<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215</id><updated>2012-02-09T13:08:51.531+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Boreas / Zephyr / Nyks / Delphoi</title><subtitle type='html'>Artistic Approaches to Life</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>86</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-960745858871714711</id><published>2012-02-07T11:51:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2012-02-07T17:55:21.344+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Interrogation</title><content type='html'>Is it true?&lt;div&gt;The reason why I am so much attracted to you now - is it because you're out of reach?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is this why I reluctantly chose you among all the others that I hated utterly? Or is it the very reason of my choice, having you and not wanting to be very close?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Are you the one that holds all I needed and all I swore not to have again within the very same personage?  The intimacy I longed for, the sweetness I cherished...? But, the one I swore never to love, never to be with, never to be attached to as well?...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What are you, tell me now!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-960745858871714711?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/960745858871714711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=960745858871714711' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/960745858871714711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/960745858871714711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2012/02/interrogation.html' title='Interrogation'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8355970551797444997</id><published>2012-02-05T15:33:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2012-02-05T21:25:30.591+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Movies With Known Tragic Endings</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;It happens always the same with movie adaptations. Since it is an adaptation, the audience already knows the subject, the story line and even the ending from the very beginning. If it is based on a story with a tragic ending, i.e. the main guy dying of cancer in the end, the couple splitting up, or the mother losing her children, the effect becomes much intense. Though the ending is very tragic and quite unbearable, some audience is still very much willing to go all the way... Watch the movie, get into the feeling, taste all details within the sequences and towards the end feel the tightness in the chest that it's gonna end up badly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What makes those movies still attractive to the audience is probably the experience throughout the movie. The tension created in the end is nothing compared to the pleasure of living the scenario, seeing all good scenes, listening to nice dialogues, discovering all characters and the music... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, are all these worth experiencing the trouble in the end? What is even harder is that watching that movie is done willingly... Willingly to go through all that pain to see the tragic ending.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What my personal experience tells me is that living through the best moments of the movie is worth shedding all the tears to the ending. And it is a fact that there will always be other new movies with known tragic endings that the audience will fancy watching, over and over again...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8355970551797444997?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8355970551797444997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8355970551797444997' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8355970551797444997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8355970551797444997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2012/02/movies-with-known-tragic-endings.html' title='Movies With Known Tragic Endings'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6619396754688732230</id><published>2012-01-18T22:10:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T13:09:12.635+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Photograph</title><content type='html'>A photograph.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Upside down, head leaning out of the bed. A tempting look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just another photograph, or a cause of excitement... that lacked in my life for a long time now...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6619396754688732230?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6619396754688732230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6619396754688732230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6619396754688732230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6619396754688732230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2012/01/photograph.html' title='The Photograph'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5242080968867208813</id><published>2011-12-22T17:40:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T22:03:30.397+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Ends...</title><content type='html'>Another year is about to end...&lt;div&gt;With that year ending there are other things that come to an end as well...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, how hard it is to let go; how hard to accept the ends, the losses, the nothingness...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In any circumstance, it seems easier to cling to the remnants, instead of admittance of loss.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nevertheless, the longer you hold on to those to slip away, the more you suffer, the more it takes to recover...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5242080968867208813?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5242080968867208813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5242080968867208813' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5242080968867208813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5242080968867208813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/12/ends.html' title='Ends...'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3770083247899708366</id><published>2011-11-22T23:36:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T17:47:58.368+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Turning Thirty</title><content type='html'>What is it really?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Growing older and more mature?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Closing one chapter and starting another one?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Realizing you are no longer supposed to be a child?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Discovering, at the same time, that all you want is to remain a child?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it more white hair?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or less energy?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it leaving most of your emotional reactions and behaving in a more logical manner?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or making peace with yourself?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it just a limit, or an ordinary number at all?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The end of anticipation and the beginning of acceptance, probably... That defines it much better...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3770083247899708366?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3770083247899708366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3770083247899708366' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3770083247899708366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3770083247899708366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/11/turning-thirty.html' title='Turning Thirty'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5138768384091189483</id><published>2011-09-22T21:15:00.008+03:00</published><updated>2011-11-22T23:36:27.243+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Looking for Something That Remains the Same Among the Ones That Change</title><content type='html'>Almost everything has changed now.&lt;div&gt;And most of them in the way I wished so.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, I feel something's wrong anyway...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is so ironic that I am desperately looking for something that remains the same among all that changed. I am searching for an anchor to hold on to. Don't know why, but that wind of change is bothering me in a way I could never have imagined.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess, I cannot recognize myself anymore. I want everything to be solid and static; &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt;, I hated for all my life. Maybe it's because of getting older. Or maybe a sister leaving home, two close friends moving to long distances caused this... And the ever-coming-back feeling of resentment... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For all those, I don't want anything to change again! At least not for a long while...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5138768384091189483?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5138768384091189483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5138768384091189483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5138768384091189483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5138768384091189483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/09/looking-for-something-that-remains-same.html' title='Looking for Something That Remains the Same Among the Ones That Change'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3018584235790327213</id><published>2011-08-12T12:55:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2011-08-12T13:06:55.544+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Car Window</title><content type='html'>"For me, people are like the raindrops hitting the window of a car. Sometimes, as one drop slides down, it merges into another drop. Thus, getting stonger they move along faster... And, I merged into you, my love... But, people are cruel and wasteful. They act as if there's no end to anything. They don't even think of the driver's opening the window one day..."&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;From "Incir Receli" (2011)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Aytac Agirlar&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3018584235790327213?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3018584235790327213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3018584235790327213' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3018584235790327213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3018584235790327213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/08/car-window.html' title='The Car Window'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7885962485142922104</id><published>2011-08-05T17:24:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T22:06:43.831+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Hotel on Rue Saint-Martin</title><content type='html'>The sun has finally set. The sky's all dark, the weather's cool...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I look ahead, just accross my hotel room there's a Haussmann style French building. The mid floors with French type windows, the top one with narrow balcony, and there are five eaves at the topmost floor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IuLxGzANXXg/TjwBHpOmpzI/AAAAAAAAAPg/1yKV2KRvH-Y/s320/596px-Rue-monge-angle.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 318px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637382064398837554" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are people in one of the middle floor flats. A little girl playing just near the coffee table in the middle. I can only see the legs and feet of the others sitting around from that height of my window. There's a bowl of fruit on the table and some wine. The talk seems relaxing and fun; people are laid back, recumbent. Fills me with warmth inside. Two floors above there's no light. The topmost eaves all belong to different people. At the second one, there's a young guy sitting at the sill. Back on one wall, the legs are bent to the body, drinking something... The third one has clothes hanging on the sill to dry up; but they aren't gonna, the rain's near. The fifth one has two guys leaning towards the front from the sill, checking out the street, or just chatting, who knows?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just stare at the building, the windows, the narrow street just below and the connecting big road on the right, Rue Saint Martin... I can't believe once again, I'm breathing in Paris!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;from the Paris journey 14-19th July&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7885962485142922104?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7885962485142922104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7885962485142922104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7885962485142922104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7885962485142922104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/08/hotel-on-rue-saint-martin.html' title='Hotel on Rue Saint-Martin'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IuLxGzANXXg/TjwBHpOmpzI/AAAAAAAAAPg/1yKV2KRvH-Y/s72-c/596px-Rue-monge-angle.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5481081680972222834</id><published>2011-08-03T17:51:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2011-08-03T18:05:55.859+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye</title><content type='html'>You constantly complain on the bore of living in the same city for years.&lt;div&gt;You discuss the temptation of leaving all behind and start a new life...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You talk about all the new opportunites, all you could gain with new horizons ahead...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, one of you leaves... And you stay...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then the whole concept of leaving becomes a whole big void for you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;'Cause it's 'the leaving' you wanted to be a part of, not 'the being stuck'...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Though you know it's for the best for you to stay for now, you unconsciously look for your escape from the maze. Maybe it's because of the fear of losing someone; or the unease of the changes to be faced after that intense a relationship... No matter why, the feeling of loneliness, the sense of stagnation seem to stay with you for a little while longer...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Goodbye! Have a nice journey: for today and for the long one ahead... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5481081680972222834?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5481081680972222834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5481081680972222834' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5481081680972222834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5481081680972222834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/08/goodbye.html' title='Goodbye'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3620077070674361988</id><published>2011-04-22T17:23:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T23:40:48.929+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I've been neglecting this blog lately. It's not just an admittance or a search for an excuse; but it is indeed a discovery of how I neglected many things in my life recently. Drawing, Italian, reading, tennis and many others... In search for a literal excuse for not spending time for these, I found myself facing the fact that I somehow am losing my desires. My desire to do all these things that I loved once... My desire to learn, to experience... Even my desire to change the course of things, change routines, change monotony...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been simply "living" for the last several months. Neither caring for things to come, nor constructing plans... It doesn't mean I lost my total interest in life, but I prefer easier choices. Simpler and unwinding roads are the ones I choose nowadays. The ones that are less tiresome, the ones that do not cause great troubles nor bring the best prizes though. But, at the end of the day, I really feel FINE...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3620077070674361988?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3620077070674361988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3620077070674361988' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3620077070674361988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3620077070674361988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/04/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4481800877693606197</id><published>2011-03-21T23:04:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2011-03-21T23:10:56.156+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Government</title><content type='html'>Government cannot be religious and self-assertive at the same time. Religious experience needs a spontaneity which laws inevitably suppress. And you cannot govern without laws. Your laws eventually must replace morality, replace conscience, replace even the religion by which you think to govern. sacred ritual must spring from praise and holy yearnings which hammer out a significant morality. Government, on the other hand, is a cultural organism particularly attractive to doubts, questions and contentions.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;from "The Dune Messiah" by Frank Herbert&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4481800877693606197?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4481800877693606197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4481800877693606197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4481800877693606197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4481800877693606197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/03/government.html' title='Government'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6063157628154574433</id><published>2011-01-27T12:45:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T12:59:19.948+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Life Is Full Of Surprises</title><content type='html'>There are three sayings I believe in life. One of them is: "Life is full of surprises". &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week it was confirmed once again. Some unexpected news on deteriorating situations got me quite low on Monday morning. However, surprisingly, before the afternoon, I received surprisingly good news on new opportunities. It was as if my monthly horoscope was fit into one single day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Within the same day, I worried a lot and got suprisingly excited. It was a day full of emotions but it taught lessons as well. I realized once again that once you have some change in your life, good or bad, you should wait for it to settle, to gain shape. Then you got to decide on your decisions and plans seeing what it became and where it would lead you. Hasty decisions and empty worries just wear you out for no reason.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Still learning with experience...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6063157628154574433?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6063157628154574433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6063157628154574433' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6063157628154574433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6063157628154574433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2011/01/life-is-full-of-surprises.html' title='Life Is Full Of Surprises'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5103052549794060665</id><published>2010-12-30T17:04:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T12:54:06.968+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Wish Something From the New Year!</title><content type='html'>What do people wish from the upcoming new year?&lt;div&gt;Happiness, more money, love, joy, excitement or success are probably the wishes with the highest rankings. But I believe what is to be asked from a new year should be the capacity and ability to judge. To judge the last year you've gone through and analyse your mistakes and setbacks that hindered your desires or cancelled your plans. Too much technical a wish; but I believe that works out the best, at least for me now!...