Sunday, 10 July 2011

Eh! Abdula!

I miss my father.

There is no one like him in the world.

You can always spot him in a crowd.

Everybody is rushing around,
but my father moves at his own pace.

According to him, the world can wait.

The last time i set eyes on him,
he was leaned against the lamppost on Pearl Street,
opposite the window of my cell.


Flossing a fitted.


It's obvious we are father and son.

The only differences between the way i look now and how he looked at
my age, is i have blue/green eyes.
 Due to my skin not being cooked under a Turkish sun for most of my upbringing,
my complexion is also little lighter.

As of this moment,
my dad resides in Turkey with my mother,
and my dog.

His name is Fred.

I miss spending time with my dad.

Before my now infamous trip to the Big Apple,
i'd go to Turkey once a year.

The pace of life there is relaxed.

VERY relaxed.

Good food.

Beautiful weather.

I think when i have children i will
call it my home for a good few years..

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Most of my time there is either spent exploring
on a moped with a bag full of paint, or with my dad.

He likes to take me with him on his daily bops
around town.

This usually consists of nothing more than meetings with
his business partners, Friends and associates.

NONE of them speak English.

Apart from being able to tell someone to suck a donkeys dick,
which shockingly isn't as helpful as one would imagine,
i can't speak, write or understand any Turkish.

I know it involves a lot of waving your arms around
in an angry fashion, pointing at people aggressively
and tutting very loudly, but that's as far as my knowledge
of the Turkish language goes

Spending your whole day standing around while everyone
talks a language you don't understand, is very boring.

I'll give them this much,
the few loose words of broken English
my dad has taught his Friends is pretty
on point.

"Timmy, you want a chai?"

That means it's time for some tea.

"Timmy, you want a weed?"

That means it's time for a hench zoot of Turkish mersh.

Even though i find days like this incredibly boring,
i know it makes my dad happy having me there.

I get the feeling,
even though i am covered in tattoos
(because of this, people in Turkey assume i've been to jail. How ironic),
i do not have a career and have spent most of my life
chasing after things that most people see as an utter waste of time,
i think my dad is proud of me.

So i do it to make him happy.

He's a cool dad.

I can be sitting in his yard in Turkey and he'll just appear at the door
in a cloud of vanilla flavoured cigar smoke and spit

"Timoty, get your paints and a weed"

What will follow, who knows.

My father doesn't usually have any type of plan.

This time last year,
i was looking forward to my parents coming
to visit me an the Mrs.

I knew they were very proud of what i had achieved
in the last few years.

Moving to New York,
getting myself a good job, a nice apartment,
not to mention getting married.

I was very excited to show them the life
i had built myself, and introduce them to
their new daughter in law.

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That didn't quite pan out!


I guess i'll just have to go pay them a visit instead.


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