The Wit and Wisdom of Ali Ihsan ELMAS

I can't remember her name, but I remember the day. It was one of those hot summer days. The sky was clear, no clouds. It wasn't beautiful or poetic. It was just burning. I didn't like it. I went to the library as usual, and I saw a girl standing outside smoking, wearing a long dress. She wasn't particularly beautiful, and I wasn't particularly interested in her either, but I wanted to give it a try. I thought maybe something would happen. Something worth remembering later. I asked her for a smoke, though I'm not a smoker, and started talking to her. I asked what she was doing at the library during summer break. She was either doing her master's or her PhD and writing her thesis. We talked a little more. Then I got her number and went inside. Later that day, we had lunch together, then went back to the library. During one of our breaks, we decided to meet for a drink on campus sometime. A couple of days later, I texted her, and we met on the big football fiel...

"Isn't it strange", I said, "that we work and work, and then when we finally have free time, we don't even know what to do with it? We just look for different ways to kill it, because deep down we only want to get rid of it." "What do you mean?" he said. "If you don't know what to do, just go and see the famous places in the city. Don't try to over-intellectualise things." "You mean tourist attractions?" I asked. "The 'places you must see before you die' sections in magazines? That bullshit?" "Yeah," he said. "Why not?" Maybe he had a point. And I didn't have any better ideas, so I said, "Okay, I'll give it a try." I found a list of places to see in the city, and the Book of Kells was at the top. Some ancient book kept in Trinity College. I like universities, so I thought, what the hell, I'll go there. I bought the ticket, took the train, and got off at Trinity....

 Dear Mr. Fante, We never met, but a long time ago a common friend, Chinaski, told me you were a writer better than him. At first I didn’t believe it. You know how these things go. Bukowski says something like that and you think he’s either drunk, being generous, or both. But he kept at it. He told me to read you and decide for myself. So I did. Six or seven books later, I have to admit it: he was right. Good writers make me feel like giving them a call after reading their work, just to have a friendly chat. That’s how I decide if someone is a good writer or not. But you are dead and don’t have a phone, so I’m writing instead of calling. I hope you don’t mind. The reason for that call changes for me from writer to writer. For example, Kafka made me want to call him just to say take it easy and not be so harsh on himself. Stefan Zweig made me want to call him to discuss the world. Dostoyevsky made me want to call him to talk about the pain that people have to endure and whether it h...

 Dear Bukoswki, I know you’re dead. It’s okay, so many people are dead: my father is dead, my grandma is dead, my uncle-in-law is dead. Even Lemmy is dead! I’ll be dead in 40 years, at most. But still, it doesn’t matter. I’ve read all your novels and stories, many of your poems, and I’ve even listened to your readings. That’s why I wanted to write to you: I take you as a friend. Anyhow, I’m writing this letter to ask for some advice. I’m feeling confused, Charles. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me or with the world itself. I don’t have any answers, and probably not even the right questions, but with all your wisdom maybe you can enlighten me. Here’s how I feel, dear Hank: I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen. Something big, something that would give meaning to my life. No one ever promised, or even said, that anything important would happen to me, but I still wait anyway. Something that would put some joy in the air, some excitement, some gamble. Something t...

    Pondering:     Sitting at home on a lonely night. Thinking about the past, and how I wasted my life and am still wasting it. I don't know what I want to do with my life, and I feel the same old cliché: we never know what we have or what's important until it's completely gone and there's no way to get it back. Usually, we look for happiness in the wrong places as we misunderstand what's causing us trouble. Deceiving ourselves with the hope of happiness, thinking that "thing" we want will make everything fine. But I guess there's no perfect day, no perfect moment that will be. You won't be happy when you bang that girl or have that new outfit. It's just another way to keep yourself busy and escape from boredom. Time needs to pass somehow, so we need to do something - anything.      Reflecting:     I was looking at the photo where I'm with my father. I thought about how I never had the chance to know him. I mean, what were his fears? What ...

It feels kind of strange. You work at a job to make money and earn your freedom, but then you don't know what to do with your free time. So you end up at this meetup event on a Saturday morning, where you practically work for free. It's not that I don't have things to do and feel bored. I have things to do, but I don't want to do them, or I'm postponing them. So maybe, even to distract myself from the fact that I have things to do, I went there. I also wanted to have something to do other than the things I have to do. Yeah, maybe. Before going, I checked the list of attendees to make sure there were people I would be interested in meeting. Just to ensure I didn't end up at the meeting point alone, I even posted on the discussion page, asking if anyone else was going to be there. To my surprise, someone replied “yes” to my message. So, I thought it couldn't be that bad. I woke up at 8 to be there on time. I had my coffee and breakfast and then left for the ...