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5103052549794060665?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5103052549794060665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5103052549794060665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5103052549794060665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5103052549794060665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/12/wish-something-from-new-year.html' title='Wish Something From the New Year!'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8338536428341901322</id><published>2010-11-21T22:53:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2010-11-21T23:24:30.249+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday With Tears</title><content type='html'>Two birthday celebrations this year...&lt;div&gt;Both beforehand...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Both with tears in the eyes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One out of happiness, the other out of a mix of worry and sentiment...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But both creating warmth in my heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a different birthday wish this year, a specifically defined one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We'll see if it comes true...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8338536428341901322?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8338536428341901322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8338536428341901322' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8338536428341901322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8338536428341901322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/11/birthday-with-tears.html' title='Birthday With Tears'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6226759909030825677</id><published>2010-11-11T23:24:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T23:29:05.850+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Religion and Politics</title><content type='html'>"When religion and politics travel in the same cart, riders believe nothing can stand in their way. Their movement becomes headlong - faster and faster and faster. They put aside all thought of obstacles and forget that a precipice does not show itself to the man in a bland rush until it's too late."&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A 'Bene Geserit' Proverb&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;ref. From "Dune" by Frank Herbert&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6226759909030825677?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6226759909030825677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6226759909030825677' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6226759909030825677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6226759909030825677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/11/religion-and-politics.html' title='Religion and Politics'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1765843209038802627</id><published>2010-10-16T19:52:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T17:36:09.090+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Little Blue Diamond</title><content type='html'>A little piece of gem, a little blue diamond... It brightened up my whole day. It reminded me how little my worries worth... It reminded me how less I should care about the course the things going on in my life... It told me why I should leave all up to faith and let go with the flow...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1765843209038802627?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1765843209038802627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1765843209038802627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1765843209038802627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1765843209038802627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/10/little-blue-diamond.html' title='The Little Blue Diamond'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8666664297194255007</id><published>2010-10-16T19:29:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T16:20:48.120+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Stray Dog</title><content type='html'>I saw a stray dog on the street as I was coming back home tonight. He was just beside my car standing on the sidewalk. A young black dog, his black fur and beige coloured legs covered in mud, wet all over. He was taking little steps and then stopping again in daze, certainly not walking. What he particularly did was to look at the people passing by in despair. His black eyes were following the people but then turning away and looking at a distant horizon; seemed like looking for something, or somewhere to go. Maybe he was searching a way home; maybe he was even looking for a home, someone to take him and look after. I felt a sullen mercy. I'd be lying if I say I didn't think to get him in the car for a moment. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What was so striking about that stray dog? That I cannot clearly explain. But, I guess it was the feeling it created in me. The feeling of being lost, the state of looking for a shelter; looking for someone to take me home, wash me, comb me, feed me up... Yes, I was that stray dog that was looking for a direction, a way home, a way to feel safe and sheltered, a way to a happy and bright future. That instant I desperately needed someone to take care of me, to show me the way... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was that stray dog...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8666664297194255007?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8666664297194255007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8666664297194255007' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8666664297194255007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8666664297194255007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/10/stray-dog.html' title='Stray Dog'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8632382412212322910</id><published>2010-10-05T12:42:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T16:39:52.951+03:00</updated><title type='text'>She's Mine But I'm Not Hers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;I walked into my office after lunch today. I had kept the music playing as I left. When I entered, soft piano notes started to echo in the room. The melody took me into a melancholic ambience. Then the words began: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"There was a time when I was playing rough &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;But nowadays I take it sort of cool&lt;br /&gt;Why do I feel this way&lt;br /&gt;I don't wanna be alone&lt;br /&gt;She's mine but I'm not hers"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;It was Jay-Jay Johanson's song "She's Mine But I'm Not Hers" on a platonic love. It reminded me of the platonic loves I had. Though I'm not platonically in love with anyone at the moment I felt myself trapped in the sad story of the song. I can't imagine how I would feel if I had one...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;And the song goes on:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Everytime we meet it's wonderful&lt;br /&gt;And though she only loves me as a friend&lt;br /&gt;I always want to see her&lt;br /&gt;But I hate to say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;She's mine but I'm not hers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's mine, she's mine&lt;br /&gt;She's mine but I'm not hers..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;ref. "She's Mine But I'm Not Hers" by Jay-Jay Johanson &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;from the album "Tattoo" 1998&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8632382412212322910?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8632382412212322910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8632382412212322910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8632382412212322910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8632382412212322910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/10/shes-mine-but-im-not-hers.html' title='She&apos;s Mine But I&apos;m Not Hers'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6478337991655701453</id><published>2010-08-06T13:19:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T20:27:26.551+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Grave and The Rain</title><content type='html'>She kneeled beside the grave that was closed a couple of minutes ago. She touched the flowers on top. A few shiny tears fell from her cheeks onto the earth covering the grave. As she stood up and walked slowly towards the people waiting her, all she thought was how dry the earth was, how bare all around. On the way back as it started raining, the feeling of refreshment covered her soul. The earth would be much wetter and fresh then. But resentment stroke all of a sudden; the resentment of leaving her beloved father all alone getting wet under all that soil and dirt...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6478337991655701453?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6478337991655701453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6478337991655701453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6478337991655701453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6478337991655701453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/08/grave-and-rain.html' title='The Grave and The Rain'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7545985826937804939</id><published>2010-07-28T09:31:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T09:54:59.057+03:00</updated><title type='text'>You're Still A Child</title><content type='html'>When do you realize that you're still a little child?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you're with someone older than you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When all the others make all the "mature talks" about life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or is it the time when you find yourself listening to the old pop songs feeling the beat inside and wanting to dance around crazily?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or the time when everyone keeps giving you advices on life, choices, paths and desires??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7545985826937804939?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7545985826937804939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7545985826937804939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7545985826937804939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7545985826937804939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/07/youre-still-child.html' title='You&apos;re Still A Child'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-440111068171580932</id><published>2010-07-14T14:36:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-16T13:02:00.729+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dash</title><content type='html'>The dates of birth and death are always written on a gravestone with a dash in between. In fact, that little "dash" is what we call "life". Everything that is lived through, everything that passed by are summarised in that little sign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, for what we become happy, for what we cry or worry; we all steal something from the dashes: our lives...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;p.s. Inspired by Ms. Azerhan Serdaroglu's words&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-440111068171580932?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/440111068171580932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=440111068171580932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/440111068171580932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/440111068171580932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/07/dash.html' title='The Dash'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5122913881718170169</id><published>2010-07-01T09:59:00.008+03:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T16:26:40.247+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's Go Away</title><content type='html'>Let's go away from this place,&lt;br /&gt;Go to a far far away land.&lt;br /&gt;Should destroy everything behind,&lt;br /&gt;And get them all new on the way&lt;br /&gt;To build up once again&lt;br /&gt;Right from the very start...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's have the best escape plan together&lt;br /&gt;With no arrangements at all.&lt;br /&gt;Our maps laid on the table,&lt;br /&gt;Deciding where to head&lt;br /&gt;With the pointing of our fingers&lt;br /&gt;On the most random spots...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's pack our bags carelessly&lt;br /&gt;Taking only useless things along,&lt;br /&gt;Forgetting about all the photographs&lt;br /&gt;And writings on the walls.&lt;br /&gt;They'll come with us anyway&lt;br /&gt;For our memories still linger on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's leave this city&lt;br /&gt;At the break of dawn.&lt;br /&gt;The cool gale chilling us,&lt;br /&gt;Dogs barking on the streets.&lt;br /&gt;A tender feeling in our hearts&lt;br /&gt;With shiny tears flowing on the cheeks...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To a beloved friend and to all escapes...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5122913881718170169?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5122913881718170169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5122913881718170169' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5122913881718170169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5122913881718170169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/07/lets-go-away.html' title='Let&apos;s Go Away'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7741731625529932122</id><published>2010-06-21T20:58:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T21:01:55.134+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness Is Never Grand</title><content type='html'>"... Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or fatal overthrown by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ref. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7741731625529932122?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7741731625529932122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7741731625529932122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7741731625529932122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7741731625529932122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/06/happiness-is-never-grand.html' title='Happiness Is Never Grand'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5880087655341498967</id><published>2010-06-03T09:54:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-06-25T13:00:25.523+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Go / Went / Gone</title><content type='html'>I said goodbye to someone leaving last night.&lt;br /&gt;He had two big pieces of luggage, a backpack and a laptop...&lt;br /&gt;But, I believe his heart was not that loaded with the heavy burden of stability like mine...&lt;br /&gt;I said "goodbye", he said "we'll see each other again"...&lt;br /&gt;I left for home, he stayed sitting there at the bench.&lt;br /&gt;Actually he was the one leaving, not me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm waiting for another friend of mine to leave in a couple of months.&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I will feel any different than I had yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;He's gonna go away; I'm gonna stay.&lt;br /&gt;And I'm gonna feel the bitter pain of standing where I am, where I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can think about right now is to leave, to go away.&lt;br /&gt;Even without any luggage, without any money, without expectations...&lt;br /&gt;And I keep repeating the verb conjugation: Go, Went, Gone...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5880087655341498967?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5880087655341498967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5880087655341498967' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5880087655341498967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5880087655341498967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/06/go-went-gone.html' title='Go / Went / Gone'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-178832399033624696</id><published>2010-05-23T23:12:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T00:25:10.906+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Wish...</title><content type='html'>It's one of those moments that I dreadfully wish...&lt;br /&gt;Wish that everyone I love to be near me...&lt;br /&gt;Wish that noone leaves...&lt;br /&gt;Wish that all will be better...&lt;br /&gt;Wish I finally could have a decision...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I wish the first song to play in the media player to be the one I had in mind when I clicked it... Here it is, it is the one I wished for...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-178832399033624696?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/178832399033624696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=178832399033624696' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/178832399033624696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/178832399033624696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/05/wish.html' title='Wish...'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8917281231749015479</id><published>2010-05-10T11:21:00.008+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-10T17:47:52.084+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Wounds, Crusts &amp; Scars</title><content type='html'>There comes the irresistable urge to peel the crust over the wound...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crust: it seems very thick, dark, and strong on top of the wound. You always know that it is the indication of your wound's healing. One day it will just fall out by leaving no mark of the wound behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, it starts to itch and burns inside. It provokes you to take it out. All you need is to find a crack on it and begin to peel it off slowly. With the peeling you realize how sensitive and fresh was the wound underneath. Then you realize that you have already known that before you attempted to peel. But, then it becomes too late to stop. You just need to finish what you started! You must take the whole crust out. Do it now! Do it, don't care about the pain and exposing the unhealed wound!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crust is peeled... The wound is aching, becoming watery and even bleeding... You knew that it would be like that. You just couldn't resist...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, it's gonna leave a scar as well. A scar that carries the mark of your weakness. Your weakness to resist to temptation; your weakness to be patient...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8917281231749015479?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8917281231749015479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8917281231749015479' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8917281231749015479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8917281231749015479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/05/wounds-crusts-scars.html' title='Wounds, Crusts &amp; Scars'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-85550390634002820</id><published>2010-05-07T17:13:00.008+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-08T15:40:50.451+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Day of Gratuitous Sorrows</title><content type='html'>Today is the day of gratuitous sorrows...&lt;br /&gt;Today is the day to listen to sad songs with violins...&lt;br /&gt;Today is an imaginary festival for all that's lost...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just push play&lt;br /&gt;And listen to the crying violin...&lt;br /&gt;Imagine an unconscious man dancing in the water...&lt;br /&gt;See how he floats, turns and moves...&lt;br /&gt;A dark blue covering all the space around,&lt;br /&gt;It gets darker still, as the man keeps dancing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have some regret today,&lt;br /&gt;And a little resentment...&lt;br /&gt;Because it's the day of gratuitous sorrows...