Turkey, Istanbul. Create, never doubt the meaning

Turkey, Istanbul. Create, never doubt the meaning.

It was to be a layover, we take a bus over from Georgia, to Turkey, it was cheaper, the drive went by the black sea, I google mapped, Syria, I thought what if I left my wife right now, and went to document, the war going on right now there? I asked a local about it, he said, as soon as they found out, I was American, they shoot me right in my head. He pointed to a corner in my medulla, to specify, where exactly they would shoot me. To me, it felt like something, someone would say to scare me, someone who hasn’t left their environment for too long, and is dreaded by the loop. Though, I couldn’t test the theory of knowing for sure, an abundant of Syrians, were evacuating. Some on the bus with us. The sheer pain in agony being seen through the eyes of woman, in black veils, I stare a little too long, it was like they wanted to say something but couldn’t. That pain, that annoyance, of having to leave your home, she didn’t have to say nothing, I felt it. It was an expression, of glances, a “I wish I was you, and you fucking, westerner, you have no clue.” And I glance back with my eyes saying, “Maybe, I do.” But still there was silence. In Istanbul there were, calls for prayers, me almost getting hit by a railroad train with no warning, as I shopped around a market, with no gap, or border, to tracks on the floor, I thought was “Non-operational.” A student, interviewed me on camera, asking me what I think of Turkey, “It’s beautiful.” I said, exaggerating, that I am an “Artist.” Though, I was barely even a student then My wife’s mom would blurt something out loud, that I couldn’t repeat. But for the sake of story, I will, however I must warn you, it is rudely offensive.

“They are all Osama Bin Laden’s, don’t give them nothing, no change when they ask or beg.”

My immediate reaction was too laugh, to ease the tension.

“Don’t say that out loud.” I blurted back.

Of course, I did not believe that. I don’t think she did either. No, I saw beautiful people, in a land shaped like something out of a Wes Anderson, movie set. I saw Art and culture, a man performing a two person, show with one body, half his body, a woman with a wig, and the other half, a man in full dialogue, perhaps it had been done before, but never with this great depth, the man had, artistic qualities, that represented, mysticism, it was something, if you, seen attempted, in the states, its value would not be appreciated, because of the culture, that is, Arabic, Ottoman, and how when you make an artistic statement in these countries, it hits deeper, it is felt, as if it is almost a revolt, to God, Allah, and extremism itself. “Yes we were taught to be one way, but this is the creative expression that has been sitting in the back of my mind and I will be damn, if I have to shamed to express those thoughts, that I am dying to express.” And in Istanbul Death was certain, like when the man told me about going to Syria, and pointing to that specific spot, in my medulla, I was to be shot. Death is for certain, for all of us, so as another prayer for calling was heard, through, speakers, and Arabic tongue, I went to my flight, awaiting its departure, I’d give up my seat, for a Syrian refugee, reserving my questions. Us Americans, don’t know how lucky we have it huh, yeah I guess that is for sure.

The world is at war.It’s just quieter on our side.

Eleven hours away, people are dying for nothing.Over borders. Over gods. Over bad decisions made by powerful men.

And me? I make art.So I left Istanbul with one thing

An urge to create something that means something.Because if death is certain,then expression is the only rebellion we have left.