Anywho, last summer I spent a bit of time in Turkey, visiting my motherland! I'd never been and it was an awesome experience. It was particularly cool to see everyone default to speaking Turkish to me, it gave me a sense of identity that to be honest I've never felt before. Being half Iranian and half Turkish, I' never really connected with my family, who are almost all full Iranian. Other friends of mine and people I met don't really know what I am, I always get sort of 'look vaguely white/possibly European/maybe middle eastern.'
When I went to Turkey though I was Turkish. It was a nice feeling. I wrote while I was there and when I got home I once again sent some stuff out to journals.
After a few months I got a response from one saying they wanted to publish a poem of mine. This is kinda like a dream come true.
I used to hang out with a crew of writers/poetry junkies in college and a few of them had books published, and even throughout my time in college I always felt that they were better than me, more polished, and more studied. Now I can say that I've been published too, not that I'm trying to compete or compare myself, but it's just a really nice feeling to have been working on my writing for so many years to have it finally pay off!
The magazine that I'm published in just came out today: http://www.gatehousepress.com/lighthouse/how-to-buy/ (it's like $5-10 if anyone wants it).
I'm not sure what the rules are but I'll just reproduce it here.
+ Show Spoiler +
when even the sky feels different meaning the clouds here are from a different
or rather the difference in everything is told by looking up
white barges move leisurely as they’ve done a thousand times with red-topped
houses mish-mashed on a once grassy hill resembling legos
the city wakes up to a crescent moon still visible against the dawn
and you wonder about things like how people drive here or whether the men
selling simit on street corners have the same supplier
and strangely everyone speaks english except the old cab drivers who
complain about tourists and arabs
and I think to myself that I’m lucky I blend in
everyone here knows their history and where the monuments are and where I
live there are no monuments
and young kids here have Ataturk’s signature tattooed on their arms and
chests and speak passionately because they understand the situation
not like here
I remember the trip from the airport passing through a barren hillside that
somehow carried itself proudly
and seeing a flag in the distance and nothing else but a hill and flag and
thinking it defined this place perfectly
“I guess you can just take me home now”
I’ll go back to the traffic and ignorance and bad food and know that despite all
that my life is good
and I’ll sometimes hear the morning prayer in my head and think about the
it looks a bit weird when reposted to TL, but that's the gist.
Anyway, felt like sharing, so there we go!