&lt;br /&gt;Close your eyes,&lt;br /&gt;Feel the drowning man...&lt;br /&gt;But, just realize in the end&lt;br /&gt;"Everything is exactly the way it's meant to be"...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S-VbYSZUacI/AAAAAAAAAO8/wtI0MRDcRVA/s1600/Drowning_Man_by_Janoosh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S-VbYSZUacI/AAAAAAAAAO8/wtI0MRDcRVA/s320/Drowning_Man_by_Janoosh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468877795324357058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Picture by Janoosh :&lt;br /&gt;http://janoosh.deviantart.com/art/Drowning-Man-62812677&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S-Va971wvUI/AAAAAAAAAO0/3SXiwYHHVs4/s1600/Drowning_Man_by_Janoosh.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-85550390634002820?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/85550390634002820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=85550390634002820' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/85550390634002820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/85550390634002820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/05/day-of-gratuitous-sorrows.html' title='The Day of Gratuitous Sorrows'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S-VbYSZUacI/AAAAAAAAAO8/wtI0MRDcRVA/s72-c/Drowning_Man_by_Janoosh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-2765088529689783257</id><published>2010-04-18T23:24:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T14:15:43.347+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Hiatus</title><content type='html'>Everything in my life seems to be in hiatus right now. Nothing new comes up, nothing changes... I believe I don't struggle now as much as I did in the past to survive and change direction. This silent state is slowly covering my days and nights. I just close my eyes and feel nothing at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is indeed the pause I needed months ago. It's just come to me. Though not in the form I supposed it would be... It is much chaotic on the outside but that much placid on the inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think it is one of those times when you keep on waiting for some specific event to happen and change the status to "currently active" from "hiatus". Actually this state does not involve hoping for such a thing to happen. It is the constant state that never indicates what's gonna happen in future...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I know it is temporary somehow. One of those periods to be passed through... Not necessarily be low or unpleasant; but only numb and without expectations...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-2765088529689783257?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/2765088529689783257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=2765088529689783257' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/2765088529689783257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/2765088529689783257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/04/hiatus.html' title='Hiatus'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8793090593400879699</id><published>2010-04-07T09:57:00.019+03:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T10:53:45.729+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Chamber of Choices</title><content type='html'>The Chamber of Choices is always a round room. It never has corners or windows but has different number of doors. Because everyone has his/her own chamber of choices, the total number of doors changes according to the person. Some chambers have only two doors; some have numerous... But, the logic is always the same: "Entering the chamber from one door and leaving it through another".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For people whose chambers have only two doors, what to do is very easy. In fact, they get in from the entrance door, and upon entrance the only door they see is the other one. So, they do not get to decide and pass through the other door without any hesitation or regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It obviously becomes more and more complicated when the number of doors increases. For those who keep building doors in their chambers on and on again, the choice of exit turns into a kind of nightmare. Because the doors are only for one direction: once you leave the chamber from one door, you cannot get back and change decision. Since every door opens up to another chamber where there are other doors, one should choose wisely or suffer the consequences ahead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is really ironic about the chambers of choice is that you somehow have a very low chance of returning back to one of the previous chambers in time. However, the chamber being the same, the doors may have changed already. This once again makes the choices irreversible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people have eyes open to the chamber of choice system. Some don't... Expectedly, the one's that cannot see the system are the same ones with two doors in each chamber. They either have no other choice in life to consider or they do not really care to build another door to create an alternative passage through the chamber. Does that situation really make them happy? In some cases, they are happy, indeed. But, once they discover a discontent about the "two-doors" situation, they either start building doors or go on passing through the doors to other chambers to desperately seek a chamber with multiple doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the other type, the ones that have multi-doored chambers, the situation is quite different. Since those people have made habit of building doors to their chambers, they really can't get out of even sometimes from a single chamber. Everywhere they look, they see another door. And each door is in a different shape and style demonstrating their lead to different paths. Determined people in life know their style of door most of the time. So, if they knew that they are into large steel doors, they go with the large steel one always. Because they know what is behind it and what good will it bring to them. On the other hand, the flighty and indecisive ones always suffer during the choice of doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing to keep in mind for the chambers is not to have regret after opening a door. Because once you pass through it, you may not see it again. Therefore, regretting about the choice becomes worthless. Each chamber entered should be a brand new one with new things to choose and new past choices to forget...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8793090593400879699?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8793090593400879699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8793090593400879699' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8793090593400879699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8793090593400879699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/04/chambers-of-choices.html' title='The Chamber of Choices'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-2120786015222483426</id><published>2010-03-18T00:03:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T15:07:21.396+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fire Exit Sign</title><content type='html'>I desperately looked for the fire exit sign...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was heavy smoke all around, all the files and folders were on fire... The bitter smell of burning plastic and wood mixed up in the air and blocked my lungs. There was nothing to see but only the walls to touch and find the way into the dark corridors. I tried to look around and see where I was, I tried to find an opening, like a window or door to take my head out. There was none. I rushed to the end of the corridor to get out through the fire exit. I desperately looked for the fire exit sign... But it wasn't visible, the sign was not lit. Because there was no electricity that day... And there was no fire at all... It was all just the heavy smoke of mind surrounding the deepest corners of my soul, trapping me in my office room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I desperately looked for the fire exit sign once again... It was just in front of me and it was brightly lit... Damn, I still couldn't go out!...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-2120786015222483426?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/2120786015222483426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=2120786015222483426' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/2120786015222483426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/2120786015222483426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/03/fire-exit-sign.html' title='The Fire Exit Sign'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-169019960379541208</id><published>2010-02-21T23:13:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T15:18:28.838+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Local Transit Boat</title><content type='html'>Heart is like the local transit boat... It is always long departed before you realize you've left your cell phone in, buy another token and pass through the turnstiles once again...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-169019960379541208?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/169019960379541208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=169019960379541208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/169019960379541208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/169019960379541208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/02/transit-boat.html' title='The Local Transit Boat'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3478112088580042168</id><published>2010-02-18T09:31:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T00:04:51.931+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Branches</title><content type='html'>Climbing a tree is interesting. You start with the largest and strongest branches... You hold the one at the bottom, pull yourself up and get on it. You always know the lowest braches are certainly comfortable and stable. They provide you with the feeling of security. But most of the time, most people look up and see higher branches. Those braches, though weaker and riskier, are always more tempting. Maybe because they are higher or more exciting, they keep constantly calling you up. You may listen to those voices and climb upper and upper... Sometimes you break some branches on the way up, sometimes you ignore them recklessly. When you reach the top, you shockingly realize that you are holding on to one of the tiniest braches, a twig perhaps, which will break eventually...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3478112088580042168?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3478112088580042168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3478112088580042168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3478112088580042168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3478112088580042168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/02/branches.html' title='Branches'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3470088166189117071</id><published>2010-02-13T19:24:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T18:58:28.575+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Are You Feeling Better Now?</title><content type='html'>...And the world may be long for you&lt;br /&gt;But it'll never belong to you&lt;br /&gt;But on a motorbike&lt;br /&gt;When all the city lights&lt;br /&gt;Blind your eyes tonight&lt;br /&gt;Are you feeling better now?...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S3bhuQuIpXI/AAAAAAAAAOU/q2LFFwa_aeU/s1600-h/the_decemberists_castaways_and_cutouts.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S3bhuQuIpXI/AAAAAAAAAOU/q2LFFwa_aeU/s320/the_decemberists_castaways_and_cutouts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437781784975156594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ref. Decemberists - Grace Cathedral Hill&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    (from the Album "Castaways and Cutouts")&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3470088166189117071?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3470088166189117071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3470088166189117071' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3470088166189117071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3470088166189117071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/02/are-you-feeling-better-now.html' title='Are You Feeling Better Now?'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/S3bhuQuIpXI/AAAAAAAAAOU/q2LFFwa_aeU/s72-c/the_decemberists_castaways_and_cutouts.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4113121585462003749</id><published>2010-02-06T17:04:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-06T22:20:01.804+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Life In Slow Motion</title><content type='html'>Today, on my way back home from work, my car seemed to be going quite slow. Then I noticed the birds flying very slowly as well. I could distinguish the movement of their wings as they fly. Suddenly everything seemed to move in the slowest way possible. The road was never ending, people were moving in a slow motion, the traffic was flowing in the most peaceful way. Life resembled a short movie where everyone and everything tried not to create any kind of motion at all. My blood circulated slower in my body, my thoughts quietly disappeared. All that left was the sound of the music...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life was in slow motion; but this time I never wished it to be hastier or livelier. I surrendered to the hermit inside. I felt the sweet taste of peace, the everlasting joy of isolation... The world was much brighter, the colours paler and the silence was integral...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4113121585462003749?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4113121585462003749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4113121585462003749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4113121585462003749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4113121585462003749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/02/life-in-slow-motion.html' title='Life In Slow Motion'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7079360631332749880</id><published>2010-01-27T16:14:00.010+02:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T09:05:59.309+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Know Thyself!</title><content type='html'>Is there any proper way to understand yourself in deep?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there a chance to discover your true inner self and comprehend the source of your feelings and thoughts?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it possible to reveal your mind and make peace with the consequences?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how long I've been trying to discover inner true self. The other self than I show to the outside world. Much more fragile maybe, less stubborn or much determined... And I really don't know if there's any easier way to get to know yourself. Maybe it's never possible to understand what you are made of, why you really do the things you do... The desires, the unexplainable decisions, the unbearable burden of keeping things to yourself...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7079360631332749880?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7079360631332749880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7079360631332749880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7079360631332749880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7079360631332749880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/01/know-thyself.html' title='Know Thyself!'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5836218109526507406</id><published>2010-01-16T11:58:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T12:15:03.260+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Perceptions</title><content type='html'>A couple of days ago I passed through a one way street with my car. Though I had passed through it many times before, I was surprised this time. It was the street where I had been before, many years ago, maybe when I was eleven...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The street seemed quite ordinary to me: two-three lanes, one way, parked cars on one side and etc. But, then I remembered how big it seemed to me years ago, like some boulevard instead of an ordinary street... Maybe it was because in car that the street seemed smaller; or it was because I was a child that the street had seemed larger. Anyway, it eventually reminded me the rule of perception. The physical conditions, emotions and passing years interfere with our perceptions of the environment and the events around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps, years later the places I go, the things I do and the emotions I feel now will create different sensations in me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is nothing of an invention, I know, but I just wanted to share how empty I felt when I realized the ever changing perceptions of my mind. And, there's one other thing: I just wanted to remember one dear person to me, who will always be reminded me by that street... He's no longer alive now... May God rest his soul in peace...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5836218109526507406?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5836218109526507406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5836218109526507406' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5836218109526507406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5836218109526507406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2010/01/perceptions.html' title='Perceptions'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7119446213460707169</id><published>2009-12-31T15:56:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2010-01-23T11:33:41.572+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Gnossienne No.4</title><content type='html'>Erik Satie playing in the background; sad melodies flowing in the air... Another year is ending, silently and slowly... Just like what has happened all throughout the year: waiting silently, losing slowly...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is to remain at the very end is a little spoon full of hope. "Lick it and begin on a new one!" says an old man beside me. He has shiny brown eyes (but he says they're hazel), a white round beard and wrinkly face... I look at him and see my old age. Feeling lost I turn my head towards the screen and keep on writing. He grabs me on the shoulder and says: "Seriously, lick it and begin a new one! There's more to life than this..." I look at him once again, a shiny tear falls down my cheek and I keep on writing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ref. Erik Satie - Gnossienne No.4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7119446213460707169?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7119446213460707169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7119446213460707169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7119446213460707169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7119446213460707169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/12/gnossienne-no4.html' title='Gnossienne No.4'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5010549178541347583</id><published>2009-12-02T18:08:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T15:10:49.389+02:00</updated><title type='text'>In the Land of the Lions, Unicorns &amp; Dragons</title><content type='html'>My hair's waving in the air, my nose and ears are in shades of scarlett red, my feet are long surrendered to cold and my skin is bitten by the freezing wind... But I am happy as hell... I am fascinated by the alternating bright lights, the brick walls, artistically carved stones, the statues, union jack flags, red buses, underground signs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we enter a snack bar, grab some sandwiches and hot breakfast tea with milk. As I sat down behind the glass pane viewing the square, I feel the happiness and peace surrounding me. I look at the great plain square with the four big bronze lions and two artistically decorated fountains. In front of all that stands erect a high greek column with a statue of Nelson on top. Completing the marvellous view the magnificent building of the National Gallery takes place, so gracefully and so real...