“You don’t like anyone,” she says. I can’t tell whether it’s a disapproving tone or a matter-of-fact one.

“That’s not true!” I protest a little too strongly considering the lack of accusation in her voice. I start naming my friends. People I love, people I like and people I can stand. It’s not a short list, I do like many people. “It’s just your friends’ children whom I don’t like.”

She’s not hurt. She already knows. I’m not trying to blame her. It’s not her fault that her kid doesn’t fit in. I’m the weird one.

“She’s just not nice,” I continue, desperate for approval. “She looks down on people and talks behind their back.”

“It’s been ten years since you last talked to her. Is it possible that she changed?”

“People never change.” The words come out but I don’t know if I mean them. I do believe that people change. But I also believe that it requires extreme effort for that person. I know that these people are too uncaring or too stupid to change. I don’t tell her all this because I don’t know how to put it nicely. I don’t know how to say it without sounding judgmental.

The truth is I am judgmental. Especially when those people are the subject matter. I’m not willing to give them another chance. I don’t want to have anything to do with them anymore. Not ever again. I’m sure a psychologist would disapprove of such blockage of emotion, but I don’t care. I need time to heal and fifteen years hasn’t been enough.

She’s quiet as I remember the unpleasant moments of my childhood. “I don’t know why you feel so uncomfortable. You’re so much more successful than they.”

I shake my head. She doesn’t understand. I’m not even sure I understand. “It’s not about that. I don’t care if they’re successful. I want them to be successful. I’m the problem. I’m the one who has to get over it.” I’m the one who needs to stop shaking each time I see one of them. I’m the one who needs to stop turning into the ugly, weird girl they made fun of each time they greet me.

She’s quiet again. She’s not a quiet person. Neither of us is. I know she wants to say the right words. The ones that will pop me out of this self-deprecation. Be happy, she wants to order. Instead she says, “You have so much to be happy for.”

“I know. I’m happy,” I reply.

I am. Mostly.

Previously? The Unthinkable

We sit on my green couch facing each other. We're talking about nothing important. I tell him about my days and how my pain hasn’t been decreasing. I tell him my feelings and my thoughts. The dark thoughts.

"I just thought about that the other day," he says.

"Did you think about how you would do it?" Ask them if they've thought of how. That's when you'll know how serious they are about it, I recall the words from my college training.

He nods.

I look at him. I want to say something pithy, but words refuse to cooperate. Who am I to give advice when I’ve thought of it a million times myself? He’s sensible and he knows all the right words to say in this situation. So it’s pointless for me to use them on him. But I try anyway.

"You need to book a vacation," I say. "Just get away for a little while. It will relax you and help you put things in perspective."

He nods. He tells me he says the same thing to his employees. I know he knows. He knows he knows. I ask him if he wants to see a professional. "Maybe it'll help", I say. "What do you have to lose?"

I tell him I know someone. I tell him she's really nice. He says he might. We both know he won't. Not yet. Not now.

On the surface, there's nothing wrong. Work is great. Love is great. Life is great. But something must be askew. Why else is he staring at the ceiling at nights? Why else won't the feeling go away?

"We’re just sad people," I say. "We've always been that way, we'll always be that way. That's why we choose to partner with happy people. Cause we know we're sad inside. It's no big deal. It'll go away." Yeah, right. I'm not fooling either one of us.

He smiles. "I'll go home and book a vacation tonight."

"Good. Make sure to do that. Mail me and tell me what you booked." I hug him.

There are a million things I want to say, but I don’t.

Previously? Touch Me.

I am a very touchy-feely person. I'm not sure if it comes from the Spanish blood, European upbringing, or having been hugged a lot as a kid. But I touch people almost constantly when I talk. Often times it's such an automatic reaction that I don't even realize I'm doing it.

I don’t mean to imply that I touch people in inappropriate places. I generally touch their hands or their arms. For some reason, I believe that touching lets me get my honesty across better. It somehow projects the sincerity of my emotion or caring to the other party.

Most of my friends are used to the fact that I hold their hands when either one of us is sharing a difficult emotional situation. I hug my friends almost all the time. I even kiss their cheek at times. In Turkey, people kiss each other on both cheeks to greet. Men kiss other men and women other women and women kiss men and vice versa. In America, that would likely scare the crap out of an observer, but in my country it's common practice. You even kiss someone you just met, in most cases. It's not sexual, it's not even physical; it's just a common custom.

I believe that the physical and sexual aspects of touching are way overrated in this country. If I'm walking down the street hand in hand with a female friend, it doesn't mean I'm lesbian. It means I like my friend and I am enjoying spending time with her. When little kids hold hands, we think it's cute how they like to hang out to each other, but as we grow up the same bond becomes inappropriate and a taboo.

Why?

Why can't I hold someone's hand or kiss him on the cheek or give him a warm hug without it being about wanting to fuck him? Why can't I touch him as he shares a difficult moment, or even as he talks about nothing specifically important, without people thinking that I am trying to turn him on?

Maybe I am weird cause sexual thoughts are not primary in my head. Often times, other people get the wrong impression that I'm trying to drop hints about how interested I am in pursuing a physical relationship with them. I never get sexually aroused when a friend touches me. Not even when a stranger does, even if he's attractive to me. I am only physically excited if I already love that person in that way. I know this is weird to most people but I think that maybe it explains why I don't think twice before I touch people.

I just wish more people would hug each other. I feel like so much emotion and healing can be passed by touching someone else and I'm sad that there is so much taboo associated with it. I don’t know why some cultures respond to it better than others do.

Do you?

Previously? Inquisitive Mind or Bully?

I've always been a curious person. My mother used to tell me that as a kid I asked questions non-stop. Her friends asked her why she kept replying to me instead of telling me to lay off the questions. But she never did. She is a real patient mother.

I don't do something unless I can see the logic behind it. In my household, all rules were explained as opposed to forcefully applied. Since I was a pretty responsible little kid, I never had a curfew. I went to an all women's high school where I was on debate teams. I've just always been in a position where I feel comfortable backing up my actions and choices and thoughts. Mostly cause I spend time thinking of my choices and have reasons for my decisions. It could even be safe to say that I spend too much time thinking about them.

