A pat on the shoulder

A garden in Rome, October 2024

Flowers talk to me. They celebrate my senses.

Smiling at their beauty, a new space exists. What might sound very relatable and palpable becomes impossible to translate in words belonging any language.

Flowers are celebrated by all forms of art. And yet I find that I can celebrate myself through them.

The emotions I would like to convey today might be raw and hence I find so much grounding just remembering the moment I took that photo last year. I can remember walking into the garden, celebrating our friends and hence celebrating their journey.

The simple act of remembering that day, make me want to celebrate life even more so, in its smallest of details.

The next in line act of grounding this morning was listening to a steady snoring act from the next door bedroom. My mum’s steady and rhythmic purr filling in the early hours of this Sunday. This might sound like a funny detail and perhaps not what you have expected at all. That might be a detail that was not even funny at all many years ago when ever small sound would wake me up. There is a change in the air that I witness as I write and this is real. Palpable as well. This background rhythm convinces me that I am not dreaming at all, that I am in fact back home.

This trip brought up one of these moments with too many questions to handle” Am I really flying?” Is the flight today or tomorrow?” “Was it a good decision? “ Was it a good timing?”. “Is this the gate?” .

There on the plane after passing all the gateways in good order ( at the right gate, at the right time, flying with the right airlines) I have given in to pure overwhelm, hard to understand or accept somehow. A sleepless little kid was inventing his own story, making funny noises at times one louder than the other. I have found even this grounding as perhaps connected through a little anxiety, this kid and myself were the same in that very moment.

Harshly enough, during the take-off,I was awaken by another anxious less-gentle- man shouting to the kid “Shut the xxx off!”. The cabin became colder than Antartica for me. The bewilderment was at the peak. Luckily and lovely enough, after a moment of silence,the little kid has restarted his story telling. I took a deep breath and thought that he deserved such a pat on his innocent shoulder. He has made no-sense of the louder voice before hand. I am sure he did not even thought it was related to his singing. He kept at it.

His innocence reassured me all is ok. We are on the right plane.We are taking the trip at the right time. We are going home in good order. All is just as it should be. A pat on my shoulder too.

This illustration by Gurbuz Dogan Eksioglu,a beloved artist and friend from Istanbul watches over me as I type these words.

Gurbuz Dogan Eksioglu

As it happens, one of my go to rituals before I fly back to the place I grew up, is to remember snippets of the room, of the house. I teleport multiple times and infuse myself with memories. The memories of assembling the bookshelves. The memory of receiving this beautiful illustration. The memory of changing the location of my writing desk few times over and over. The memory of mum entering the room multiple times during my virtual calls asking as innocent as it can be” just one question, can I have two seconds of your time?” The questions of course being related to food most of the times …. A deep expression of her love with the least amount of words. Pure action and dedication in her “laboratory of creations” ….

As it happens I was right on point. I did find myself moving the desk again! And yet ,the most important of all the no-so-simple act of choosing myself and coming home to enjoy a delicious lunch with my family in no time. Mum patted herself too on her shoulder and felt so accomplished “I listened to Games of Chefs (“Sefi la cutite”) - they gave me couple of good ideas”. Big big smiles. For all of us.

Why do I chose this ritual of patting on my shoulder these weeks or maybe even a theme for the new lunar year to come? Because it is often not even a thing. Never mentioning a celebration.

The name of the book my little niece was “perusing” came to mind. “The little tiger asks why? “ “Just because” .

“Just because” was upped to a vital service we owe ourselves to celebrate every step that brings us closer home, either physically home or wherever home might be. In a moment of grounding, in a moment of beauty, in a moment of resting, in a moment we dedicate ourselves, on a plane to somewhere worthwhile. “Just because” it could be this moment of victory over all anxiety, question marks, fears, and some unwanted thoughts.

As I sat this early morning, lit by the streets lights, I was noticing gently how my body adjusts or refuses perhaps to adjust to the new environment. Tears came up quickly to my throat and effortlessly running down my cheeks. The purr of the tiger-mum from next room was as grounding as it could be.Safe and reassuring.

All I could whisper then to myself as a pat on my shoulder ”This is exactly like it should be.No more, no less. Thank you! “