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SxwWaAAO8_I/AAAAAAAAAM8/86GTxlsQT1s/s1600-h/SDC13765.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SxwWaAAO8_I/AAAAAAAAAM8/86GTxlsQT1s/s400/SDC13765.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412225488125883378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The soft lights sparkling at the dusk are calling me into the very heart of this city. The chilly wind fills up my lungs with its essence. For a single moment I leave the life I own and conform with the idea of belonging to this misty city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I wish heartily to return to this city someday; not to visit once again but to return for good...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SxwXExxjXDI/AAAAAAAAANE/3-9vnd_XaA4/s1600-h/SDC13776.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SxwXExxjXDI/AAAAAAAAANE/3-9vnd_XaA4/s400/SDC13776.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412226223040584754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5010549178541347583?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5010549178541347583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5010549178541347583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5010549178541347583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5010549178541347583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/12/in-land-of-lions-unicorns-dragons.html' title='In the Land of the Lions, Unicorns &amp; Dragons'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SxwWaAAO8_I/AAAAAAAAAM8/86GTxlsQT1s/s72-c/SDC13765.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1768708858437439327</id><published>2009-11-24T18:08:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T18:09:07.196+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A Furious Writing</title><content type='html'>An old piece of writing I've recovered from the vault of my blog. It was written in a moment of fury. I never intended to publish it back then... Because I did not want the thing enraged me to gain some kind of a value with a published piece of writing. But now, I think it's time to release it, it does not help hiding anger somewhere deep inside anyway...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I believe in a Divine Justice. A Justice that is to correct all mistakes made, give people what they deserve and judge them on what they really worth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And I also believe that the biggest and the most unforgiveable sin that the Divine Justice shall never forgive is to break someone's heart...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I, myself have always tried hard not to break a single one. If I had, I am deeply, truly sorry for that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Because of all that, I don't/won't forgive anyone that broke my heart recklessly! Never!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 20th, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1768708858437439327?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1768708858437439327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1768708858437439327' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1768708858437439327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1768708858437439327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/11/furious-writing.html' title='A Furious Writing'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5687351668019382607</id><published>2009-11-16T22:36:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T16:01:15.813+02:00</updated><title type='text'>All The Tiredness</title><content type='html'>I have an unfinished novel in German on my bookshelf. I bought it months ago with an enthusiasm to read and revive my German. But, when I look at it now, all I see is dust on its cover and I realize my tiredness that hinder me even to reach and grab it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have coloured pastel pencils in my living room beside the easel that haven't been used for at least a year. I have new drawing projects to start, folders to be organised, bills to be payed... I still have hopes to be fulfilled...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, amongst all these I feel terribly exhausted, gratuitously anxious, completely worn out...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seasonal it must be... Or shall I say temporal? I am not quite sure of the type or the reason behind... Whether it's the result of current circumstances in my life or the cause lies deep inside me...&lt;br /&gt;What I do notice is that everything around me somehow reminds me of the delayed plans, the lost hopes and all the tiredness I feel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I notice the Spanish grammar book on the shelf. I bought it when I first beginned learning Italian. I was so eager to learn both that I tried to study them at the same time back then. I can't believe how energetic I was... Now, all I know is how empty the Spanish Grammar book seems to me; and how I failed to finish that German novel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have books everywhere, I have dreams amongst them, I have a bed I need to be in... A bed I never want to get out of... I guess what I should do is to take all those books and read them in it. And the dreams? They'll all reappear when I fall asleep...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good night...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5687351668019382607?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5687351668019382607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5687351668019382607' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5687351668019382607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5687351668019382607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/11/all-tiredness.html' title='All The Tiredness'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1940634216661186993</id><published>2009-11-01T23:39:00.012+02:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T15:56:43.495+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Norway</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67aTheslI/AAAAAAAAAMk/fVX1M2cjFaA/s1600-h/Norway_102_by_lonelywolf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67aTheslI/AAAAAAAAAMk/fVX1M2cjFaA/s400/Norway_102_by_lonelywolf2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399459063855493714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a child fond of geography I remember shuffling through pages of geographical encyclopedias (yes, there was no internet back then!) but stopping at a very peculiar page amongst them. That was a page with a bright green-blue coloured photo of the fjords of Norway. I clearly recall the green mountainside meeting the dark blue ocean with an intricate shoreline. That was one of the most beautiful images I had ever seen back then. Ever since I dreamt about seeing the countryside and wild nature of Norway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67Zx-tW_I/AAAAAAAAAMM/2zROz2-as4Q/s1600-h/Norway_25_by_lonelywolf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67Zx-tW_I/AAAAAAAAAMM/2zROz2-as4Q/s400/Norway_25_by_lonelywolf2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399459054851283954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, this time surfing through the internet (thanks to the development of technology!), I encountered several photos of Norway. Those four pictures instantly attract your attention and suck you into the fascinating nature. As soon as I saw them all I thought was to grab an anorak and winter boots and get on the next plane to Norway. The next thing to do would be to take a very long stroll on the lake shores and in the mountains. What a relief!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67aNwuZ0I/AAAAAAAAAMU/bV-RQhAktY8/s1600-h/Norway_83_by_lonelywolf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67aNwuZ0I/AAAAAAAAAMU/bV-RQhAktY8/s400/Norway_83_by_lonelywolf2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399459062308824898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67wGamw9I/AAAAAAAAAMs/zmadKFOWGww/s1600-h/Norway_84_by_lonelywolf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67wGamw9I/AAAAAAAAAMs/zmadKFOWGww/s400/Norway_84_by_lonelywolf2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399459438294123474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those and many other images of Norway: http://lonelywolf2.deviantart.com/gallery/&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for Lonelywolf2's brilliant work...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. The image on the title of this blog is also from the same source.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1940634216661186993?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1940634216661186993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1940634216661186993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1940634216661186993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1940634216661186993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/11/norway.html' title='Norway'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Su67aTheslI/AAAAAAAAAMk/fVX1M2cjFaA/s72-c/Norway_102_by_lonelywolf2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1605225012729768249</id><published>2009-10-26T17:38:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T09:54:18.436+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Shoes</title><content type='html'>"Hey, I put some new shoes on,&lt;br /&gt;And suddenly everything is right..." *&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lyrics of a pop-rock song. It seems that it hit the target for me. Yes, I do wanna put some new shoes on and suddenly feel everything's right! Maybe it's not the shoes but only myself to change in order to make everything right. Besides, the song's got nothing to do with my feelings, 'cause it literally talks about some new shoes. But to my perception, this pair of new shoes is the little miracle I expect to happen in a short while. I am not sure whether I should wait for this miracle; perhaps I should stick with my old shoes that were ripped around the seams... Anyway, I don't know how, don't know when; but I still do wait for it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;* Ref. The New Shoes - Paolo Nutini&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           from the album "These Streets" - 2006&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1605225012729768249?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1605225012729768249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1605225012729768249' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1605225012729768249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1605225012729768249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/10/new-shoes_26.html' title='The New Shoes'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5782719784867396635</id><published>2009-09-28T11:56:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T12:54:21.369+03:00</updated><title type='text'>On Leaves &amp; Stays</title><content type='html'>Until now, I have been the one who leaves. I 've been the one to sail for new places, the one to adapt to new environments, the one that could never understand the feeling of being left behind. Perhaps now, for the first time, I am the one that stays after the leave of a loved one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all this time I believed that it is always harder for the one who leaves. Trying to fit into a new environment, dealing with the difficulties ahead, simply the strenousness of a changing life, all seemed to be quite harder than the stable environment of the one who stays.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;However, life is not as easy as expected for the one who stays. Life goes on as it would like nothing had changed. But some little portions, some details begin to fade away gradually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could hardly comprehend how it feels when you stay behind and deal with the loss of the daily habits, routines created by the person that left. But now, I am beginning to feel the little voids that are formed within my daily life. As time progresses I know the voids will combine and form a larger gap. It is not the hardest thing to get used to this large gap. Because, you already knew it will form someday. The hardest is the moment when you realize the first little void for the very first time. Because it appears all of a sudden, or you would never expect to see an effect that much sooner, I don’t know why... But, I’m sure it hurts the most.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5782719784867396635?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5782719784867396635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5782719784867396635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5782719784867396635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5782719784867396635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-leaves-stays.html' title='On Leaves &amp; Stays'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5211988410599150773</id><published>2009-08-25T11:00:00.009+03:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T23:22:38.411+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Flowers, Sandcastles, My Kite and a Ladybug</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Strawberry scented, musk mallow flavoured flowers blossom in my garden before the tempest...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sea underneath tickles my feet; I have hopes of sandcastles. Even if they collapse, I’ll have lots of sand anyway...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kite is shinier than a lollipop candy, and surprisingly quicker than expected from an A4 paper...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I opened my hand to let my ladybug breathe; and have the sun shine on her again...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Surely one fine day she'll be coming back to me...&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A translation of a little poem from the personal page of one of my friends*. I am really moved with its style, language and emotion. I feel almost the same nowadays...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Ref.  A. Serdaroglu - www.odtumezunlari.gen.tr Personal page&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5211988410599150773?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5211988410599150773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5211988410599150773' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5211988410599150773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5211988410599150773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/08/blah.html' title='Flowers, Sandcastles, My Kite and a Ladybug'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7061010602294672618</id><published>2009-07-18T14:45:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T14:49:49.185+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Child Inside</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I don’t know what caused exactly to feel like this, but I started to believe that something is dying inside me. It is not something, in fact, it is my “Child Inside”!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Everybody is familiar with the concept of the “child inside” and the happiness, liveliness, vividness it produces. For all my life I believed that this so-called “child” slowly dies as people grow up. But I was determined not to lose that child of mine. Surprisingly (or expectedly), I happened to realize that it was not the easiest thing to do. Because, life brings more responsibilities and obstacles with higher level of endurances as it progresses. Trying to cope with all these, somehow your child becomes neglected. ‘Cause it needs to be fed constantly with childish vivacity, joy and recklessness. However, with the increasing responsibilities it becomes impossible to keep those kinda feelings in your system. Therefore, you give up and agonizingly watch this child’s diminishing.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;At first, I was strongly in denial of neglection of my child. I could never have behaved like that! I could never leave it unnourished or never let it feel unheeded. As soon as I realized the situation is about to worsen, I decided to do something for it. I had to grab my life from where I missed and return to the state where I was living happily with my child. But I couldn’t. I may never have tried hard enough, or maybe it was really challenging to leave all the commitments at hand. So I reluctantly let it go and watched the death slowly each passing day.&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;It is the rule of life; maybe (who knows) I need a very real, a very own child of mine after all. Maybe the time for taking care of myself by the help of a little child inside has gone forever. Now I’ve “finally” grown up and been one of those who “kills” his child inside.&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;I’ve given up questioning a while ago. Now I am not sure whether I stilll need to search for a child inside and try to save it, or not bother at all. Anyway, I guess it’s time to grab my beloved book “Mi Planta de Naranja Lima” once again and read it all over. If that doesn’t bring out and save the child, nothing’s ever will...&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i&gt;ref. Mi Planta de Naranja Lima - by José Mauro de Vasconcelos&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7061010602294672618?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7061010602294672618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7061010602294672618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7061010602294672618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7061010602294672618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/07/child-inside.html' title='The Child Inside'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1430690996695979424</id><published>2009-06-05T12:58:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2009-06-06T14:02:55.054+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Mercurial Weather and The Perfect Cure</title><content type='html'>The weather is quite mercurial today. Yesterday it rained a lot. Even now, little drops of rain are falling down occasionally. But, it seems as if it's gonna shine brightly in case the clouds make way. &lt;div&gt;The air is dense, lighting is dim, ambience is depressing...&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't think my soul is any different from the weather nowadays...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, I finally found the perfect cure for the ill mood of today: "Kings of Convenience"!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Cayman Islands, Know How, I Don't Know What I Can Save You From, Little Kids&lt;/i&gt; and finally &lt;i&gt;Manhattan Skyline&lt;/i&gt;...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Soothing, comforting and relieving...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1430690996695979424?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1430690996695979424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1430690996695979424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1430690996695979424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1430690996695979424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/06/mercurial-weather-and-perfect-cure.html' title='Mercurial Weather and The Perfect Cure'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5241213555499173207</id><published>2009-04-28T16:20:00.003+03:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T16:26:04.179+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Not Ready</title><content type='html'>A man was walking home one evening when a stranger approached him and inquired about the location of a certain street. The man pointed out to the stranger and provided specific instructions. After readily understanding and accepting the instructions, the stranger began to walk in the opposite direction. The man said "You're headed in the wrong direction!". The stranger replied "Yes, I know. But, I'm not quite ready yet."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5241213555499173207?