For this reason, when challenged I tend to be too head strong. I feel like I can justify myself and I expect others to back up their arguments, too. When Jake and I fight and I say something, I can always spew out a million examples to make sure he understands where I'm coming from. But I'm sure he hates it.

At work, timid people think I am overwhelming cause I like to explore an issue before I make a decision and I am generally adamant about my opinion and like for others to prove me wrong before I change my mind. For confident and intelligent people, that's not a problem. They tell me what a moron I am and why my idea is totally wrong. I really like that. I have no problem being told that I don't know the right answers, I just want the other person to prove me wrong. I want them to have thought about it, too. I want them to challenge me not to tell me what to do for the sake of it. If the highest manager in my area says I have to do something and I think it's a stupid suggestion, I don't shy away from telling him. I'm not usually rude about it, but I also don't nod and go to a corner and do as he said. And it says so much about my boss that he doesn’t fire me. Actually he's mentioned that he likes that about me.

The problem is that I don't like the idea of the other people (the ones who don't feel comfortable yelling back at me) to think that I am not open to listening to their suggestions. Cause I am. The only way one can learn is by listening to other people. I just want them to explain how and why they reached that opinion and in most cases they either don't know or they don't want to share.

Or maybe I've managed to scare the crap out of them.

Previously? Changes Abound

If you've been here before, you'll probably notice that I've made some changes. I think it's all pretty self-explanatory so go explore. And, of course, all comments are welcome.

Many thanks go to Heather for taking the time to help me figure out how to download the images from my watch to my PC. Since I'd already had several conversations with Casio support and with the company where I bought my watch, my next step was going to be sending the units back. So Heather did me a huge, huge favor.

Jake's out of town in Lakeland, Florida, celebrating his grandmother's ninetieth birthday. Normally, I'd be there, too, but I'm not allowed to fly. So he's there loving the beautiful weather and I'm stuck in bed, watching TiVo.

I don't do well when Jake's gone. It's not that I can't be alone, it's just that I really like having him around. Even when he sits in the living room and I spend the day in bed, knowing he's next door makes me happy. I guess I'm like a little girl who always wants her friend around. Jake's my best friend and I like him near me. I also like waking up next to him. Oh well, one more day and he'll be back.

My back is doing better. Wohoo! Not healed, yet, but any improvement is enough to make me ecstatic.

Today was my third pottery class and I think I'm finally getting the hang of it. My fingerprints don't leave imprints on the clay any longer and I've even managed to make a bowl, a single-rose vase and a cup. They're all lopsided but I'm just glad I'm learning to enjoy it and to relax. The most fun part is seeing the clay mold under your fingers as the wheel turns. A tiny bit of pressure exerted in one area affects the entire shape of the pot. When I watch the teacher and see the clay shift shapes, it almost seems magical.

Previously? The Right Way

I started talking about my struggles at work. I seem to be one of those people who takes everything to heart. Everything is extremely important and everything is personal. As I explained the situation I’m having at work, he told me that I can’t do everything. He talked about redefining my ideas of what makes me successful at my job. He explained that even if my project becomes a major failure in my eyes, it might be seen as a huge success by my users and managers. He’s right, of course. Sometimes even if I’m aware that I didn’t do a detail in the perfect way, it doesn’t affect the system in a visible way and no users are disappointed.

Working for a corporation, especially one whose main line of business is not technology is as much about politics as it is about building systems. You need to make sure that you lose some fights so the user feels like he’s getting his way even if what he wants is wrong and you know it. Even if I build the most amazing system that functions in the most efficient way possible, if no users use it, the system is a failure. The trick is to make everyone feel like the system was especially built for them while not giving up the idea of building it the right way. One of the reasons I am building this system is cause the two other systems that are supposed to function in the same way were both built with a narrow-minded focus and they are inflexible.

As I explained to Jake last night, one of the reasons I went part-time a few months ago was to use my time more efficiently. In the last four years, I had to put way too much face-time and it drove me crazy. I’m happy to stay at work until the wee hours of the morning if I have work to do, but during the quiet times, I like to leave early and do the million other things I’d rather be doing. I figured that if I only worked three days a week, I’d have more to do on those days and I’d stop feeling like I was giving up my life to make money. I am delighted to say that I was right and my new schedule is fantastic. I get tons of work done and I can take eight classes a week and spend a day volunteering. I get to use my minutes more wisely and feel much more fulfilled.

As a side effect to this new belief system, my ideas of success seem to have morphed as well. Since I have sort of taken myself off the road to quick stardom and upward mobility, I am less concerned about whether others think that I did a good job. I want to do things the right way. At least, I want to know what the right way is and then make it an active choice not to go that way (if there is a decent reason) . I don’t want to work just to make money, I want my work to push me to learn and to challenge myself. Otherwise, I’m back to wasting time. I’m not saying I don’t care what the users think or whether my team members agree with me, I’m just saying that I don’t want to do things the sloppy way. I want to feel good about my job. I want to feel like I learn, like I make a difference, and I want to be proud of the quality of work I deliver.

It seems that’s too much to ask.

Previously? Help Me!

Here's the deal. In my family we tend to give special gifts for big birthdays. For my father's fiftieth, my sister and I videotaped each of his friends talking about my dad and how they met and they told small anecdotes. Since my father has always been into making home movies, telling anecdotes and doens't like being the center of attention, it was the perfect gift for him.

My uncle has lived in several countries in Europe and has friends literally all over the world. For his fiftieth, we emailed and called his friends and got them to send us short letters written for his birthday. We then bound those letters into a book and gave it to my uncle.

When my grandmother turned eighty, my sister dug through old photos and got generations of pictures from our family and made a large, amazing collage.

Finally, for my mother's fiftieth, my sister called each of my mom's friends and asked them to write up a small note, telling us their feelings about our mom. We made a web page with fifty hearts, my mom loves hearts, and underneath each heart, we put either a note from a friend or a photo from a special date. (Like my sister and my birthdays, my parent's engagement, their wedding, etc.)

