Uđur Mumcu   |   From His Articles   |   Wildflowers
Wildflowers

Today, I stand in front of my typewriter for minutes, thinking of what to write for the first time in many years. My hands are just not willing to type. So, what shall I write today?

 

When you struggle with the problems inside, words go round and round in your mind like a Ferris wheel. Such that, you cannot get those words out of your mind, your heart, your mouth and arrive at the typewriter ribbon. You can neither line black letters and words, nor put dots and commas onto that white paper… Because words have their own worlds. And those worlds go round and round in our minds, our consciences and our hearts just as the globes orbiting around the sound…

 

One day words become as far as the stars that we cannot reach, one day they come close to us like the wildflowers we walk over. And mostly, we cannot calculate their distance from us; we cannot say whether they are far from or close to us. And those words keep on going round and round in our hearts, consciences, minds and arteries…

 

I wish I did not write any articles today. I wish I went to the wild, went and collect some wildflowers. Then, I brought them together into a bouquet. I wish I named one flower as “Virtue”, another as “Honour”, and another as “Faith”…

 

What shall I write today?

 

Take a glance around. Have a look at the things that you have witnessed so far or you have heard about. Just look. Sometimes, we come across with people, adorned with the flowers of honour or faith. But sometimes we meet the human trashes, who lie through their teeth, who have always swung like wire walkers by holding the ropes of corruption… And you see, they have always won, they have always enjoyed their days. Money? They have. Goods? They have. They have always been on easy street, always lived high on the hog. They adapt to the place that they’ve settled like chameleons. They hide their full-of-lie-heads into their thick enough shells just as turtles do and they snake in the meantime.

 

What shall I write today?

 

I feel like collecting wildflowers out in the bush. Together with the warm southern winds coming from Cyprus and the lights coming secretly from Aegean sunny mornings, I wish I put the wildflowers I’d collected from every corner of my country and say “Here they are”, “Here are the things that I have always wanted to write about, but just couldn’t”, “Here they are…”

 

The flowers are hand in hand; they belong to the same land, they stay in the same water. One of them is “Faith”, the other one is “Virtue”, and the other one is “Honour”…

 

In front of my typewriter, having stuck to the question mark of the article I’m going to write, I keep thinking over and over for minutes for the first time in many years. I just cannot strike the words from the typewriter’s keys onto that black ribbon. My son “Özgür*” comes to me and asks, “What are you thinking on, Dad?” Then he reads. “Write about me, Dad, write my name, talk about me Dad, talk about me.”

 

I hold on for a while. Then I think, think and think again.

 

I wish I went into the wild, collected wildflowers and then, yes, and then, and…and…and…

 

What shall I write today?

 

 

 

*T.N.: “Özgür” is a Turkish name, meaning “free” and “independent”.