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5241213555499173207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5241213555499173207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5241213555499173207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5241213555499173207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/04/not-ready.html' title='Not Ready'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7928042143517381107</id><published>2009-03-23T13:56:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T18:03:33.783+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Pause</title><content type='html'>Pause!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A symbol with two vertical lines side to side...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just push the button with that symbol, and your whole life pauses.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everything around seizes its endless movement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All the people stay still, all plans disappear for a moment, all worries fade away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What a fantastic idea!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I desperately need that pause for the time being.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want everything that bothers me to remain still for a certain duration...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...So that I would leave all aside; grab a pillow, a soft blanket and fit in the tiniest bed, curl up and doze off quietly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's all I desire now, just a little bit of silence, a serene feeling of muteness, a deep sleep...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, in the end, it's a pause anyway; it's all gonna resume when I press the button once again...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7928042143517381107?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7928042143517381107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7928042143517381107' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7928042143517381107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7928042143517381107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/03/pause-symbol-with-two-vertical-lines.html' title='Pause'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4269401695958410481</id><published>2009-03-18T00:30:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T00:52:41.786+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Low</title><content type='html'>In times when you feel low:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing really makes you happy;&lt;br /&gt;The classical mottos like "Carpe Diem", "Live for the Moment" etc. do not work at all;&lt;br /&gt;Your otherwise bright future suddenly seems to be in a big black haze;&lt;br /&gt;A sad song like Robin Hackett's "Hard Left" expresses your mood most conveniently;&lt;br /&gt;Even your loved ones' comfort does not make you feel relieved;&lt;br /&gt;And repeating the known phrase "Everything's gonna be alright!" turns into a cliché...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I guess, there's one thing to make you hold on to real life:&lt;br /&gt;It is the belief to a certain destiny.&lt;br /&gt;Your destiny that determines your way ahead, controlling even the smallest detail...&lt;br /&gt;No matter what you do or how much you worry about the consequences.&lt;br /&gt;The idea of a greater power somehow comforts you showing that some things are out of your control... And you did your best...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4269401695958410481?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4269401695958410481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4269401695958410481' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4269401695958410481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4269401695958410481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/03/low.html' title='Low'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4421651771844443090</id><published>2009-03-13T13:17:00.014+02:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T00:30:31.584+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wings of Dreaming</title><content type='html'>I hate dreaming!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Although it is "supposed" to be an entertaining and nice activity, it brings about harsh consequences in the end. I know, because I have experienced enough of that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dreaming gives you a pair of wings. Wings that make you fly and take you as high as you desire. But, eventually, what is to follow is a sudden free fall, like an apple from a tree. However, the damage comes not only as bruising, as in the case of the apple, but also in dissappointment and depression as well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That makes me remember the story of Ikaros, the son of the talented craftsman Daedalos. Daedalos, designs two pairs of wings made up of bird feathers attached with wax, both for himself and his son. Together they intend to fly and escape from Crete, where they were imprisoned. Before the journey, Daedalos reminds his son of the danger: he should not fly very high and get very close to the sun, since that melts the wax and the feathers could drift apart. His son promises to be careful. But, once he flew over the blue sea and glid in the bright sky, he wants to reach much higher. Unfortunately, as he rises in the sky, Ikaros's wings fall apart and he crashes right down to the Aeagean Sea and dies instantly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That is not the same story, but it always reminds me of the case of dreaming. So tragic, and so real... Trying to reach a higher goal that is not possible, is something that's triggered by dreaming. I know I'm being too pessimistic about the whole case of dreaming. But, I would be lying if I say that I believe that "a person is nothing without his dreams" saying...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe that's a phase that'll pass soon. But, for the time being I still hate dreaming!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SbpwC_pcztI/AAAAAAAAAHo/zOxkrT3WgHA/s320/Lord_Frederick_Leighton_FLL006.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312681907184258770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Icarus &amp;amp; Daedalus&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;by Frederic Leighton, 1st Baron Leighton&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ca 1869&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4421651771844443090?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4421651771844443090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4421651771844443090' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4421651771844443090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4421651771844443090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-hate-dreaming-although-it-is-supposed.html' title='The Wings of Dreaming'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SbpwC_pcztI/AAAAAAAAAHo/zOxkrT3WgHA/s72-c/Lord_Frederick_Leighton_FLL006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7845477112357355297</id><published>2009-03-06T11:50:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T13:58:01.821+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Arthur Ashe, the legendary Wimbledon player was dying of AIDS which he got due to infected blood he received during a heart surgery in 1983. From world over, he received letters from his fans, one of which conveyed: "Why does God have to select you for such a bad disease?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To this Arthur Ashe replied: In the world, over 50 million children start playing tennis, 5 million learn to play tennis, 500.000 of them learn professional tennis, 50.000 come to the circuit, 5.000 reach the grand slam, 50 reach Wimbledon, 4 to semi-finals, 2 to the finals. When I was holding the championship cup I never asked God "Why me?"... And today in pain I should not be asking God "Why me?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Happiness makes someone nice; success makes glorious...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hardships make tough; sorrow makes mature...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Defeat makes someone humble...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, why say "God, why me?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is to happen, happens anyway...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7845477112357355297?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7845477112357355297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7845477112357355297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7845477112357355297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7845477112357355297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/03/why-me_06.html' title='Why Me?'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5493856763159245315</id><published>2009-02-10T16:51:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T11:24:41.509+02:00</updated><title type='text'>So Close and Far Away</title><content type='html'>How surprisingly exciting life becomes when you realize the chances of a drastic change are so close and far away at the same instant...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5493856763159245315?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5493856763159245315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5493856763159245315' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5493856763159245315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5493856763159245315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/02/so-close-and-far-away.html' title='So Close and Far Away'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4339301260576587540</id><published>2009-01-06T13:40:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T13:55:24.423+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Thankful For Breathing</title><content type='html'>An recent unexpected loss that I have been informed of has affected me a great deal. I get myself to thinking that how often I get tangled up with the daily problems of life. These kind of losses tell people to perk up and realize how important it is even to be able to breathe. Sometimes we take our lives for granted and live recklessly. I guess, a single moment is to be spared to thank for the miracle of being alive...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4339301260576587540?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4339301260576587540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4339301260576587540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4339301260576587540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4339301260576587540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2009/01/thankful-for-breathing.html' title='Thankful For Breathing'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4722026644728012840</id><published>2008-11-26T17:44:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T17:54:14.292+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Simple Life...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The video on the attached link is made up of 10.000 photographs without a single use of a video recorder. It displays the four seasons of İstanbul in the most splendid and natural way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The video fascinated me in the way it shows life’s true simplicity. Life, in fact, consists of rising suns, descending moons, howling winds or falling snow flakes... It is us, the mankind, that add the alternating bright lights, the ever-travelling cars and boats, the crowd of the cities onto that perfect pureness... Other than those it is just a new day following the other.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A simple life it is...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ersineser.us/"&gt;http://www.ersineser.us/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SS1whiQ6xuI/AAAAAAAAAFE/XWmFiEUQq8M/s1600-h/untitled.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SS1whiQ6xuI/AAAAAAAAAFE/XWmFiEUQq8M/s400/untitled.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272994460156479202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4722026644728012840?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4722026644728012840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4722026644728012840' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4722026644728012840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4722026644728012840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/11/video-on-attached-link-is-made-up-of-10.html' title='Simple Life...'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SS1whiQ6xuI/AAAAAAAAAFE/XWmFiEUQq8M/s72-c/untitled.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1646561349192806804</id><published>2008-11-21T17:39:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T14:57:58.288+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Best of Wishes</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;With the approach of the date of my birthday, a version of&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  an ordinary&lt;/span&gt; question occupied my mind. Starting from “What should I wish from my coming age?”, I ended up with others like: “What is really to be wished for?” or “What is the best of all wishes?”...&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;What should really be wished for in our lives? Health? Success? Money? Love? I guess the wish of most people is to have peace at the very last moments of the ‘journey’. The soothing sense of satisfaction, the tranquility of feeling no regrets. And any other that means peace for the person...&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Going through the last two years of my life, I decided that I had been quite luckier in the things I wished for. Maybe I wished “wisely”, got what I deserved, or just simply been lucky, that’s all. It’s just time to be thankful for all those...&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;May all wishes come true...&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Happy birthday to me... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1646561349192806804?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1646561349192806804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1646561349192806804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1646561349192806804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1646561349192806804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/11/best-of-wishes.html' title='Best of Wishes'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3090963695122168705</id><published>2008-09-15T14:45:00.004+03:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T12:14:52.359+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A Surprising E-mail</title><content type='html'>Today I have received two e-mails from two unknown contacts. They included quotes from authors. I could not perceive whether they are spam or not, because they neither contained any links nor any ads. The first one I could not get clearly, but I liked the second one and found worth displaying here. It's quite meaningful considering my general approach towards life. Thanks a lot to Ms. Liz Guevara, who I don't even know, for this nice piece of quote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"So. The time has come for me to get my kite flying, stretch out in the sun, kick off my shoes, and speak my piece. 'The days of struggle are over,' I should be able to say. 'I can look back now and tell myself I don't have a single regret.' But I do. Many years ago a very wise man named Bernard Baruch took me aside and put his arm around my shoulder. 'Harpo, my boy,' he said, 'I'm going to give you three pieces of advice, three things you should always remember.' My heart jumped and I glowed with expectation. I was going to hear the magic password to a rich, full life from the master himself. 'Yes, sir?' I said. And he told me the three things. I regret that I've forgotten what they were." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Arthur Marx&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3090963695122168705?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3090963695122168705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3090963695122168705' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3090963695122168705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3090963695122168705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/09/surprising-e-mail.html' title='A Surprising E-mail'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1847299527865326525</id><published>2008-09-02T19:58:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T20:13:17.275+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Good</title><content type='html'>There are some songs that you listen to countless times and do not realize their real deeper meaning. But somehow suddenly something strikes you when you discover what the words really mean. It does not necessarily need to be a complex one; it just depends on your mood to discover it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That happened to me with Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" recently. Though it is quite simple in lyrics, I happened to understand what it tries to tell me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is time to cherish every single day of life...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a new dawn, a new day, a new life..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Birds flyin' high you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Sun in the sky you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Breeze driftin' on by you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Its a new dawn, its a new day, its a new life for me&lt;br /&gt;yeah, its a new dawn its a new day its a new life for me ooh&lt;br /&gt;And I'm Feeling Good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fish in the sea, you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;River runnin' free you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Blossom on the tree you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Its a new dawn, its a new day, its a new life for me&lt;br /&gt;And I'm feelin good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dragonfly out in the sun you know what i mean dont you know&lt;br /&gt;Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean&lt;br /&gt;Sleep in peace when day is done that's what I mean&lt;br /&gt;And this old world is a new world and a bold world for me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stars when you shine you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Scent of the pine you know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, Freedom is mine, and I know how I feel&lt;br /&gt;Its a new dawn, its a new day, its a new life for me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Free styling)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh I'm Feeling Good."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nina Simone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;Feeling Good&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1847299527865326525?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1847299527865326525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1847299527865326525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1847299527865326525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1847299527865326525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/09/there-are-some-songs-that-you-listen-to.html' title='Feeling Good'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-9216673100685386632</id><published>2008-07-18T17:17:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T17:18:55.491+03:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Only Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Just a bunch of little words, with insignificant meanings by themselves...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;And, how amazing it is when they come together in a magical order and make you burst into unexpected tears.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Some little words, so simple they seem; but so much more they embrace...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-9216673100685386632?