My sister is turning thirty on Valentine's day. I had scheduled to be there, but my doctor says it's best if I don't fly; the trip takes eleven hours. Especially since I can't physically be there, I want to do something special for my sister's birthday. The thing is, even though I helped with the coding of the webpages, my sister came up with all of the above neat ideas. Now that I can't pick her brain, I am drawing a complete blank.

So I decided I would ask for help. If you have any ideas at all, please tell me.

There are only a few small details. Valentine's day is about three weeks away, so it can't take longer than that. Between now and then, I will not be able to go to Turkey so I can't take any new photos. I might be able to find a way to get my parents on my brother in law to send some already existing photos, but that's about it. The present can involve my sister's husband and/or her one-and-a-half year old twin sons, but I really want it to be focused on my sister. I'd prefer for it to be a present from the family, but if it's just from me, that's fine, too. (So it can be about sisterhood if you can think of a neat idea with that.) I have no other siblings, it's just my sister and me. It can be photos, it can be a book, notebook, craft, music, anything. As long as it's unique and personal. However, I prefer not to do something we've already done to a family member.

Feel free to ask me anything I might have left out. Feel free to spread the word. Ask anyone.

I really want to do something special for her.

Help me.

Previously? Know Thyself.

As in most things, I have quite a few things to say about that.

I've always been opinionated. I used to think that certain choices just feel right to me, but when questioned, I seem to have no problem coming up with well thought out reasons to back up my beliefs. So it seems I do think about things.

I am not exactly sure of the ways in which I come up with my opinions and beliefs. Some of them are intuition, others are from having read on issues and some are from having talked to friends who have opinions. I find the final way the most effective.

There is nothing more challenging and more rewarding than talking to an intelligent friend whose opinions differ from yours. When I was in college, I had a friend who disagreed with me on just about everything. He was really bright and had sound reasons for his beliefs. We spent hours talking about abortion and marriage and many other controversial issues.

His reasons made me think, in some cases they made me reconsider. In others, they made me hang on to my beliefs even more. But the best part is that our conversations challenged me. They made me see these issues from a different perspective.

When I was in high school we used to have to debate in class on topics where we didn't agree with the opinion we were arguing for. The teacher thought it was important to realize that there are two sides to every story and nothing is ever black or white. She was a good teacher.

So if you have opinions, I say speak up. Learning starts with sharing. Wise people will never flame you for having a different view, especially when you have your reasons. And narrow-minded people will always judge you and tell you you're a moron for thinking that way no matter how well constructed your reasoning. Such people are not worth worrying about.

I'm always up for others challenging my beliefs and choices. Anything that pushes me to explain myself helps me get to know myself better.

And you know what they always say: Know thyself.

Prevously? Trust.

I couldn't have put it better. I've always been trusting. For the longest time, I expected nothing less than kindness and good intentions. I spent my whole childhood being made fun of and singled out. Karen the weird one. Karen the ugly one. Karen the bookworm. I never fit in. I was blessed with conniving and cruel friends who took every opportunity to talk behind my back and make fun of me to my face. Yet I still didn't lose my trust in the humankind.

I grew bitter and private. But finally I met people who appreciated me more and more. I came to the States and found people that even understood me. It became easier to trust people.

The thing is, if you don't trust people, you're not even giving them a chance. Assuming that people will disappoint you and let you down will only invite such people into your life. I think that when you give them the opportunity, people love to surprise you. Most people are too scared to trust. It's too hard and too painful.

I believe we're all born trusting and that somehow something happens that changes our mind about what the core of a person is. We become mistrusting, we become cynical, we become afraid. But you can't run away from people. You can't spend your life alone. You can't give in to fear. This is your life and you need to take control and live as you please. Trust, in the right hands, has magical outcomes. Giving up on trust is like giving up on the humankind.

You might as well give up on life.

Start small. Risk things you can afford to. Let people amaze you.

Previously? Fighting.

Six wrote me a real nice and interesting email on my post about the blame game. You can read most of it on his post and he has some insightful things to say. One of his greatest points is that blaming others is about not wanting to face yourself. And, of course, he's right.

At one point in our relationship, Jake and I fought a lot. What started as a quibble over where the dishes should go would quickly evolve into a twelve-hour shouting match. Since we'd already been together for quite some time, we knew exactly what to say to get the other party upset. We would sit there, blaming each other for the obvious shaky status of our relationship.

We both figured it was the other person's fault. If only he fixed this and did more of that and less of this other thing, we'd have the best relationship. We knew each other's faults. We knew each other's deepest fears. The weaknesses. We were really good at fighting and even better at making it the other person's fault.

At one point I realized that this game was bound to end ugly. It's funny that we choose partners cause we think they're so amazing and then we spend the rest of our relationship trying to change them. Especially funny considering we have the power to change no one but ourselves. So I told Jake that all he should concentrate on is trying to be the best that he can for our relationship. And that if he only worried about whether he was being his personal best and I worried about being my personal best, our relationship would be much smoother and happier.

I'm not sure whether we grew up, we changed, or whether we just stopped for no reason, but Jake and I have stopped fighting, almost completely. We seem to have fallen in love all over again. We work together now and love each other and support each other. Mostly, we face who we are, accept responsibility for our flaws and try to improve constantly.

I think this is working much better for us.

Previously? I love you.

Three little words that carry tremendous weight. Uttered by some too quickly and by others not quickly enough.

When my ex boyfriend and I had started seeing each other for quite some time, he said, "I've never told any girl that I loved her." He looked proud. I, on the other hand, pitied him and almost said, "I'm so sorry for you." At that point I'd been lucky enough to love two men.

I haven't had that many boyfriends. Jake's my fourth and we've been together for the last six years. My shortest relationship has lasted around two years. So I don't take my relationships lightly. But I have loved each man I've dated. To be honest, in some ways I still do.

