spring comes to istanbul
i bought these tulips (?) yesterday.
spring comes to istanbul and spring comes in me: which means unfurling from the one-room cocoon that i made for myself this winter, composed of only soft things (white rug, wool blanket, linen sheets) - and letting myself grow roots into other places - other rooms in this house - other streets in this city.
recently, i started a weekly ritual composed of: browsing the bookstore + buying plants to carry home. slowly, i’m turning my home into a living garden, which means it can never be uninhabited by a human - even if I leave for a month, or two.
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this spring, i feel slow and hungover. it’s as if winter was the comforting darkness of a black-out, and i’m waking up to birds and brightness and friends making plans for summer, while i still cannot get my brain to think beyond this month. this is fine.
what is the purpose of spring? a season for planting, growing, frivolity, fluttering, blossoming, flowering? i’m more of an autumn (death & decay) kind of girl, but i’ll admit i like flowers.
time travel
last spring in berlin - i was feeling joyful and lucky
the previous spring in japan - i was feeling melancholic, and rebirthing.