red walls have absorbed, and my eyes get ready to cry while my lips start stretching to smile...So I just sit here with this expression that must look nowhere nearly as graceful as La Gioconda's visage in its ambivalence, and notice my chest hurts the same way it does when I leave Turkey after each visit.
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