I don't believe love ever goes away completely. Loving someone is kind of like giving a piece of your soul or being to someone else. Even if things don't work out between the two of you, the person always carries a special spot in your heart. Their place in my heart is nowhere near what Jake occupies but it's still there. After having shared years of memories with someone, I don't think you can ever have no feelings whatsoever for that person.

I've never worried about saying, "I love you." I didn’t care whether I was the first or the other party had already uttered the words. With the exception of my first boyfriend, which was an exceptional circumstance, I can't even remember which one of us said it out loud first in any of my relationships. I think the hard part is having all the associated feelings, not saying the words.

Loving someone means giving that person a part of who you are. It means trusting them with a piece of your heart. It means taking a risk. And it hurts. But big rewards don't often happen without big risks.

So, if you love someone, I say, "Tell him. Tell her." Don't worry about what she or he thinks. This is not about the other person; it's about you and about how you feel. Love is an incredible feeling and you're lucky to be experiencing it. There is no reason to hide it. I tell Jake that I love him all the time. It doesn't take away from the importance of it. I don't just say it, I mean it.

Each and every single time.

Previously? Letting Go.

I’m not sure which specific childhood experience has spawned this personality trait, but I’ve had it pretty much for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I used to be one of those girls who hung on to her mother’s skirt and cried a lot. As I grew up, I yearned for a close friend, one who understood my way of thinking. Having starved for any friend at all, each time anyone became remotely interested in being my friend, I would stifle the life out of them. Guilt trips, paranoia, “why didn’t s/he call me?”, “how come they didn’t invite me along? Don’t they like me anymore?” All of these were a constant part of my daily life.

The behavior wasn’t aimed at only humans. Even our dog, Pepsi, knew I needed more hugs than a normal kid. And if you’re suffocating a dog (in the figurative sense) you seriously need help. (then again, you’d need even more help if you’re actually physically hurting the dog, if you ask me)

For the longest time, while I was acutely aware of this flaw, I didn’t think I’d ever learn to get over it. Each boyfriend had to suffer through my jealousy and my need to be called at all times. I’ve always believed that jealousy stems from lack of self-confidence. If you feel good about who you are, you tend to bug other people less. Even though I knew the actual reasons, I kept telling myself that all this suffocating was cause I cared so much.

Knowing I was so bad at letting go always made me worry about having children. I was sure that my kids would grow up to despise me and run away the minute they legally could. The same insecurities also caused me to hang around when I shouldn’t have in many cases. Holding on to a relationship which was physically and emotionally abusive or a friendship that reduced my already low self-image.

I don’t know if my self-confidence has improved (not substantially) or if I care less (not really, in most cases) but, for some reason, I’ve stopped holding on so tight. I don’t feel the need to have my friends call me every day. I don’t hold people to their words when they casually say “I’ll call you later.” I don’t need constant attention anymore.

I don’t mean to say that I am 100 percent cured. I still care, in some cases, way more than I should. I still have long-lasting moments of self doubt which cause me to snap at my boyfriend. But I’ve recently realized that I’ve loosened up a little, which means there is a chance I can totally get rid of this trait, eventually.

Maybe I can have kids, after all.

Previously? Blame Game.

Two of the most important people in my life seem to have the same problem; they desperately need to blame someone when something doesn't go the way they wanted it to.

If they have an argument with their loved one, we need to spent the next few hours discussing whose fault it was. If they lose a game, it was because they were tired or had so much on their mind. If they fail a course, it was the bad organization of the class instruction or the teacher’s lack of ability in making the class interesting.

Not only is it never their own fault but it’s also crucial to know who’s fault it really is.

While I can easily admit to saying “Well, if you hadn’t done this that way, we would have never been here to begin with,” in the heat of an argument, in most other cases, I try hard to concentrate hard on fixing the situation instead of struggling to figure out where the blame falls.

The issue that seems to fascinate me is how blaming others makes the person feel good. If I stopped talking to a friend because of something that’s her fault, doesn’t that still mean I lost my friend? If I fail a class, don’t I still have to retake it? I guess I must be more into the result than the process itself, since the result is the same no matter who’s to blame.

How does putting the blame on something or someone else make the person feel better? I think people just use it as an excuse, so they can have a defense when asked why the situation went badly. “I was all ready to finish the work but so and so didn’t give me the numbers I needed to plug into the formula!” Just saved your ass from the boss’s yelling. Even if I still don’t think it’s a good idea, I can at least understand why people blame others to save their own necks in a work related (or similar school related) situation.

But in a case where it’s about failing a class or fighting with a girlfriend or missing a personal goal, I really don’t see any benefit or reason to worry about placing blame. I just feel like saying, “Fine, it’s my fault, let’s just worry about fixing it now, ok?”

Anyone know what motivates people to blame someone or something else?

Previously? Gimme Space!

For some reason, I didn't have many culture shocks. Even though Turkey is over 99percent white and over 99percent Muslim, I didn't seem to have a severe issue with the differences. I did, on the other hand, have some embarrassing moments.

On my first day in Pittsburgh, my parents and I went to open a bank account. While my mother waited, Dad and I sat with the lady from Mellon Bank, talking about my different account options. In the middle of our exchange, some random guy, who was opening his own account, walks up to me and says, "I hear you're new in town, so am I. Here's my number. Call me and we can hang out." Right in front of my father and the Mellon Bank woman. The lady from the bank looks at me and smiles. "I see you're making some friends already."

Cause I am a total weirdo, I did call the guy the next night. During the phone call, he must have used the word cool at least a zillion times. Up until that moment, the word cool meant something between warm and cold to me. It took me several months to acquire the colloquialisms they never teach you when you learn English. Most of my friends can tell quite entertaining (or embarrassing, as the case may be for me) stories from those days.

Back to my point. One of the only culture shock moments I had was in relation to the words on that T-shirt. Personal space. I come from a country where guys and girls all kiss each other hello. I mean guys kiss guys and girls kiss girls and girls kiss guys and vice versa. Not on the lips, mind you, but on the cheek. On both cheeks. I walk hand in hard with many of my friends. I hug them, I tell my close friends how much I love them. It's not a sexual thing, it's cultural, I guess. When I came here for college, I was totally shocked by what people consider a personal question. And by how much people resent your being 'in their space'. For the longest time I couldn't figure out what that space even is. It seemed to be an invisible barrier I was unable to see.