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/9216673100685386632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=9216673100685386632' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/9216673100685386632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/9216673100685386632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/07/its-only-words.html' title='It&apos;s Only Words'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1827545303937799340</id><published>2008-07-15T12:59:00.007+03:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T09:38:27.083+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Persistence of Memory</title><content type='html'>I don’t actually remember the first time when I saw the painting of Salvador Dalí called “The Persistence of Memory”. What I clearly remember is how I felt when I first heard its name. It wasn’t until then that the painting made sense. Suddenly the melting clocks served their purpose and turned into fascinating objects in my mind.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;However, it is quite recent that I comprehended the real meaning of the persistence of memory...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;The memory truly and honestly persists... It persists to stay alive in all cases... To stay in flesh and blood just like the days when it was “present time”. The ever lingering memory of the good times completes life itself and makes it purposeful. It is agonizing if some memories should no longer exist in the mind, but they are so precious to erase completely. It becomes much more painful when you cannot actually leave the memory behind, and it only hurts to cling to it from then on.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;This is when the real persistence starts. The memory you try to get rid of gets much stronger. It stucks in your head and grasps all veins that are connected to your emotions. As memory tries to stay alive, it corrodes your soul and tortures it with endless greed. The unsteady state between the reminiscence of the memory and the desire of eradication becomes uncontrollable.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;In those times, a mere sigh, a twisted smile or a few shiny tears lead you to a simple state of dullness which turns into your firm mood for the day. Then an old photograph, a poster of an old movie or an empty place nearby on the couch keeps recalling all the memories again and again.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;At the end of the day what is left to do is to learn...&lt;br /&gt;To learn to live with the aging memories...&lt;br /&gt;To learn to smile, even though crestfallen...&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;P.S. Dedicated to the memory of M&amp;amp;S...&lt;br /&gt;For their memory will linger forever somewhere deep and precious...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SHx1tfR-f7I/AAAAAAAAAEk/tfsOqVIF-b0/s1600-h/1931_the_persistence_of_memory_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SHx1tfR-f7I/AAAAAAAAAEk/tfsOqVIF-b0/s400/1931_the_persistence_of_memory_02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223179092194394034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;La Persistencia de la Memoria (1931) - Salvador Dalí&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1827545303937799340?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1827545303937799340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1827545303937799340' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1827545303937799340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1827545303937799340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/07/persistence-of-memory.html' title='The Persistence of Memory'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SHx1tfR-f7I/AAAAAAAAAEk/tfsOqVIF-b0/s72-c/1931_the_persistence_of_memory_02.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1734757732201452344</id><published>2008-07-07T17:54:00.002+03:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T11:34:23.909+03:00</updated><title type='text'>A Moveable Feast</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Life is a moveable feast...&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;All the good times and the bad ones change alternatingly in time. Someday the happiness surrounding you is lost and what takes its place is the sorrow...&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Occasionally life becomes so ordinary, so flatlined and regular that we think that nothing’s ever gonna change. But what is not to be forgotten is that life has a certain course to go through. Sometimes the course it follows may not seem to be apparent. But, the actual case is all change in time... someway or another... Those changes could even become so fundamental that sometimes nothing actually remains the same forever. &lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Although this chaotic structure is quite invisible to the naked eye and a blunt mind, on occasions it shows itself as clearly as daylight. Then comes the time when you suddenly discover the hidden truth of this moveable structure. Afterwards, the never-ending inquisition on the meaning of life begins. In the end, you perceive the vulnerability of the human soul against the drastic changes.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Life is a moveable feast, indeed, just like the feasts moving throughout the year from summer to autumn, from winter to spring...&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Hemingway had the most brilliant characterisation on the subject matter;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;From&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"The People of Seine / A Moveable Feast"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Ernest Hemingway&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1734757732201452344?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1734757732201452344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1734757732201452344' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1734757732201452344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1734757732201452344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/07/moveable-feast.html' title='A Moveable Feast'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1411351634528126190</id><published>2008-05-17T23:21:00.006+03:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T13:11:24.541+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lately...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;Though many people tell that life is very simple; it becomes surprisingly complicated on certain occasions. Recently I recalled how firmly I decided to change my life utterly for about a year ago. But, now I found out that not much has changed even since. I live in the same city, same apartment, have the same job at the same company. Got the same worries and almost the same joys of life. Then I realised how hard it is to really "change" your life completely and start over. Those times, when you realise you have very little to do, the days tend to pass much slower and the nights become even much heavier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In that state of mind, followed up a whole week, feeling depressed, I even haven’t been at the spring festival of the university. Nearly to the end of the festival, a surprise appeared out of nowhere and changed my mood for good even in two short days. At the end of these two days I suddenly found out that the grouchy expression lingered for the whole week on my face turned to a big grin and bright eyes. I admit that I have a strong refreshment in my condition. I also believe to have an unexpected restoration in my hopes for better...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1411351634528126190?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1411351634528126190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1411351634528126190' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1411351634528126190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1411351634528126190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/05/lately.html' title='Lately...'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6559445733548641790</id><published>2008-04-07T01:53:00.005+03:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T02:01:00.835+03:00</updated><title type='text'>An Old Piece of Writing on Life</title><content type='html'>Here's an old piece of writing on life that dates back to March 3th, 2005. As to keep its genuineness and not to change the sensation it creates, I hereby attach it in its original language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="TR"&gt;"Hayat,&lt;br /&gt;Upuzun, engebeli bir toprak yol bana göre...&lt;br /&gt;Üzerinde adım adım ilerlerliyoruz bazen, bazen de parlak ışıkların peşinden koşuyoruz...&lt;br /&gt;Hep yeni kavşaklar ve ayrımlarla karşılaşıyor, faklı hanlarda yeni "yolcu"lar tanıyoruz...&lt;br /&gt;Yalnızlığımızla hüzünlenip gözyaşlarımızla ıslatıyoruz onu...&lt;br /&gt;Ama hep bir şekilde umutlarımızla devam etme gücünü içimizde buluyoruz...&lt;br /&gt;Sonu nereye varır, hangimiz biliyoruz ki?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="TR"&gt;Ramayana'da şu söz geçer:&lt;br /&gt;'The Hidden Truth Supports Everything; Find It and Win!' (İng. çeviri)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="TR"&gt;Kim bilir, belki de gerçekten o gizli gerçeği bulan kazanır..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6559445733548641790?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6559445733548641790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6559445733548641790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6559445733548641790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6559445733548641790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/04/heres-old-piece-of-writing-on-life-that.html' title='An Old Piece of Writing on Life'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7758122466791652979</id><published>2008-03-25T01:18:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T12:06:17.811+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Beautiful</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/R-g5h_1ykiI/AAAAAAAAAD4/ahmCCpBo_WU/s1600-h/9780099759911.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/R-g5h_1ykiI/AAAAAAAAAD4/ahmCCpBo_WU/s320/9780099759911.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181454627525268002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;A short piece of text from the brilliant novel of Toni Morrison called “The Bluest Eye”, which tells fragments of a story mainly from the 40’s of Ohio. The paragraph describes the feelings of three little black girls after their quarrel with a ‘beautiful’ and rich white girl named Maureen Peal ending with her humiliation of the black girls as being ugly.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;...We walked quickly at first, and then slower, pausing every now and then to fasten garters, tie shoelaces, scratch, or examine old scars. We were sinking under the wisdom, accuracy, and relevance of Maureen’s last words. If she was cute – and if anything could be believed, she &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; – then we were not. And what did that mean? We were lesser. Nicer, brighter, but still lesser. Dolls we could destroy, but we could not destroy the honey voices of parents and aunts, the obedience in the eyes of our peers, the slippery light in the eyes of our teachers when they encountered the Maureen Peals of the world. What was the secret? What did we lack? Why was it important? And so what? Guileless without vanity, we were still in love with ourselves then. We felt comfortable in our skins, enjoyed the news that our senses released to us, admired our dirt, cultivated our scars, and could not comprehend this unworthiness. Jealousy we understood and thought natural – a desire to have what somebody else had; but envy was a strange new feeling for us. And all the time we knew that Maureen Peal was not the Enemy and not worthy of such intense hatred. The &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Thing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;to fear was the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Thing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; that made &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-style: italic;"&gt;her&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; beautiful , and not us...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"The Bluest Eye"&lt;/span&gt; by&lt;br /&gt;Toni Morrison (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Nobel Prize for Literature '93&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7758122466791652979?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7758122466791652979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7758122466791652979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7758122466791652979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7758122466791652979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/03/beautiful-from-bluest-eye.html' title='Beautiful'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/R-g5h_1ykiI/AAAAAAAAAD4/ahmCCpBo_WU/s72-c/9780099759911.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1574088790298877407</id><published>2008-03-19T12:14:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T17:54:21.683+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Wish I Was a Bird</title><content type='html'>Blowing through Indian summer night sky&lt;br /&gt;I'd fly straight to nowhere&lt;br /&gt;But I'm grounded down here in the city&lt;br /&gt;With these faces stern and pretty&lt;br /&gt;And in the station where no one says a word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was a bird&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I listen to somebody speaking&lt;br /&gt;I can only hear waves breaking&lt;br /&gt;Out at the ocean&lt;br /&gt;The wind whips every word&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was a bird&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jesse Harris &amp;amp; The Ferdinandos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;from "While The Music Lasts" (2004)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SICukN_LNQI/AAAAAAAAAE0/JxZSjAdQSyo/s1600-h/B00026B1TG.08.LZZZZZZZ.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SICukN_LNQI/AAAAAAAAAE0/JxZSjAdQSyo/s400/B00026B1TG.08.LZZZZZZZ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224367505002935554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1574088790298877407?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1574088790298877407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1574088790298877407' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1574088790298877407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1574088790298877407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/03/wish-i-was-bird.html' title='Wish I Was a Bird'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/SICukN_LNQI/AAAAAAAAAE0/JxZSjAdQSyo/s72-c/B00026B1TG.08.LZZZZZZZ.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6106822357685463169</id><published>2008-03-14T02:49:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T03:03:52.878+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Silencio, Continua Por Favor!</title><content type='html'>Just walked through dimly lit empty streets under post-winter rain. My headphones were on, the music playing was the relaxing sound of Joan Baez... It was silence all around... and peace that was innocent of reason in my soul...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last few weeks I have been in an elusive state of peace. Being a person always in panic in times of disorderliness, I am quite surprised to see myself like that. I believe sometimes - even when things are rather unpredictable - everything becomes astonishingly peaceful. Silence, darkness, even loneliness contribute to this condition of lightness, smoothness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I say, it is amazingly beautiful to be in such a state of peace.&lt;br /&gt;Therefore, I must say:&lt;br /&gt;Silencio, continua por favor!...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6106822357685463169?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6106822357685463169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6106822357685463169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6106822357685463169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6106822357685463169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/03/silencio-continua-por-favor.html' title='Silencio, Continua Por Favor!'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5532414128753877176</id><published>2008-02-22T19:32:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T22:55:02.706+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Farewell to the Greens</title><content type='html'>Life is all about different phases following each other, and the all transitions in between...&lt;br /&gt;A phase begins with an exciting and joyful event sometimes, or with some hesisation, or even with a total disaster on some occasions. It may also end with a dramatic event as well. Sometimes it begins and ends in silence. But, the phases which are recalled even after many years are the ones that commence or end with a significant event or change of condition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is between those phases are the transitions. Some are quite short, even unnoticable, on the other hand some become like whole new "semi-phases", which keeps you waiting, sometimes to allow you to prepare yourself for the next phase ahead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In those semi-phases, you just wait for the next part of life to start. It may become hard to control what is likely to happen or change the course. Those semi-phases are the ones that put a lot of burden onto the shoulders and cause quite a lot of anxiety. Of course, this is all about what is expected to happen on the next phase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This ridiculuosly detailed explanation on my definition of "life phases" is written just for one simple purpose. I'm in one of those transitions (aka semi-phases) at the very moment. I'm not sure what will happen next, and what'll I got to do to make it clear. What I'm aware of is that I am about to leave most of the habits that affect my life style behind. On the next phase there will be whole other things, which I am not capable of foreseeing for the time being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand it all too clear;&lt;br /&gt;It's not just a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Farewell to the 'Greens'&lt;/span&gt; only...&lt;br /&gt;This is a farewell to the most recent phase of my life...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5532414128753877176?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5532414128753877176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5532414128753877176' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5532414128753877176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5532414128753877176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/02/farewell-to-greens.html' title='Farewell to the Greens'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4699079626120579256</id><published>2008-01-28T23:02:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T23:23:34.728+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving Is Easy</title><content type='html'>Leaving is easy...&lt;br /&gt;Leaving the city you live in...&lt;br /&gt;Leaving all the people behind, the troubles and all unsolved problems...&lt;br /&gt;Going your own way without any hesitation on starting out again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ending is easy but weak as well...&lt;br /&gt;Ending a discussion in a vicious circle...&lt;br /&gt;Ending a relationship on quicksand, a dissappointing friendship...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is really hard is to stay...&lt;br /&gt;To stay and fight back...&lt;br /&gt;To fight back against the troubles, to solve the problems...&lt;br /&gt;To worry about what lies ahead...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To stay is the stronger on the other hand...&lt;br /&gt;To make up, to embrace with trust, to forgive and start all over again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leaving is easy; what is hard is to stay...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4699079626120579256?