Lost in transit

After a long flight, I landed in Istanbul. It was a beautiful airport. I had some free time to kill before my connecting flight. There were many travelers like me wandering thru the duty-free shops, food halls, and different gates.

After a while, I stopped by a small café to get some coffee and baklawa. I sat on a table facing the beautiful Turkish land. It was a mesmerizing view. The sky looked like a canvas being painted in the different shades of orange, pink, and violet. It was neither dark, nor bright and yet very pleasant.

I couldn’t make out what time of the day it was. It was a long flight, and I had lost track of time zones. Strangely, it felt nice. It felt nice to be lost in transit, to not know what hour of the day it is, and to feel how it is to live in this anonymity for a little bit. The sun was either setting, or just about to rise. I saw a flock of birds flying out in the open sky. I don’t know if they were returning to their nest after a long day, or just getting started. It was drizzling.

I loved this experience of being lost in time zones.     

It had been over an hour. I had created an ambience of my own by now. It was some vibe. In that instance, in absolute silence, I realized once again… how strong was this desire within me to write, and how natural it felt to sit down quietly in a café, sipping coffee, and letting my heart silently express what it felt.

This desire to let my heart pour itself out on a piece of paper was desperate and peaceful, both at the same time. It gave me a sense of completeness. I still couldn’t express everything I felt in words, and yet words were all I had. I remembered Kafka’s phrase in this moment where he said, All language is but a poor translation.