In the past few years, I've worked hard at recognizing the barrier, but I still have no idea why people need to have it so badly.

Previously? Mind Your Manners!

That's an actual quote from a friend.

I was raised with proper manners. My parents taught me to never go to someone's house empty-handed and to always send a thank-you note afterwards. Even when I visit my sister's home, I bring presents for my nephews each time, though mom doesn't have to twist my arm about that one.

While I try my best to be well behaved, I get totally peeved when I hear words like the ones above. When did nice gestures become expected requirements? I thought sending a card made you thoughtful but not sending one shouldn’t automatically make you rude. Cause if it does, then the cards are no longer a token of appreciation, they're a formality or worse, a requirement.

I hate doing things just cause 'it's the way things are done'. When my sister got married, as I spent shaking the hands of many practical strangers who couldn't care less about actually celebrating my sister's happiness, I told my mom that she should expect a call from me the day after I get married. If I were ever to get married in Turkey, there is a long list of people we'd have to invite 'just cause it wouldn't be right otherwise'. As the British like to say, 'that's bollocks.'

I am not fond of people with expectations. They're just setting themselves up to be disappointed. I'm not fond of people who judge others by what they forgot to do. I'm not fond of people who keep track. "I called last so now it's her turn to call." Huh? What grade are we in? I'm not fond of fake smiles and doing things cause I have to.

I shouldn't have to do anything. I should be able to smile, care, do my best and people should appreciate that. I believe that to be true of everyone. If you're trying too hard to fit in, maybe you shouldn't.

I decided long ago that I only live once and I want to make sure that I live the way I want to, not how others want me to. I want only the people who are my closest friends on my wedding day. I want to do (at least attempt to do) anything and everything I've dreamed of.

I always try hard not to hurt anyone around me. I screw up sometimes, but never on purpose. I always try to give and be the best that I can. I think that's all anyone can ever ask of me.

Previously? birdie's eyelids, big ears, and pottery.

Even though he's a male, my birdie can't speak any words but I sure do love him like crazy.

As a little kid, I had huge ears that stuck out through my thin, straight hair. (We call them ladle ears in Turkish, but Jake says there is no English saying for someone with big ears that stick out.) Each time we were in the bathroom together, getting ready for school, my sister would tease me and say that I shouldn't put my hair up cause it made my ears stick out even more. Over the years, my ears stayed the same size while the rest of my body grew. My hair also got thicker and wavier. I'm quite sure, my ears don't stick out as much anymore, but I still don't wear my hair in a ponytail.

Since I need help relaxing and since I thought it would be tons of fun, I decided to take pottery classes. Saturday morning was my first session. I put so much effort into holding the clay properly that my fingers made strong imprints on the clay, prolonging the process called 'centering' which is when you need to smoothen out the clay's outer surface. My teacher kept teasing me and asking me where all my frustration came from and whether we could do something to get rid of it. I figured telling him that that's why I took pottery to begin with would be futile.

Previously? Friendship.

While I agree that hard day friends are more difficult to find than friends who ask you how you're doing but don't even bother to listen to your response, they aren't the most precious kind of friends.

So who is?

I think that the best friends are the ones with whom you can share your good days. I mean your really good days.

"Misery loves company." So the saying goes. I believe this one to be mostly true. When you're really sad, having another sad friend gives you the opportunity to commiserate and bitch and moan till the wee hours of the morning.

Even if your friend were not miserable, most close friends would easily take a large chuck of time out of their day and calm you down, give you advice, or just listen to you. They will tell you that all will be okay, they will sit there for many hours and hold your hand. They will do anything they can. Cause everyone's has bad days, most people know what to do when someone else is having one. Some of them might be scared to do the right thing and ignore you mainly from sheer discomfort of being unable to utter the magic words.

Now let's take a day when you have amazing news. It could be something social like your boyfriend just proposed to you. You're bubbling up with excitement and you want to share. You pick up the phone to call your best friend Terry. Just as you're on the last digit, you stop. Terry just broke up with her boyfriend (or not to be that extreme let's say Sheryl has been trying to find a boyfriend, or she just had a fight with her boyfriend.) Can you still call her? Will she be able to share your joy?

What if an agent just accepted your novel? Or you got promoted? Or you won the lottery?

When I have friends who I know will celebrate the great news with me, I know I've got a good friend.

Previously? La-la Land.

You mean more than the usual?

Ha ha. Seriously, I think I’m losing my mind.

I’m sure you’re exaggerating. You seem to be of sound mind to me.

Yeah? I came to work on Wednesday and within ten minutes I couldn’t remember whether I took my medication or not. I sat there, staring at the bottle, hoping it would tell me if I’d already swallowed one.

That’s perfectly normal. People forget things all the time.

The same thing happened on Thursday morning.

Hmm.

Also, I seem to be crying a lot.

You always cry a lot. You cry at Goldie Hawn movies, for goodness sake!

Yes, but I don’t usually cry at work. Yesterday, I broke down and wept three times at work.

It’s just the medication, I’m sure it’s making you edgy.

I spend most of the night staring at the darkness and watching the clock. During the few hours that I pass out, I have vivid nightmares that haunt me even after I wake up.

You just need to calm down and have some fun.

You’re joking right? I can’t sit for longer than fifteen minutes before my leg feels like millions of needles are pricking it. As soon as my back touches anything, it’s like someone is rubbing sandpaper against my skin.

You can still lie in bed and read. You claim you love reading so much, here’s your chance to do tons of it.

I can’t concentrate at all. My mind is all but mush. I can’t do my work, I can’t read more than a page of anything.

Watch TV then. Play video games.

I’m considering going back home.

Good idea, maybe you can lie down a bit and put some heat on your back.

No, I mean home home.

You mean Turkey home?

Yep.

Okay, I didn’t realize things were this severe. I think it’s time to go see someone. Preferably a professional.

