Vedat Story of a Young Architect

His thoughts never left him. Sometimes he attributed this to the events he experienced growing up, but sometimes he found this inference wrong. At times his life was so busy that there were times when he could not listen to his mind that would not shut up. But he was usually someone who tried to survive in the realm of ideas. Contrary to his reticence in daily life, Vedat was a chatterbox in his inner world. What would he do if someone heard the thoughts going through his mind. What kind of chemical reaction could occur between his ascetic thoughts and physical existence when they touched the air? Was he delirious when he slept at night? Some of his thoughts had a structure akin to the sudden influx of wild animals, powerful, of a species he could not understand, roaming the desolate lands. Sometimes he fought alone with his thoughts, like Genghis Khan's great hunt, surrounding his wild thoughts and pitting them against each other, leaving the wilder and wilder ones in a narrower and narrower circle. At other times, he felt like a student wandering like an explorer in an ocean, whipping himself with the thirst for new discoveries. Who would have known that underneath his short, slightly overweight, small and insignificant appearance there were debates reminiscent of those between Cicero and Antonius? He didn't care about the clothes he wore, in fact his favorite clothes were the oldest ones. Because he considered them mature, not old. In fact, his favorite clothes were the ones that were given away for free when he participated in events. Because when he used them, he had something to tell.

Vedat himself didn't know why he didn't or wouldn't tell his thoughts. He started to think about it one ordinary evening when he was sitting at home. He went to his room, put on the sweater he had been wearing for more than ten years and went out on the balcony. He lived on the ninth floor. The subject that was on his mind before he went out suddenly flew out of his mind. The idea of jumping down suddenly stuck to his brain like a lurking predator. He tried very hard to get rid of it. The idea of suicide spread so thick and fast that it was like a drop of ink in a bucket of water. In an instant, it enveloped his whole mind and body. He felt compelled to sit on the cold balcony concrete. Vedat was afraid of himself. He believed that this was the only way he could get rid of this thought. But it didn't work. Then he threw himself into the house as if fleeing from death. "What was that all about?" he asked himself, but he couldn't find an answer. Why did he think of jumping down? His unanswered thoughts were the worst. Because until he found an answer, he would always wait silently on the sidelines for an answer to be found for himself. Sometimes it would take years, sometimes once he had his turn he wouldn't give the others a chance. Now it depended on the temperament of his thoughts. Hadari and civilized, different questions from his ID and his superego had different temperaments. At least he could understand that.

When he came back into the house he went back to wondering why he couldn't tell people what he thought. This question was coming from his super ego, so it was a civilized and less irritable question. His memories took Vedat by the arm and took him on a trip where he didn't need to use his feet. He went back to the moments when he was condemned to deal with judgmental and accusatory looks and words. His eyes were open. He was watching the clock on the wall. Time, a human invention, was almost mocking him. He had returned to the past in a stagnant time, and files from the archives of his subconscious were being placed in front of him one by one. Then he realized. Humiliation hits you the hardest when you are young. But how could Vedat, who had mouth sores that would heal even if he hadn't touched them yet, heal these stitch-proof wounds that deepened as he grew older?

Vedat wondered what time it really was, and then he took his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at it and realized that it was very late. How was he going to wake up for work the next day? He lay down on his bed and with great difficulty he managed to fall asleep. At night he dreamt of a very strange scene. The not-so-bright lights of the city with its high-rise buildings, soaked under a muddy rain trying to clear the darkness at night, illuminated and then revealed a white and long-winged snake curving above the clouds, non-poisonous but strangling, incapacitating and eating its prey. The water that touched the asphalt turned into time and flowed into the city sewers. Vedat's alarm was Prokofiev's famous composition Dance of the Knights, and he woke up hearing this composition in the middle of a nightmare or a dream. The dream interpretation website he visited for this dream, which he thought must have a meaning and an interpretation, did not have an interpretation for situations involving such detailed and fantastical elements. Although he didn't usually dream much, Vedat tried to look up the interpretation of all the dreams he had, but he usually couldn't find an interpretation exactly as he wanted. How could he know that his mind was trapped in the hysteria of thoughts just like Pesiphae, cursed by Poseidon and in love with a bull? Or that these dreams were a reflection of his misguided thoughts in the Minoan labyrinths created to hide the Minotaur...