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Ekim 2024'de yazmaya başladığım hikayelerimi ve yaptığım resimlerden bazılarını burada topladım. - - - I have gathered here the stories I started writing in October 2024, as well as some of my paintings. - - - J'ai rassemblé ici les histoires que j'ai commencées à écrire en octobre 2024, ainsi que quelques-unes de mes peintures.

Wednesday, October 9, 2024

03- Two People, Two Wounds

 

Kaan was sitting in his living room in Istanbul, silent and thoughtful, staring at his computer screen. He repeatedly read and edited the email he had written to his father, although he hadn’t yet summoned the courage to send it. He was striving both to express the emotions he had gathered inside him as clearly as possible, and to avoid any mistaken phrase that his father might twist or exaggerate. The coldness and lack of communication between him and his father Karl had become an unbearable burden. That chill even froze his heart on a warm autumn evening in Istanbul.

Evening had fallen, the sun had set over the sea. His son had run to his cheek for a kiss before bedtime, using his adorable persuasive charm to coax his mother into reading him a bedtime story. As their voices receded down the corridor, Kaan tried to put into words the sadness he felt at knowing his son would grow up never knowing his grandfather.

Twelve years ago, his father and his mother—originally from İzmir—had moved to İzmir for their retirement years. But shortly afterwards, after forty years of marriage, they had gone through a painful separation. His father had rushed back to Canada in haste.

He read the email to his father through from start to finish again. The sadness, anger, and disappointment he had bottled inside weighed heavily on him. He had perhaps begun with a somewhat harsh phrase: “Papa, you can be so cruel, but I am not.” Yet he hoped that if his father read the letter to its conclusion, he might understand.

His father had met his mother while serving as an observer at the American base in İzmir. He had fallen madly in love and they had married quickly. When they were three, seven, and nine, they had moved to Canada, their father’s homeland. Their childhood had been beautiful. They played tennis, and he once dreamt of becoming a famous tennis player like Daniel Nestor. When he got married at thirty-three, his parents celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary that year—and they were still very happy.

Later, Kaan and his wife had spent time working in Dubai, Singapore, and Zürich. Then, after being offered a good job in Istanbul, they had settled here six years ago. While in Dubai, some sort of indiscretion from his father had occurred, and they divorced hastily. After that scandalous divorce, his father had married another woman in short order—without feeling any need to explain himself, without telling anyone.

From that day on, Karl had removed his three children entirely from his life, returned to Canada, and began living with his new wife in the beautiful home in Westmont where he had spent his youth. His sisters still live in Canada, but they have never spoken to him—having always sided with their mother. Kaan found it hard to understand either party.

Reflecting on his own small family, he wondered what his father had sacrificed. His nephews and son were growing up without ever knowing their grandfather. Unlike his sisters, he hadn’t given up. He had tried many times to reach out to his father and had tried to create opportunities for his son to meet him. They had met a few times. Yet each time, Karl had put distance between himself and his children, yielding to the whims of his new wife. In that email, Kaan was giving him one last chance. “Time passes, people grow old, people die—but you never question yourself,” he had written. These words were both a plea and a warning to his father.

Before sending the email, he took a deep breath. The mild evening breeze of Istanbul drifted through the open window, easing his heart somewhat. He knew every word he had written was true. He had told his father how hurt and wounded he had been over the years—and that he was still ready to forgive him. He paused before pressing send and thought it over. His father might remain silent again, but he felt at peace with having done his part. Finally, he took another deep breath and pressed the send button.

………………………………

Karl was seated in the living room of the house he had bought on the slopes of Mont Royal about thirty years ago when his children first grew up, opening a card-reading tool on his laptop. Autumn had come, days were shortening. His wife was busy in the kitchen preparing lunch, and the deep silence of the home filled him with contrasting sensations of peace and discomfort. At that moment, a new email arrived in his inbox. The sender was his son Kaan, with whom he had completely cut off communication for a year, ignoring calls and messages.

His eyes locked on the screen, his heart began to race. He hesitated, hand poised over the mouse, whether to open it or not. The subject line was simple and direct: “Papa.” Memories flooded his mind—playing tennis with his son on an open court in the rain, getting soaked through, the children running up and down the stairs at home. He hoped this was the apology he had long awaited. With hope in his heart, he clicked open the email. But the subject had deceived him. The email began: “Papa, you can be so cruel, but I am not.” That opening sentence had already angered him. Each time Kaan addressed him like that, it felt like a slap, wounding his paternal pride and pushing him toward silence. He was already irritated. He frowned, offended by the way his son had addressed him. The words Kaan had used to suggest his new wife was ignorant and greedy—and unworthy of their family—had burned every bridge. While rebuilding his life, the harsh words his son had said about his wife were unforgivable.

He took another deep breath and continued reading. “A year has passed, and you are still silent. I have tried to reach you. A year is not that long, but perhaps you have had time to reflect. Because of the whims of the woman you took into your life after my mother, you erased me and my sisters from your life. Maybe you could look at this issue again with fresh eyes.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes. His son’s words gnawed at him. He twisted the events in his mind, in every line accusing him—labelling him selfish and distant. “You erased us for a woman’s whims,” his son said. He sighed deeply. He could not accept that he had to focus on this new life. His marriage of many years to his first wife had been happy, but later they drifted apart. Returning to İzmir, where they had spent their happiest decade, he thought everything would return to perfection—but everything collapsed. Then he entered a relationship that brought him happiness again. His new wife was truly supportive, offering peace in his life. His children, however, not only refused to accept it—they blamed him harshly because of the unpleasant events surrounding the divorce.

Karl, thinking that things were going well with Kaan, had again erupted in an impulsive outburst and insulted his own wife during their last meeting. He could never forget the angry words his son had thrown at him. He thought to himself, “Kaan, nothing will be resolved until you apologise to my wife.” But there was no sign of reconciliation from his son—instead, more accusations each time, claiming he had neglected his children. Throughout the email, Kaan reverted to the past, emphasising the weight of his father’s decisions: “You’ve broken my heart so many times—I don’t know if I can ever rebuild it.” That final sentence also pierced Karl’s heart deeply.

He let his fingers hover over the screen, considering whether to write a reply. The response he would pen would surely ignite yet another inescapable dispute. He sat up in his armchair and averted his gaze from the screen. His wife came from the kitchen and began placing plates on the table. For a moment, he looked out of the window. The wind was murmuring against the house walls outside and swaying the leafless trees. He closed his laptop, stood up, and made his way to the kitchen to help his wife.

 

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