That’s what I’ve been telling you all along.

Previously? Weird

When I was little, I had the misfortune of having a set of so-called friends who were all equally boring and beautiful. They all believed that the brand of your dress or shirt was much more important than the book you’re reading. Actually I don’t think they read at all. The thing is since they were all alike and I was the only one different, I ended up being made fun of. A lot.

Even though I was six then and I am twenty-six now, many of my self-doubts (and I have more than the usual amount) can be traced back to those days. While my mind can easily differentiate between their priorities and mine, deep down where most childhood memories are stored, I have a lot of anger for people who make fun of others. Even after all these years and many good friends later, when I see those people from my childhood, I cringe and go back to being the book reading, coke-bottle-bottom glass wearing, ugly girl.

Those people were one of the biggest reasons I decided to move to the United States. Even when I was twelve, I knew that I would always be judged as weird and eccentric in my home surroundings. Even though they love me and are terribly proud of me, I think my own parents think I am a little weird.

The thing is, America did what I thought it would do for me. I made it okay for me to be weird and it showed me that everyone is weird, in their own way. Well, at least in New York they are. (Please don’t be offended if you live in New York, I’ve come to realize that weird is not such a bad thing after all. It might even be awesome.) So now I am more secure (most days), I have friends who accept and even like me the way I am.

But the little girl who was teased mercilessly still lives somewhere in me and each time I hear someone bash someone else for liking a popular teen pop singer, or for having a web page that doesn’t measure up, or watching TV or anything else, I feel like kicking and yelling. I feel like standing up to those people like I should have so many years ago. Children especially, but people in general, have no idea how strongly their words might affect someone else. I just don’t understand the kind of pleasure one gets from putting someone else down.

I hope this explains things a bit better.

Previously? Variety is the name of the game.

I have two major points, both relating to the same idea and I'll try to be quick since it's already late and I need to sleep real soon if my back is to ever heal.

People always told me that a good marriage is based on shared likes and dislikes. I have never been married but I've had several long-term relationships and I couldn’t disagree more. I've always been fascinated by men who are my total opposites. Never much of a drinker, I've petty much completely given up drinking in the last nine years and all my boyfriends have been drinkers. (Actually two of them were alcoholics but that's another story for another time) I'm both shy and outgoing, both at inconvenient times, but my favorite thing to do would be to curl up with a book. I tend to go out with men who are socially liked and active. I don’t mean to imply that I get attracted to my opposites, cause I don't. There are many attributes my boyfriends and I share. (This entire theory goes for friendships, too. Actually, even more so.) The thing is I like to meet people who are different than I am. I like to hang out with people who have different perspectives on a certain issue than I might. I like to be around people whose passions differ widely from mine. If I only hung out with people who thought and acted just like I did, how much fun would life be? It's only through conversations with people who avidly disagree with me that I learn to stretch my mind. I like people who challenge me. Not to imply that I like someone who has opposite beliefs to mine but has nothing to back his or her beliefs up. But if the person has a point and he or she is intelligent and coherent enough about it, I'm fascinated and thrilled to converse. I love the fact that my boyfriends and friends have opened me up to new thoughts, new hobbies and sometimes even new worlds.

Just like I disagree with the hang-out-only-with-people-like-you people, I also agree with those who say that the web is full of crap. Who are you to judge what's crap and what's not? Even if you are qualified in recognizing good design or correct grammar, just because a page is not designed or written up to your standards doesn't mean it doesn't deserve to exist. If you don't like a page, don't visit it. If you like it, recommend it to others whom you think might also like it. I think people only judge others to feel good. If you and someone else agree that a page is crap, you two must be cool, right? I just think that the neat thing about the web (and New York and America in my opinion) is that there are a million different kinds of people who use it and they each express themselves in their own way. I think each of those pages has a valid existence and I'm glad each person has a place to share his or her thoughts/feelings/opinions publicly if they so choose. Even if I might totally disagree with that person or find their expression distasteful, that's my opinion and I have a right to have one. I'm not saying don’t have opinions, I'm just saying use your energy to concentrate on improving/building/living your life and leave others alone and let them do whatever they want to without bashing them publicly and making them feel not-good-enough and scaring them away from ever expressing themselves again.

So it wasn't short. But I promise both points are related in that all sorts of people exist in the world with their own likes and dislikes and that's what makes this world a great place.

I might be influenced by my own childhood experiences, but I think that the world and the web is big enough for all of us and next time you see someone with a differing opinion to yours, maybe you should listen before you judge.

You might learn something.

Previously? Secrets.

No, not the kind a friend whispers in your ear and asks you not to repeat. Actually, I'm pretty good at keeping those.

I've kept a diary since I was eleven years old and until college the little book with its tiny lock was the only one who knew my crushes, my thoughts and my insecurities. My friends would complain that they told me their entire life story and I never shared a word. They were right and I felt bad, especially for my really close friends. But the words refused to come out. During those times, when a friend informed me of her most recent crush she didn't even need to ask me not to repeat it.

I've always believed that people are bad at keeping secrets. Most people inherently feel the need to share. So when they have new information, they bubble with the excitement and will burst unless they do something about it. I used to write it in my diary and poof! It was out of my system.

As I grew older and stopped carrying ten-pound notebooks with a broken lock, I started to open up more and more. I still felt morally uncomfortable sharing other people's secrets, but mine became less important. (As for my needs-to-be-out-of-your-system theory, I, at some point, decided that whatever my friend chose to tell me was between us and deserved utmost respect. If she or he chose to share it with others, it was her or his choice but I refused to repeat it, even if it bubbled up. Hmm, that says so much about the validity of my theory, eh?)

Anyhow going to back to my secrets and my point, I decided opening up wasn’t such a bad idea. Most importantly if I ever did something that was relevant to another person; I became totally unable to hold on to that information. This often applies to my boyfriends (meaning the category in general, not that I currently have more than one), but is not limited to them.

