Friday, January 14, 2011

I'm not sure who you think I am, but I do believe you have mistaken me for someone else.

These are the words that run through my head sometimes as I pay special attention to my feet as they carefully traipse over unstable, jagged rock. If I am lucky - with eyes averted and white headphones clearly visible, I will be left alone. Left to make my way to my intended point of destination without aversion... perhaps to even catch a glimpse at some tapestries or scarves as I pass... paying meticulous attention to the mens every movement and quickly turning away when my presence in their vicinity is detected. Not that I am really all that hostile to their ceaseless banter as they entertain the idea of Italian dinners made to perfection, or long conversations over çay, but some days, I just can't be bothered. My introverted CBB-ness kicks in and the ceaseless banter becomes increasingly exhausting and time consuming. Some days however, I give in and partake whole-heartedly, like a game of cat and mouse... I let them believe they play the roll of the cat quite well, as I take mental notes on their every gesture and the infliction in their tone of voice as they tell me about the relative they may have in the US, or how beautifully alluring my sea blue eyes are, and would I please just sit and talk for a little? Please, just for awhile... so I can charm the pants off you... or at least get a small kiss... perhaps here... just so, to the right of my slippery-tongued mouth, just so I can feel your soft lips grace my skin and send shivers of joy throughout my body... No? Well, I suppose a nice smile will do. You come back and visit me now. I am here every day. Here, why don't you take my number... call anytime.

I walk away, usually with an entertained smile on my face, yet however relieved to be back on my way to wherever it was I was going. I have gotten to the point where I allow a few more minutes to get someplace, just so I can factor in these brief encounters. Trust me, they can not be ignored. Really, these men have their charm down to a science, it is incredibly hard to simply brush them aside and continue on your merry way... no matter how much you might like to. The charm Turkish men exude is said to be diabolical – yet I suspiciously abandon any and all belief of sincerity. While everyone glows in the glorious rays of flowing complements, my cynical nature questions EVERY motive behind EVERY nice word spoken or action taken... ah, but it doesn't mean I can't have fun with it... and so I play the game, only unbeknownst to them is that they are also players in MY game as well. While the rules are still in the developmental phase of the experiment, these Turkish men seem to be pleasantly oblivious to their roll in my dubious game.... and that is just fine.

I often feel as if I exist in a world of contrasts and living in Turkey only adds to this perplexing state of consciousness. I am constantly attempting to become a more dynamic, self-assured woman of the world and yet I am living amongst a society where women are more often than not, praised for their insecurity and lead around by the fingertips in their male dominated complacency. Half of the women traipse about in thigh high boots and orangee red lipstick and are ignored by the men they are trying to allure – where I show up with my blue eyes and ankle boots and am the dream date of every man this side of the Bosphorous. I realize it's due 100% to my western allure – again, the stereotype of loose western whores follows me like a dirty beggar relentless for spare change. Part of me chuckles at my cultural misfortune while the other knows all to well that us foreigners play our rolls all too well. Foreign women have a rough time of it you know. While we trek across the planet singularly, we are still human and have wanton desires as well as our male compatriots. Seems so unfair that they are given a free card to sleep with 75% of the women in the city or town they may currently be residing in – while for us, we sleep with a mere handful and are considered all things biblically unholy. Half the time, the men get married to a beautiful 'native' girl, and the women? They keep getting older... while the men they sleep with somehow manage to stay the same age...
This isn't exactly a future roll I particularly want to envision myself playing – but to stop living the life I am living, just out of fear of a future me I have every power to make certain I do not become seems a wee bit insane and illogical. Nonetheless, I will joyously express my vexing frustration and rant about the unfairness of it all throughout the glorious world wide web until I am all ranted out... which as of the moment... is about... now. More on this troublesome subject soon, I am sure.

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