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4699079626120579256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4699079626120579256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4699079626120579256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4699079626120579256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2008/01/leaving-is-easy.html' title='Leaving Is Easy'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5051214642461841508</id><published>2007-12-23T22:58:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T19:08:03.926+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Year and Resolutions</title><content type='html'>I guess I have given up having new year's resolutions long ago... First of all, the new year's day is just an ordinary day, like any other day of the year... Then, why wait for a special day to come to begin changing your life for good? Sounds like very optimistic, I know, but it is true, ain't it? It also sounds quite mature for me to say that. But, I think I, myself, have changed a lot over the last few years. Maybe it's all 'bout getting older. Don't know for sure, but what I really do know is that I do not care for new resolutions of a new year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently recovered from a very intense academic study period and jumped into a bunch of social/cultural acitivities, I now cannot have any special time for myself these days. Italian, Spanish, Salsa Dancing, Primavera, decisions on the approaching future career, blah blah... So many things to conduct, so much to deal with... However, I know I become myself with all those to cope with. I guess I love living a life full of activities or at least with things to worry about...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all those in my life recently, I really do not time to daydream, or hope, or wish for new things to happen or new resolutions to take. Or maybe I am realy tired of doing all those. Who knows... ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A new year to come, a new year to celebrate. Pure like the first cry of a baby, seems innocent as it could be...&lt;br /&gt;But, it is in fact just another simple year... to live through...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5051214642461841508?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5051214642461841508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5051214642461841508' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5051214642461841508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5051214642461841508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/12/new-year-and-resolutions.html' title='The New Year and Resolutions'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7018203527482693890</id><published>2007-11-18T01:11:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T01:32:28.892+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Missing</title><content type='html'>Just passed the thesis defence I'm feeling so relieved... Besides, everything seems to be going quite allright... But, deep down somewhere, something feels like missing...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7018203527482693890?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7018203527482693890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7018203527482693890' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7018203527482693890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7018203527482693890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/11/of-missing.html' title='Missing'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-7182053994846400786</id><published>2007-09-06T20:39:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T20:42:40.797+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness</title><content type='html'>Happiness cannot be reached through success, money, fame or love...&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is just a matter between you and yourself alone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-7182053994846400786?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/7182053994846400786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=7182053994846400786' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7182053994846400786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/7182053994846400786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/09/happiness.html' title='Happiness'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3911605524239521845</id><published>2007-07-18T00:21:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T00:24:42.104+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Life and Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;One of my friends once had a strange but somehow reasonable point of view for hell. She believed that it could be possible that we all are living in hell now... She supposed that living here on earth as a mortal being, and knowing that someday you’re gonna die and lose everything you own forever, is the real hell... That is to say, living a predetermined life that is bound to end in bitterness... Maybe that oughta be the torment for our sins in a past life...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;Just imagine what to lose... Losing your family, friends, the people you love, losing all your memories, losing all the things you own, losing all your pleasures, and even losing your breath, the touch of fresh air forever... Losing all about “life”...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;Maybe that’s the real “hell”... Who knows?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;Just believe...!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3911605524239521845?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3911605524239521845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3911605524239521845' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3911605524239521845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3911605524239521845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/07/of-life-and-hell.html' title='Of Life and Hell'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1808914014820608958</id><published>2007-06-28T01:26:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-07-07T00:56:04.055+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Phocaea</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Ro66GPdp1CI/AAAAAAAAADI/Q-8Jes94F-k/s1600-h/DSC00597.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Ro66GPdp1CI/AAAAAAAAADI/Q-8Jes94F-k/s320/DSC00597.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084205645740758050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Been here in Foça for the last two days...&lt;br /&gt;Foça is surely a splendid place... But it felt empty without you...&lt;br /&gt;It seemed as if you would suddenly appear coming towards me as I wandered in the streets. I wanted to stop by your house and check out the lights. For just a single moment I intended to grab my phone, call you and say "Here I am..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, not surprisingly, what I realized was that Foça meant you to me. And then, I got mad at you once more, for you have left and gone so far away, etc. etc...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Canım benim, I hope we will be together once again in Phocaea...&lt;br /&gt;I missed you so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1808914014820608958?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1808914014820608958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1808914014820608958' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1808914014820608958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1808914014820608958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/06/phocaea.html' title='Phocaea'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Ro66GPdp1CI/AAAAAAAAADI/Q-8Jes94F-k/s72-c/DSC00597.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5576177698246313990</id><published>2007-06-23T11:26:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-29T02:50:06.669+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Caria</title><content type='html'>I have returned from a trip to Muğla yesterday. It was an official military mission for observation and investigation of the region. But somehow, quite surprisingly, it turned to a 'compact' holiday to the Menteşe Region, with the ancient name "Caria".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is hard to imagine but I have been to Muğla, Akyaka/Gökova, Köyceğiz, Göcek, Dalyan, Marmaris, Hisarönü, Bozburun, Bodrum, Yalıkavak, Türkbükü and Milas in two days. The most unbelievable of all is that I did that as I was delivering my 'obligatory' military duty. I even had the chance to swim. If someone had told me before that I would do all these "in the army", I would have laughed at him/her with a response of "Stop kidding me!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Altough it was hotter than hell for the whole trip, and we were travelling with a vehicle without air-conditioning, it was awesome to see all those places in the summer time. I had already seen most of the places before; but, in fact, some of them would be hard for me to go and visit by myself. For example, Bozburun is located in a small cove, surrounded by high mountains and capes. The road to Bozburun is also very winding, so it has a quite unpleasant access. But the nature I have seen there was so amazing that even the worst journey is worth to take to see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRIQPdp1BI/AAAAAAAAADA/kY73VdhgWbU/s1600-h/DSC00572.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRIQPdp1BI/AAAAAAAAADA/kY73VdhgWbU/s400/DSC00572.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081265723446776850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In addition, it was my first time in Göcek. I was fascinated by the beauty of the view. The marina hosts many luxurious boats, yachts which astonishes you from the very first moment you see them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRHWPdp0_I/AAAAAAAAACw/cX7RbXozsV8/s1600-h/DSC00558.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRHWPdp0_I/AAAAAAAAACw/cX7RbXozsV8/s400/DSC00558.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081264727014364146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was, once again, the sweetest thing to see the İztuzu Beach in Dalyan. The wonderful view of the combination of the lagoon, the river and the green-blue waters of the Mediterannean always charms me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRHyPdp1AI/AAAAAAAAAC4/-ccTBnhJfcs/s1600-h/DSC00562.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRHyPdp1AI/AAAAAAAAAC4/-ccTBnhJfcs/s400/DSC00562.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081265208050701314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One other thing is that I had to chance to swim. Sweating from the extreme heat and the intense road trip, whole day I dreamt of swimming at the end of the day. When we were having dinner by the bright sea under the moon, I was determined enough to get up earliest in the morning and swim. In the early hours of the next morning, quite eagerly I got up, put on my swimming suit and rushed to the sea. It was not the best sea I swum in, but the feeling of the cool water flowing was so marvellous that it meant the world to me at that moment. Later that day, I learnt that the region, Hisarönü, is the location where the waters of the Mediterrannean meet the Aegen Sea; and that made it more special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last stop of the trip was Bodrum. Being there by itself was enough for me to be happy for the whole trip. The place I stayed the night was on one of the highest hills of the city. So, it had the amazing view of the whole city with the neighbouring suburbs. The Bodrum Castle, all the coves, the nearby islands (even the Kos), the white-house-covered hills were all in my sight from my balcony. Even wandering in the streets of the city in the night could not satisfy me as that view did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRGfvdp08I/AAAAAAAAACY/uczORcw0fm4/s1600-h/DSC00584.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRGfvdp08I/AAAAAAAAACY/uczORcw0fm4/s400/DSC00584.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081263790711493570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Considering all the places I been to, all the beauty I witnessed; I believe, we live in&lt;br /&gt;the most beautiful country of all. We'd better be in the know of it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5576177698246313990?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5576177698246313990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5576177698246313990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5576177698246313990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5576177698246313990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/06/caria.html' title='Caria'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RoRIQPdp1BI/AAAAAAAAADA/kY73VdhgWbU/s72-c/DSC00572.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-4671986183221136946</id><published>2007-06-09T22:20:00.001+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T23:49:21.760+03:00</updated><title type='text'>At The Funeral</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;I was at one of the&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; martyr funerals we watched in today's evening news. I was a 'green one' in Kocatepe, among all the 'greens', 'whites' and 'indigos' with shiny stars and wreaths on shoulders. There, waiting under the bright sun, I was just a man who is standing still and the other was another man but lying in a wooden casket and will never be standing under the sun again...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Whether you support the ideas or not, in a martyr funeral, every single word cried out loud by the people around penetrates deep into your soul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;When I salute the coffin passing by me, although I try to keep my facial expression straight, my inner sorrow tells me to shout out loud: "Why do all these happen'"... Then a heavy funeral march starts. I look at the eyes of the people around, some beginned to grow tears... As I walk along with the crowd, I try to put some meaning... To my life, to his life, to his death...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-4671986183221136946?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/4671986183221136946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=4671986183221136946' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4671986183221136946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/4671986183221136946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-funeral_09.html' title='At The Funeral'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-3984350449968908444</id><published>2007-06-03T17:53:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-03T18:19:38.024+03:00</updated><title type='text'>What You're Really Worth To Me</title><content type='html'>"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No matter how strong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm gonna take you down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;With one little stone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm gonna break you down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And see what you're worth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What you're really worth to me&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do we all have the courage to really&lt;br /&gt;see what our beloved ones worth to&lt;br /&gt;us?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(lyrics from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dinner At Eight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;by Rufus Wainwright&lt;br /&gt;on the Album&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Want One&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RmLbjDIZlgI/AAAAAAAAAAY/8XlhFbH_-Xo/s1600-h/Want_One_Cover.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RmLbjDIZlgI/AAAAAAAAAAY/8XlhFbH_-Xo/s320/Want_One_Cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071857525555041794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-3984350449968908444?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/3984350449968908444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=3984350449968908444' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3984350449968908444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/3984350449968908444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/06/no-matter-how-strong-im-gonna-take-you.html' title='What You&apos;re Really Worth To Me'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RmLbjDIZlgI/AAAAAAAAAAY/8XlhFbH_-Xo/s72-c/Want_One_Cover.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8764412397151624537</id><published>2007-05-30T00:08:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T15:59:07.052+03:00</updated><title type='text'>One Minute Silence For All The Lost Times*</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;Let’s just keep it quite for one single minute;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For paying a tribute to all the times we missed in our lifetimes...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all the times we regretted to spend in the blink of an eye, so carelessly...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all the times we ever wished to come back and live once again...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let’s just keep our mouths shut, lips sealed for a minute;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all lost times of our beloved little lives...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="TR"&gt;&lt;o:p style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;*Inspired by the words on “Gocce the Intellectual”s personal OM page.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8764412397151624537?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8764412397151624537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8764412397151624537' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8764412397151624537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8764412397151624537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/05/one-minute-silence-for-all-lost-times.html' title='One Minute Silence For All The Lost Times*'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-6638668889632394574</id><published>2007-05-29T22:54:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T23:02:18.991+03:00</updated><title type='text'>New</title><content type='html'>There's no such thing as "beginning a new life". Certainly we all have one life to live, and it goes a long way, somehow straight or winding. But, it is also quite certain that life changes its course and structure in time. This, most of us regard as a "new life". Maybe it gives you peace to begin a new one when the 'ex' one had recently made you feel awful enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No new life exists; however life do refreshes itself... Recovers from severe situations, regenerates its path, and builds out a new direction, even destination. thus, the things around you, the conditions, the impressions on your mind, your vision of living change in accordance with this renewal process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you perceive this refreshment at the moment you are living within. But, there are also times when not even a single detail changed is noticed. It is what makes the difference when you understand the twist in your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I mention all these? Because in the last few months I have experienced this kind of a change in my own life. I just started a "refreshed" life... This time I do know what really 'change of life' means...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-6638668889632394574?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/6638668889632394574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=6638668889632394574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6638668889632394574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/6638668889632394574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2007/05/new.html' title='New'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5175728955292137467</id><published>2006-12-26T13:52:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T23:54:16.768+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The First Exhibition</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;My graphical works in ink are being displayed for five days during this week in an exhibition. Yesterday I was at the coctail lounge. I cannot describe how special it felt inside, to complete one piece of work and introduce it to people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;            &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;I &lt;/o:p&gt;vividly remember when I got the first large piece of "schoeller" and started from the first stracth. Then the figures appeared one by one: the faces, the bodies; the small leaves on the branches, all boundaries in black bright ink...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Rmvyq1u2BTI/AAAAAAAAABg/I4OsJcGKkoU/s1600-h/Centre_JPEG.