Nuri: Power Of Quiet

  As a child, Nuri always preferred to sit on the head of her home's six chair kitchen table made of cedar wood, in a kitchen that is separated by a cabinet from the living room where her grandfather used to sit down on his rocking chair beside the warmth of the fire dancing in the hearth, dressed in his comfy housecoat, indulged in his history books. Nuri liked to sit on the head of the kitchen table because from there, she could see her grandfather through the hollow in the middle of the cabinet. She used to love taking a small break from her homework and start discussing history with him. Their topic would change almost every month, from Hitler to M.Luther King, from Al-Khawarizmi to Abraham Lincoln.

 What sparked Nuri's passion for history was an innocent question she had in her head throughout her childhood; how can humanity have the great and honourable, savage and horrible all at once? She usually asked her grandfather such deep and introspective questions like the one she once asked him, after which they stayed up all night till the warm winter sun rays cracked through the three inches of the window left open onto their feet as they sat on the ground; is the world such an ugly place to be for good people?

 Nuri's parents were aspiring scientists, working on their desktops for hours trying to figure out the algorithms and design requirements for an idea of a renovated artificial limb that they have built in their heads during the tens of hours of discussions they loved to have after their nights of love and closeness. Nuri loved to follow her parents to the university campus where she used to get treated like a princess by all the staff working there. She loved quietly watching everyone collaborated for a great purpose, she always made sure to join in by giving some advise or bringing everyone food for lunch break.

 On Sundays, the whole family used to enjoy quiet nights where everyone was curled on his own book or movie waiting impatiently for the savoury-smelling dinner getting ready in the oven. Such nights were Nuri's favourite, because she could enjoy the warmth and intimacy of having her beloved ones beside her while being able to wander in the adventure-land in her book at the same time. When dinner got ready, everyone left their books and laptops where they were and gathered around the table. Dinner time was the time when everyone got to share a part of the book they were reading, or the movie they were watching and soon into the night, everyone has become a part of a mind-stimulating discussion.

 Nuri's home was far from perfect, however. There were conflicts as in every home, but the only difference is that everyone knew what do in the time of conflict. The two in conflict would lock themselves in a room, and try to discuss their matters in the most gentle way they can. No shouting, cursing or throwing accusations was allowed in the house. Everyone made sure they learnt the art of clean and effective communication, so that harmony is achieved amongst all. The basis this house was built on were intimacy and harmony, honesty and strong consciousness, gentleness and putting the needs of everyone before one's own needs. It was her heaven, her escape from the cruelty and lack of logic in the world outside the window of her room. Nuri's home was an overwhelming feeling of warmth she would never forget, it is the place were she grew up to become the successful, modest and reflective young woman she is now. It was where she learnt to embrace the power of quiet.

Nuri: a Hymn To The Sensitive.

 Nuri is a girl who is known to feel so strongly, to an extent that she can be described as a human with her heart in her hands. Nothing covers this heart of hers from her external world, she feels every single thing as it is, sometimes amplified to hightened levels no one can imagine but another human of her equivalent. Every word, every action, every energy or even the slightest change of behaviour of another person penetrates straight into her heart. Nuri is the kind of girl who walks shyly with her shopping cart on the right side of a hall in her local supermarket, so that no one will feel discomfort because of her and who pauses her whole life for a stray cat crying for help. Nuri prays for days on end for a person that was involved in an accident she saw from far away three weeks ago. She feels the sun rays breaking its way through the branches, before they encounter her face with the warmth of the spring day and stands on a rock by the shore as a storm breaks through the sea and the waves start shaking her on the rock she's standing on. Nuri feels as free as the leaf that falls down in autumn, as happy as the rose that opens up in the spring and as outrageous as the waves splattering chaotically in every direction in the midst of the winter. Nuri is driven with passion, and meaning to her life is like the air she breathes. Most probably sixty five percent of her time is spent pondering on the meaning of her life. She enjoys every moment of pride like a king standing on the ruins of a city he conquered, and tortures herself for every moment of shame like the whole world was standing before her as she got embarrassed. She's the same person who may not sleep at night thinking about an awkward moment she had with a stranger, or a failed encounter with a person she likes. She might also feel superbly annoyed when she chooses the wrong flavour of ice cream, it might not leave her mind for an hour or so. Nuri, is a highly compassionate and misunderstood person, an activist for the heart-broken and the forgotten, a flame of passion that lights the lives of those she knows with inspiration.

Nomadic things.

 We've all heard since we were young about the feeling of belonging to a place, to the extent of not being able to survive anywhere else for long. People who feel this are very lucky indeed, however, the more I get to know myself the more I realise that I was born with the antithesis of this feeling, a passionate flame and yearning for wandering this earth like a stranger in a strange land. I find myself when I'm lost in the midst of places
and faces I've never known of, in train stations and airplanes. With every new culture I unravel, a magical aura of maturity, experience and understanding of this world is added to who I am. And as I get to realise that this world is not as scary as we think it is, I feel like I belong to the whole of it.