My mother used to tell me that everything doesn’t need to be public. Some things are better not spoken. I disagree. I must, cause I can never follow that advice. I can never hide anything from my boyfriend. Even if I have a crush on some other guy or I'm about to have dinner with an ex. I keep telling myself that it's no big deal and if I tell him, he'll think it is and that I shouldn't tell him and then the moment he walks into the room, I blurt it all out.

The truth is that I think it's a big deal when I choose not to tell him (assuming I'd do such a thing). If I feel the need to keep it from him, I must have a reason. Do I secretly hope something will happen between this guy and me? Am I still hung over the ex? The only reason I'd choose not to share the event with my boyfriend is if I believe I'm doing something wrong. I just think that there is no point in playing games. If either one of us is going to cheat then what's the point of continuing our relationship? Obviously it's lost whatever it had.

This habit has been enhanced by a remarkably understanding man who is my current boyfriend. Honesty has made our relationship solid and lasting.

Now when I feel the urge to lie, I ask myself what that says about my relationship with the other person.

In my case, that there isn't much of a relationship to begin with.

Previously? Nitpicking.

Well, my ex boyfriend was all that and more when it came to little gestures. On one of the Valentine's Days during the time we dated in college, he got three of the kids on his dorm to wear suits and sing to me, on their knees, "You Lost That Loving Feeling." He gave me roses on our anniversary each month, as many roses as the months we'd been dating. When he graduated and got accepted to a graduate school far away, he made a small audio chip in a heart-shaped candy box. Each time I pressed the button, I could hear his voice, telling me how much he loved me and how badly he missed me. It might be corny, but it was also sweet. He was romantic and he remembered every special date.

Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

Until you look at the other side of the coin.

The same guy had an alcohol problem and used to abuse me verbally and physically when he drank. We went to a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, but it never worked. He had too much anger. He wasn't willing to give up the drinking. It's hard enough to give up when you feel ready. It's impossible when you do it for someone else. For a long time, I made excuses and said that it was my fault for pushing him and making him mad. But we won't talk about that. Not now.

Anyhow, my point is that since I had that experience, I've reconsidered my priorities. Sure it's nice to get flowers on my birthday or for no reason at all, but it's crucial to stay on top of the big things first. Now, when I hear my friends talking about how the guy might not open the door for her or how he didn't get the most romantic present for their anniversary, I hope that they will never have to worry about having real problems.

I know that if you're mostly a reasonable person, while reading this you'll be telling yourself, "Dork, of course I know that it's most important to be with a guy who doesn't abuse you." But how often do you keep that in perspective?

We only get picky when we have the luxury to do so.

Previously? Chicken.

My aunt’s son, not a step but her own son, just quit a secure job where he held a solid title. He quit so that he and two friends could start their own company.

I said, "Good for them, this is the best time for them to take risks. They have no dependants, no obligations to anyone but their own selves."

The thing is, I totally believe what I said. Assuming all goes well, I'll most likely be trying to start a family in a few years. Few being two or three at this point, not five or ten. If I had any say, I would like to have my first kid by the time I'm thirty. This means I have about three years or so to play. This thought process is one of the reasons I decided to go part-time, but sometimes even that's not enough.

Tonight Jake and I were talking about how nice it would be for us to spend two months in Burgaz. In the summer, my family lives on that tiny island which sits on the Marmara Sea. If you look at the pictures on the link you can easily see that this place is like a small piece of heaven. The island is so small that you can tour the entire circumference in about three hours, on foot. No cars are allowed on it, we only have horse carriages. The neat thing is, we already have a home on this island. It would be so nice if we could just escape to Burgaz for two months and read our books, swim, lie under the sun, and sleep.

Sounds wonderful, doesn't it? Except, we won't be able to go. Cause we're not the type to just drop everything and leave. We both have quite secure jobs. My job is truly awesome in many ways and I don't think I want to take the risk of losing it. We have a nice home, a little bird, and weekly obligations.

I can sit here and keep making excuses, but I think it all comes down to the same thing. We're too chicken.

Previously? Nice!

I do the same thing. When Jake tells me about someone new he met at work, the first thing I ask is, “Is he nice?” I don’t care if the guy is a billionaire, drop dead gorgeous or triple Ph.D. candidate. I just want him to be nice. We’re talking real nice, not the fake kind I mentioned a few days ago, the kind that smiles to your face while stabbing you on the back.

As I told Natalia my preferences, she said, “Yes, I like nice people, too, but imagine a real sweet person that’s not interesting at all. Even if she’s the sweetest, that won’t be enough for me.” Word.

The thing is if I had to pick between a totally boring but kind person and a really interesting cocky prick, I must say I’d easily choose the sweet person. I don’t think I could move past the fact that the guy is a jerk to even notice that he’s fascinating.

A look at my past would easily justify my obsession with kindness. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of mean and uncaring people. Enough of them to conclude that all that matters to me is a genuine kind soul.

At the same time, I can totally see Natalia’s point of view. Everyone has different priorities. If I had had another past, I might even feel similarly.

I have a wide variety of friends. At a glance they seem to have nothing in common. But if you looked closer, you’d notice the pattern.

Previously? Sick, Sick, Sick.

When I’m at work, since sitting is the worst thing for a back with a slipped disc, I’m supposed to get up every twenty minutes or so. The thing is, thanks to my acute pain, it takes around fifteen minutes for me to concentrate hard enough to get stuff done. If I were to get up every twenty minutes, I would get absolutely nothing done. So work is a total mess. I am pissed that I’m not accomplishing work and I am pissed that I’m in pain. The more pissed I get, the more pain I have; it’s a fun cycle.

Each night, I come home and lie in bed. Work to subway, subway to bed. I haven’t gotten a word of reading done. I’m still not signed up for all my classes. I don’t care what I eat, whether I eat. Maybe this is what they call depression. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe I’m just whining. Who the fuck knows.

What I do know is that I need to get work done. I need to go to my volunteer assignments. My sign language class starts Tuesday and I’ll fail if I miss classes. I need to sign up for my courses or I won’t be able to get in.

I know that people who know me and love me will say that none of those things matter and my health is the only important thing. I agree. I would give so much to have this pain stop. To be able to stand up again without cringing. To get a full night of sleep.