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Rmvyq1u2BTI/AAAAAAAAABg/I4OsJcGKkoU/s200/Centre_JPEG.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074416222954980658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;One other thing I recall is that, I was quite doubtful on the successful completion of the work. Ink was some material which I was not familiar with; besides it required delicate and careful work and much effort than any other drawing styles. But, in the end, when the three graphical drawings were complete, I was flattered upon seeing the beauty in the work and hearing all the good words from the people around.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Rmvy8Vu2BUI/AAAAAAAAABo/QUBgeNr1p0E/s1600-h/Left_JPEG.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Rmvy8Vu2BUI/AAAAAAAAABo/QUBgeNr1p0E/s200/Left_JPEG.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074416523602691394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RmvyVVu2BSI/AAAAAAAAABY/AkBO4meLDA0/s1600-h/Right_JPEG.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/RmvyVVu2BSI/AAAAAAAAABY/AkBO4meLDA0/s200/Right_JPEG.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074415853587793186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;     &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;Yesterday at the exhibition, I was so proud of myself. I guess only the people that produce, create, design or compose artistically can really&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt; understand what I felt deep inside. It is much more than to explain in words of pride, joy or pleasure.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;I will not be modest and disdain my work; I regard myself as born gifted. It is so special to be able to create and produce; I am now dying to create more stuff to work on. I hope all my future work will be displayed in many other galleries... Years would pass, and, with a smile on my face, I would then had a vision of  that very first date my work was on display...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5175728955292137467?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5175728955292137467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5175728955292137467' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5175728955292137467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5175728955292137467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/12/first-exhibiton.html' title='The First Exhibition'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/Rmvyq1u2BTI/AAAAAAAAABg/I4OsJcGKkoU/s72-c/Centre_JPEG.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1908384139803710072</id><published>2006-12-12T16:10:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T23:23:23.305+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Impressions of a New World</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;I am in Doha/Qatar for a couple of days this week. This will be a short writing on observations in a  new environment. There is so much to talk about when you've been in a different country with a different culture. But I won't comment on anything about the buildings or the city etc. What I found striking here is that the social status of people. The city is full of people from different cultures. You can see all the colours of the world. The local Qatari people: the Arabs, the expatriates from the different countries: European, American and Turkish etc; and the worker class, Indians, Philippine, Pakistani, Nepali and the Africans. As I have observed and utterly decided, here there exists an unofficial caste system, just like in &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;India&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;. The people here all know what they are and are quite aware of what has given them their social status in this small society. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;The Qatari are wearing those long white loose robes, with the untied turban-like fabrics on their heads; rarely seen on the street walking, with their heads up, even when crossing the street, never looking right or left, passing by with an arrogant posture. The Indians, Pakistani and the Philippine are working in the city or at the construction sites at low-class jobs, with salaries even the less-paid person in Turkiye would never be willing to work for. For most of them, their only chance to survival is right here, doing what is said to be done, and not caring about the clothes they wear, the style of their hair, the colour of the new shoes or even life itself. However, most of them seem quite happy with what they have, especially the Philippine. I sensed and observed that as I had a little chit chat with the Philippine maid cleaning my guestroom. She had the silent and timid moves, even lead me to think that she is afraid of me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;I must admit, I do pity for those people here. And it made me see how lucky I am and how much I bother for the little things in my life. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Those people do not even have anything to complain about. They live only with their basic physical needs satisfied. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" dir="rtl"&gt;&lt;span dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;Feeling what racism is really about is easy here, finding out all the unbearable attitudes and differences of people. But I believe that those people were not given any chance to choose where to begin their lives and where to end. Their only gratitude is to keep on living, to survive whatever the circumstances may be…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1908384139803710072?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1908384139803710072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1908384139803710072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1908384139803710072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1908384139803710072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/12/impressions-of-new-world.html' title='Impressions of a New World'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-5469448420460860573</id><published>2006-11-24T14:07:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2006-11-24T14:24:20.278+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Birthday Spirit</title><content type='html'>This week is the "Traditional Birthday Week of Özgün". Tonight I'll be celebrating it with a gathering with all my close friends in Ankara. I feel a bit excited of course, but I do think that the spirit in me that adored birthdays and celebrations has faded out a little bit. Maybe that must be the "spell of aging". To lose your excitement and enthusiasm on the things you have kept precious in the past. I won't go into the same "the times are changing, we all grow old, blah blah..." cliché, but I have to admit that I am losing some of my belief in special occasions. Perhaps I won't be feeling eager to celebrate the New Year's Day. Let's just wait and see...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-5469448420460860573?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/5469448420460860573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=5469448420460860573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5469448420460860573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/5469448420460860573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/11/birthday-spirit.html' title='The Birthday Spirit'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-775948513579390386</id><published>2006-10-14T22:54:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-10-14T23:21:12.758+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Pure Melancholia</title><content type='html'>I am lost in an intense pure melancholy these days. The sorrow that had been long delayed has just knocked on my door. I did not persist not to open the door and let her in. From the very beginning I knew what would happen, like I had in the past. But, some things are irresistable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I feel all will be over upon a lonesome cry. A cry from the past to the future. A cry that would wipe away all the gloom and refresh the hope inside...&lt;br /&gt;How ironic it is to realize that a single tear shed is what you need when your eyes are bone dry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been listening to "Jane Birkin - Comment Te Dire Adieu" these few weeks. I guess it takes a little share from my inner sorrow and fills that space with a little peace. The arabesque rythym and melody covers my whole body and lifts it off the ground. She wants to learn how to say goodbye in that song... So do I... However, it is not possible to say goodbye to everything...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One last thing is about the "Life is full of surprises" saying. Yes, life does keep bringing out new surprises for me. Some I even never thought about. And like most of'em, the last one will hurt a little in the end. So, I am all prepared for it... For not to lose my fortitude against new ones on the way...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-775948513579390386?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/775948513579390386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=775948513579390386' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/775948513579390386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/775948513579390386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/10/pure-melancholia.html' title='Pure Melancholia'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-1340857686486516892</id><published>2006-09-29T15:01:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-29T15:20:09.104+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Change</title><content type='html'>Last night I was told that my cousin had a baby. I reached out to the phone and called her immediately. As I congratulate her and say how happy I was, I just felt an infinite moment of joy and excitement. That was my one year old younger cousin I was congratulating on a new born baby. Then I remembered last month when my other cousin (one month old elder than me) getting married. Then I realized how my life is on a whirling wind of change. I was just stepping on to the beginning of it. Sometime later I would be to congratulate more people at my age on weddings, births, anniversaries... And someday it would be me to be congratulated... Life is changing continuously and it is impossible to cast yourself aside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-1340857686486516892?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/1340857686486516892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=1340857686486516892' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1340857686486516892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/1340857686486516892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/09/last-night-i-was-told-that-my-cousin.html' title='Change'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-8294020478385086312</id><published>2006-09-19T14:05:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-19T14:10:27.608+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Grow Up</title><content type='html'>Below is a "in-five-minutes" kinda writing. I just want it to be in Turkish, so, I did not  translate it. It would not mean that much (at least to me) if I had written in English anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Bir gün 'çok' büyüyeceğim ben. Kocaman olacağım... Tamam boyum posum değişmeyecek biliyorum; ama, yüreğim büyüyecek daha fazla... Daha fazla hüznü, daha fazla acıyı, daha fazla mutluluğu kaldırabilecek... Pes etmemeyi, şikayetlenmemeyi, kararların arkasında çekinmeden durabilmeyi zorlanmadan başaracağım. O "artık büyüdüğüm" gün olacak bunların hepsi... İşte o zaman hayatı sorgulamayı bırakacağım, yanımda olacak birini aramayacağım... İşte o zaman büyümüş olduğumu anlayacağım. Ama daha küçüğüm, bir gün büyüyeceğim, kocaman olacağım,... Az kaldı..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-8294020478385086312?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/8294020478385086312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=8294020478385086312' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8294020478385086312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/8294020478385086312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/09/grow-up.html' title='Grow Up'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-115763478832130059</id><published>2006-09-07T16:12:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T16:19:58.136+03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost</title><content type='html'>Last night I lost my silver dragon necklace. As I found out the loss I felt incomplete. Eventually, it was just a smal silver ornament, not much of physical value... But it was of great value to me. It was the symbol of the happier times and relief after long lasted sorrow and worries. Worst of all, this was the second silver dragon necklace I had (I'd lost the first one too).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I lost it, I realized that it is impossible to cling to something forever. You cannot possess anything for eternity. The things you've got leave you when the time comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it is the saddest rule of life, knowing that you will lose everything you possess someday. Yes, we all know it, but it is hard to accept at certain times. So, we all play the little game of “Possessing/Belonging” within ourselves. However, certain events in life, even very trivial ones, keep reminding us that nothing belongs to anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All will be gone forever someday. The brand new clothes, the old-torn books, the precious ornaments, the cars, the houses... Not only the material things, but the feelings, the visions, the memories will also be lost too. The people you love, the people you hate, all the characters in your “story of life” will disappear into darkness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it was just a necklace, but it was enough to remind me the bitter truth on losses.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-115763478832130059?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/115763478832130059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=115763478832130059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/115763478832130059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/115763478832130059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/09/lost.html' title='Lost'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-115639928686249645</id><published>2006-08-24T08:55:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-08-24T09:20:46.616+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Decision</title><content type='html'>Oh I can’t believe how much there was to write about, and how less I cared about writing here. Maybe this is the exact situation for all my feelings inside and not telling people anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you feel you have enough stress and tension to cope with. But, as if was planned by a sinister enemy, all bad things happen to you just in a second, additional to your stress-at-hand. For a few weeks I feel so much ‘loaded’. These days what concerns me the most is my future career and my “most important – not to be given up” decision on it. I should have seen that coming. My forever longing holdover on career decisions would somehow follow and haunt me. A decision should have been made long ago, for not to be changed at a later time. Now, I am facing with the gloom of making up my mind concentrating on a definite idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is a quite thrilling fact that certain decisions in your life are “never-to-turn-back”. The worst of all, this kinda decisions are the ones that control and change your future and way of living forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You sometimes turn back to past and have a closer look at what you’ve been through for all the years. And, this look is often a very detailed one, bringing out a detailed analysis of your past events, decisions and your state of mind. It is surprising (and tragic) when you realize that you never had such a detailed analysis in the past when you were experiencing those events. Then you find out that you never examined your life with an objective perspective. My favourite writer, Amin Maalouf, in one of his books says: “You never have a chance to stare at your life up from the top of a hill.” That briefly explains what I mean. You live and you learn, only long after will you be able to criticize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must admit, decisions (sometimes even the trivial ones) have never been easy for me to deal with. For the last several years, I cannot remember myself setting my mind on a specific idea, and sticking firmly to it. So, now I am feeling trapped because of a critical decision, and that is no surprise to me. I must get out of it without much damage. And, I hope not to have much regret upon my final decision.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-115639928686249645?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/115639928686249645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=115639928686249645' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/115639928686249645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/115639928686249645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/08/decision.html' title='The Decision'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328215.post-115495625539545627</id><published>2006-08-07T16:02:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T23:57:40.992+03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Very First Piece of Writing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div  style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Most of the time I considered keeping a regular blog spot inessential. 'Cause if you are a "secret-diary-keeper", you already had a place to reflect all your ideas and the events. And that also means you have a tendency to keep those thoughts to yourself. All your uneasiness, your otherwise-seriously-disturbing mental condition, your somehow pathetic ideas are all added to the pages of your diary. This way nobody sees what you have inside, and you satisfy yourself by taking those uncomfortable stuff out of your system. "Writing to remember" is only a "distorted story" to deceive yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And after all those, now I am trying to find what has made me change my mind for keeping a blog. Maybe my close friends having pages of blog filled with amateur-to-pro written articles on life has lead me to keep one. I haven't been keeping my diary up-to-date since I have been busy with work and academic stuff. Besides, I guess, writing stories quenched my inner thirst of expressing myself. I felt that I have to write down what I feel about the things around me more often, and that could be more open-to-public somehow. Thus, I got the idea of publishing my expressions here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Starting the first line, I thought : "Why not in another language?"... I already am writing in my mother tongue. Here I could write in English, at least give it a modest try, without much arrogance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I decided to update this blog now I started.&lt;br /&gt;The very first page of my blog-book is here, hope I could succeed in keeping it for a long time by adding new pages on and on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Perhaps, I should have started with a "Dear Blog" statement at the beginning... That would be much more convenient for this kinda writing. :P )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32328215-115495625539545627?l=ozgun99.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/feeds/115495625539545627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32328215&amp;postID=115495625539545627' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/115495625539545627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32328215/posts/default/115495625539545627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ozgun99.blogspot.com/2006/08/very-first-piece-of-writing.html' title='The Very First Piece of Writing'/><author><name>Özgün Y.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16979723354110582501</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AD33ONiXIcM/ScWDtENp65I/AAAAAAAAAI0/EJ5XdPYFLLs/S220/DSC01127.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