Lullaby.

 What is human but a miscellany of emotions, with all its ecstatic highs and miserable lows? But a ball of fire captured in chains of steel warning to burn all what's around it, eating it up all no matter a paper or a vast forest. In this article I want to speak about the most elegant form of human existence, the beautiful soul that is capable of molding these emotions into a beautiful work of art like clay, a work of art called a human. Such a soul does not fear facing the animal-like savage of its own emotions, such soul has the ability to tame the wild like the lullaby of the most heavenly voice tames a lion.  This very soul does not ignore or leave untamed that lion, but charms it to be a friend of loyality. It is like candle light that reaches the ends of a darkened path guiding whoever is passing by to its warmth and humble shine, and I have seen it translate into humanly expressions like a maternal smile brimming with care or a shy glance of pure child-like love, that shines your way till you die.

The Innocence Of Living.

The sun is perfectly warm, and I sit behind a tree to filter those surplus rays blinding my eyes. It's one of those days in which I leave everything behind me and decide to enjoy this random European city with its splendid calm and elegant simplicity. I realised today that no matter what a person has, it is only one blessing that matters most; the blessing of knowing your blessings, of enjoying every one of them like you are having it for the first time. It is the pure enjoyment of sipping some coffee at a local coffeeshop, of walking through your neighbourhood, of meeting a beautiful person, of feeling the orange-coloured warmth on your eyelids as you close them under the sun as if you are doing them for the first time, every time. It is teaching your self the innocence of living, like a child with amusement on his face as he walks his first steps. And the best thing of this all is that we still own the choice to live life this way, this is when routine dissapears and we become the beholders with beauty in their eyes.

Spirituality.

In my new room, a rectangular fairly spaced room with a wooden roof on top of my head and a bedlight on my side I lie, in a new trial of describing those beloved moments of spirituality in which I, with all naïveness of the romantic person I am, feel like having enough serenity and confidence to rule this world. I feel like the center of my universe is at my bed, that the universe is one, and one with all inside it. I feel like a man looking out of the window at a serene, calm and beautiful landscape of green mountains and a lake which reflects what he feels inside. He can also see all the other spiritual moments of love, happiness, sadness and longing which were provoked by a certain event, a prayer, reflection on life, a piece of music, reading a novel and imagining the landscape which the novelist sees infront of him while writing, being in the disarming presence of a beloved person or longing for him scattered before his eyes like tree leaves on a windy September morning. In these moments, I feel like I can sacrifice my very life for the beauty of this brief interlude.

Euphoria.

I recommend listening to Hammock's "East" while reading this for maximum enjoyment.

Inspired by: Paulo Coelho's "Aleph"

The idea of this piece was born in a small compartment in a train somewhere in the countrysides of Hungary.

Sunrise, wheatfields, towns, forests, towns, forests, beds of roses. I look outside the window like a little child with innocent amusement, like a 4-year old entering a cotton candy factory. In this feeling of euphoria that I can't describe or tell to anyone, that would stay locked in my soul with absolutely no need for any kind of documentation except maybe those simple little words I am writing now. On a train heading back home.. leaving behind people who taught me the real meaning of friendship and unconditional love, some of whom I have said my last goodbye to. On a train, sitting alone in a closed compartment remembering the things I have been through this year in a moment in which I feel that my world is fitting back together like a puzzle whose pieces were all out of place, subtly reminding me that it sometimes could be a beautiful, meaningful whole where I could relax.

Lying back in my chair, listening to the music I love and that accompanies me in every journey at times, dancing around and touching the sun rays that are barely cracking their way through the tree branches with my hands at others. I can see myself in the window but I can also see my lovely place back in the city lighted all along as it always was but nobody is there to indulge in the beauty of it like I used to do. I can see my friends all wasted, laughing heartedly over something irrelevant as I smile and continue leading them home, I can see my cigarette smoke departing my lungs and flying into nothingness. I can see my laughs and my tears and my consistent perseverence to do my best for the family that never leaves my mind. Everything in my world -for a moment that I knew for sure it would pass- was simultaneously very clear and very large, very small and very quiet.. very peaceful.

Soon I will return to my respective home as I show off the pictures I took trying to convince myself that a journey did exist. All my photos and souvenirs will be there but time, will tell me that I never left this home, this room, this chair. I will try to tell my stories about the cities I have been to and the people I met on my way but the more I will try, the more I will become convinced that I won't be able to describe except what has changed from the outside, not what changed inside me. Otherwise I'll be crazy.