But I’m tired. I don’t want to be sick anymore. I want to be able to go on with my life. I want to learn to play the saxophone. I want to go kickboxing. I want to ski. I want to learn how to Waltz. I want to sit without crying. I want this crap to be over.

I am so goddamn tired of it.

Previously?

I spent a good chunk of my day reading someone’s online diary or something along those lines. Now, I’ve never met this person. He doesn’t even know my name. I only know his cause it says it on his web page. Yet I spent several hours of my day, work day nonetheless, reading about his life. These entries were dated, too. Around last February.

After all that time, I wondered why I was interested in reading about details of his life. Why did I care about the affairs of this guy whom I will most likely never meet? I’m not even into published non-fiction, why did I enjoy this stranger’s writings so much?

Then I realized that this was just like those letters I used to ask people to write. As opposed to what they assumed, I didn’t want them to write about me or how they felt about me. I wanted to know what they were thinking and how they felt. I have always believed that people are more honest when they write. Lack of instant reaction helps ward off worries about the effects of your words. These writings have given me a glimpse into this guy’s soul. Or at least a part of his thoughts.

I love meeting new people. Getting to see how they think, what makes them tick and what choices they’ve made fascinate me. Every person I meet, on or offline, teaches me something new about myself. New people open my mind, broaden my horizons, and challenge my thought process.

The neat thing is, pages where people write about themselves give me a similar opportunity. While it’s a skewed and one-sided relationship, it’s still a peek into someone’s thoughts, feelings or life. I look at their hobbies, their passions and learn about new things. That’s why I prefer personal pages to ones that simply contain daily links.

Even though I might never tell him, I’m delighted about the insights I gained from today’s visit.

So I wanted to thank him.

Previously? Straight Shooter.

The thing is I spent most of my childhood surrounded by people who made an art form of talking behind people’s back. Actually, they brought it to new levels. Imagine three girls in a ski slope. Let’s name them Jill, Mary and Anne. Together, they’re a bunch of giggles and hugs. But, as Jill and Mary share a ride up the hill, they talk about Anne’s new boyfriend and how he’s sleeping around and how they think Anne is such a moron for not noticing what everyone knows. The next round, Mary and Anne take the ride up the hill as they talk about Jill’s new haircut and how she looks like a rat with her nose job. Finally, Anne and Jill, as they sit together, talk about how Mary will never have the fashion sense they do. I kid you not; these are the kids I had the fortune of growing up with.

Me? I was the lowest of the low. Nicknames? I got them all. Trust me.

Why didn’t I stop hanging around these people? Cuz I’m a wimp.

I have this amazing need to make sure everyone likes me. The thing is I know that it’s impossible to have everyone like you. I don’t like everyone.

After all these years and many better friends later, I still hate it when I hear someone talking behind my back. I hate being someone’s inside joke.

If you have a problem with me, just tell me. This is good for both of us. I get to find out what about me might be annoying you and I can choose to fix it or I can choose not to associate with you any longer. It all depends on what the thing is. You have benefits, too. If I fix it, all is good and if I don’t, well you don’t have to worry since I won’t be around.

I just don’t understand what good it does to tell someone else about issues you might have about me. If I snort when I laugh or blow my nose in a way that gets on your nerves, what’s your friend Lily gonna do to fix it?

What good does it do to bitch and moan behind my back and smile to my face?

That’s what I hate most. The fake people. It must be a present from my childhood friends. I’d so much rather know what I’m dealing with than have a million false smiley faces.

I may be crass, but when you’re my friend, you always get pure honesty.

Previously? Remorse.

With my record of letting go, that’s a real good thing.

The few mistakes I have made, I have never been able to forget and let go. The choices I made; the choices I didn’t make. Each and every mistake haunts me. Imagine what life would have been if I’d made more of them.

Regrets.

Lance’s new creation, The Dead Letter Office is all about that. I spent some time reading a few of the letters and it seems most people talk about what they didn’t do, what they wish they’d had the guts to do.

It’s amazing to me that so many people thought of mostly what they didn’t get to do in their death instead of all their accomplishments and happiness and loved ones.

Many people mentioned not getting to be with their loved one. I’ll leave that one for another day.

Tonight we watched The Family Man which is about a similar subject matter. It’s about the questions we ask ourselves. The “What If?”s

What if I’d never left Turkey?

What if I’d agreed to go out with him?

What if my parents never divorced?

What if I never met Jake?

There are two different kinds of what ifs. The ones you can control and the ones you cannot. Leaving Turkey was a choice. So was saying No. But the divorce and meeting Jake were beyond my control. It’s only the ones where I decided that I can regret. The reason I don’t most often is cause I remind myself of the choices I made and the rationale behind them.

No matter how much I think I’m bound to make some mistakes. I am only human, but everything is undoable. It’s never too late.

If it helps you to write the dead letter so you can figure out what your regrets are, that’s wonderful. But the real key is to fix them while you’re alive and live the rest of your life regret-free. What’s the way? Maybe a cheesy Nike logo: Just Do It.

You’ll be amazed how easy it is once you start.

I don’t need to write my dead letter, I already know what it would say. I do need to learn to get over my regrets.

They wear me down.

Previously? No Fights.

Jake and I spent most of yesterday watching football. Well, he watched football and I lay in bed, reading my book. Around 9pm, we started playing Ms. PacMan and we only stopped several minutes before midnight to walk over to the living room and watch Dick Clark as the ball dropped. After watching twenty more minutes of TV, we walked back into the bedroom and played video games for several more hours.

This was the first year since I moved to New York that I had no plans for New Year’s eve. Well, at least none that I was able to follow up on.

This was the first year most of my friends didn’t even know I was in town.

This was the first year Jake and I gave each other’s presents well before New Year’s in anticipation of not being in town for the actual night and not wanting to carry the presents through three states and back.

This was the first year in three years that we went to bed well after midnight.

We had sparkling cider and toasted with a kiss.

And we didn’t fight.

This is going to be a good year; I can feel it.

Previously?