The wind ruffs up the treetops from the fourth floor window. The sky is a matte periwinkle, smog seaside twilight. Babies yowl and the seagulls cry, intermittent conversations, somewhere between complaints of love. The evening mosque call has relieved Ramadan fasting for the day, and the masses have commenced eating. You can hear the hungry clink of forks on plates from the rooftop terrace where I balance the computer on my lap. We'll head out to eat too soon, before the fasters have scattered, so we can grab a bite before the Fenerbahçe home game on their home turf.
We got married two days ago, free from pomp, only some white daisies in my hair and a huge bouquet from my auntie and fam, which smelled beautiful and lovingly for days. It arrived just as we were piling in the car en route to the marriage hall. Receiving the flowers right then and there nearly put me to tears, but I recovered. I wore a simple white sundress, which Sevgi, Serkan's sister, MADE. She gave me some shoes of hers, since we wear the same size, and she even did my makeup (complete with trial runs the day before).
Serkan and I had scurried the huge distances of Istanbul to get all the marriage papers together for one week exactly. On Friday afternoon we finally submitted all the documents and set our wedding date. It was a long process while we were doing it, but looking back, one week is nuthin'.
There were so many characters in the process. The hospital visit to obtain our blood tests may have been one of the most miserable places on earth. One old man at an information desk couldn't donned a sourer scowl or gruff voice. Serkan tried to ask him where we go to for blood tests. He avoided Serkan's eyes and gave me the ole up and down evil eye staredown. He mentioned something about the pointlessness of marriage, and then he told us to ask someone else. We found where we needed to be, luckily. After the sterile carnage everywhere else in the hospital, the nurse taking blood in the salmon pink-themed office was jolly with a hearty laugh and a broad smile. Though, she drew blood brutally, blessing us both with bruises for days, despite my transparent skin and She-Ra inner elbow veins.
But each step grew lighter. The doctor, who told me to bite down on my flower necklace while he shoved my ribs against the X-ray machine to photograph my lungs, proved efficient and radiated good energy. The woman who signed our medical report babbled on endlessly with a huge grin. She said not to worry about the bolded and starred part of my (anemic) blood report. Serkan should just marry me for having a pretty smile. In our three-minute visit, she also talked about marriage in general, her dislike for the American health system, and possibly what she planned to eat for lunch. A few kilometers a minute, pure monologue, but enthusiastic. We found the happiest people at the marriage office. I figure it has something to do with their work focusing on the beginnings of couplehood. They're not dealing with sickness or annoyed people. A cool breeze circulates through the office and natural daylight, at least, accompanies those horrid florescent energy saver bulbs. The marriage bureau people treat each other familiarly, and they deal with hopeful couples starting the next chapter of life, together.
We got married two days ago, free from pomp, only some white daisies in my hair and a huge bouquet from my auntie and fam, which smelled beautiful and lovingly for days. It arrived just as we were piling in the car en route to the marriage hall. Receiving the flowers right then and there nearly put me to tears, but I recovered. I wore a simple white sundress, which Sevgi, Serkan's sister, MADE. She gave me some shoes of hers, since we wear the same size, and she even did my makeup (complete with trial runs the day before).
Serkan and I had scurried the huge distances of Istanbul to get all the marriage papers together for one week exactly. On Friday afternoon we finally submitted all the documents and set our wedding date. It was a long process while we were doing it, but looking back, one week is nuthin'.
There were so many characters in the process. The hospital visit to obtain our blood tests may have been one of the most miserable places on earth. One old man at an information desk couldn't donned a sourer scowl or gruff voice. Serkan tried to ask him where we go to for blood tests. He avoided Serkan's eyes and gave me the ole up and down evil eye staredown. He mentioned something about the pointlessness of marriage, and then he told us to ask someone else. We found where we needed to be, luckily. After the sterile carnage everywhere else in the hospital, the nurse taking blood in the salmon pink-themed office was jolly with a hearty laugh and a broad smile. Though, she drew blood brutally, blessing us both with bruises for days, despite my transparent skin and She-Ra inner elbow veins.
But each step grew lighter. The doctor, who told me to bite down on my flower necklace while he shoved my ribs against the X-ray machine to photograph my lungs, proved efficient and radiated good energy. The woman who signed our medical report babbled on endlessly with a huge grin. She said not to worry about the bolded and starred part of my (anemic) blood report. Serkan should just marry me for having a pretty smile. In our three-minute visit, she also talked about marriage in general, her dislike for the American health system, and possibly what she planned to eat for lunch. A few kilometers a minute, pure monologue, but enthusiastic. We found the happiest people at the marriage office. I figure it has something to do with their work focusing on the beginnings of couplehood. They're not dealing with sickness or annoyed people. A cool breeze circulates through the office and natural daylight, at least, accompanies those horrid florescent energy saver bulbs. The marriage bureau people treat each other familiarly, and they deal with hopeful couples starting the next chapter of life, together.
1 comment:
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