When the Earth Rocks the Cradle of a City
an earthquake, a wind, and a new beginning
An Earthquake
Earth rocked the cradle of Istanbul last Wednesday.
I was typing on the typewriter1 when it began to shake. It rocked the living room, my creative cave, for about thirteen seconds, making each second tremble. It vibrated my injured back, which has been hurting for weeks, and made me feel more exposed to the fragility of my (upright) body.
Like a burrowing animal I took my head out of my hole and rushed out to put my feet on the ground, my head under the heavens. There is not much of an opening where I live. The street is made of two lines of buildings one next to the other. When you get out there is another building right in front of you. Sandwiched you find yourself, a little perishable human body between two lines of concrete. Yet I was immensely grateful because the apartments were standing and we were all standing with them. If they had collapsed, so would we. In the presence of a calamity, we, inanimate and animate without wings stand or collapse together.
I texted Nathalie immediately. Earthquake. Quite big. Close to 6 magnitude I think.
I typed these in three separate messages in a hurry. Communication gets cut or slows down in times of emergency. I think my hands were shaking, then left a voice message so she could hear my voice and feel reassured. I can often manage my vocals better than my fingers.
After a few minutes outside gazing into the sky, I crawled back in and began to pack an earthquake bag. Something I had been postponing. I put my sleeping bag inside and I blanked. All my clothes were dirty. Should I do a laundry now, in the middle of earthquakes? Nathalie reminded me of a few things I could pack from three thousand kilometres away: water, some dry food like nuts, my passport, cash, a few clothes, written phone numbers, pen and paper, a knife, a small toothbrush, a toothpaste... Should I take my book with me? I asked. Take La Graine, she answered. Homeless I may become, but not book-less.
I started the laundry. I trashed my garbage. I noticed, how I wanted to get rid of the garbage2 in case I get stuck with it, and also it soothed me to go in and out. Trash was a good excuse. But, then almost the entire neighbourhood was outside and the fear and confusion of the collective began to seep into my being. Shall we stay out? Shall we stay in?
Wanting to be on the move, I began to wander around the neighbourhood. An older woman, perhaps in her 60s, sitting on the stairs with her oxygen tube alone, another woman around my age recovering from a recent operation or diseased or disabled, trying to walk around with the help of another person, people putting things into their cars and leaving, mothers holding their small children and babies. Scared and absent.
I called my father. He did not pick up. Again. It had been days he had not been answering his phone and I was getting worried. I talked to two old friends over the phone, both kindly invited me to stay with them. Both of their apartment buildings had a little garden surrounding it so if I had not felt comfortable staying in my place at night, I could stay with them. One of them was an hour walking distance, the other about five hours. And with my backpack and back injury, it would possibly take me longer but both were doable in case of emergency, latter being last option.
For a few hours it felt strange to continue life as is… The aftershocks kept shaking the ground and agitated the field. It was past 2 pm and I had not eaten anything, upon noticing it I filled my stomach with a chick pea dish I had in the fridge. Then I went out again to walk around the city centre, pharmacies were closed down, supermarkets were open. It was quite windy and unusually cold for late April.
I reached my father, learned that he got sick after I visited him a few days prior and that he had been trying to hide it from me but the earthquake made it hard for him to evade my phone calls further. I visited him the day after. He is currently on the mend.
It was a hard day. A confusing day. And a charged, emotional night with millions of people and millions of stories. I slept at home in my bed, wished my good nights and hugged my childhood panda bear. Many people stayed outside, slept by the roads, in temples, parks, sport centres, tents… Cities are strange places, most are disconnected from their planet and they disconnect us from our planet in such an organised and troubling manner. In times of trouble that becomes even more pronounced.
The next day I woke up at seven thirty in the morning and went swimming. We were only six people at the pool but the building was full of people who had slept there that night and they kept sleeping there in the following days.3
It is hard to write about the shaking of the earth while I am physically in Istanbul, in a city that is waiting for “its giant earthquake,” as some geologists predict, and in a country that is located on an earthquake zone. Living on a planet is dangerous yet living in an earthquake breeding region in such a disconnected way from your planet, leaving it to chance and to the will of god is too much of human neglect, stupidity, arrogance and ignorance. We should not be finding ourselves in such dramatic circumstances after each earthquake yet it is the same script over and over again for decades. We are yet to act and build properly. This hurts, truly hurts the mind, the heart and the soul.
Now I wish for some ease for myself, for my city and for my collective.
Geçmiş olsun Istanbul.
A Wind
Now the winds are blowing wildly in Istanbul.
Following the shaken world, the dark moon magnetised some weight off of my back and the new moon promised a new beginning. My back has been easing since Saturday. Shaking earth, loving care, starting to take a bus4 to the swimming pool, threatening my back to take us to the doctor, starting to practice a wee bit of yoga again and some story knots unraveling, they all must have helped me recover. And I also suspect the waves of love and imagination that the story and I have been receiving from people who have read La Graine played its own unique part.5 I am very grateful for that. Some people even spent time and energy to find me and reach out in a language other than their native tongue French, I mean it is quite wonderful. Merci beaucoup France. I shall try to learn your tongue if I live on your land… Promis.
It was the new moon a few days ago. New moon is the time when our luminaries, the Sun and the Moon get together in the sky. With this imaginary kissing, hugging, merging, the Moon begins a new lunar cycle through which the Moon reappears and waxes from crescent to half to full and then it wanes from full to half to crescent and disappears. Every 29,5 days this cycle repeats hence the new moons symbolically represent the energy of emergence, renewal and beginning.
Personally I am leaning into some questions, some newness and brewing curiosity with them. What newness can I invite into my life? What can I begin that can make me, my surroundings and my field taste the excitement of something new and fresh? What/Who/When/Where can I fall in love with? What winds are blowing to seduce me, allure me, turn me on? What is delicious?
Perhaps I will try new recipes. Perhaps I will weave new rituals into my days and nights. Perhaps I will begin practicing a new sport, a new tradition, a new technique, a new tool, a new way of relating... Perhaps I will explore places, things and beings I have not explored before, and I will be explored by them.
The winds are blowing and I am blowing along.
But make no mistake, I am not as wildly free as the wind… I am writing these words from my desk that I was sitting on, facing the walls that were moving when the Earth shook. My wooden desk is not very sturdy, it has wobbly legs, therefore it shakes even with my slightest movements. Here and there I find myself stopping and observing the movement. Is it me? Is it my planet? Is it both of us?
We don’t know how much time we have on this planet, in this life as who we are, that is what makes life fragile and also very precious. No matter how alive and how dead we are, there is a trace of light and a bundle of stories we all leave behind. And we, as the custodian and storytelling species of planet Earth, are dancing, fighting, moving, touching, swimming, drowning with them till supernova do us part.
I was born and bred in this very “desired” city, and lived here for thirty eight years, hence Istanbul’s story, memory and light always troubles and muses me. It is my birth city no matter how present and absent I am, it shall always be… Yet I can travel away, be free of this city and make another place my home, my beloved and who knows what city, what place I die with. Life is full of mysteries.
I am wishing you an enchanted first summer and sending wild love. Merry Beltane.6
Till an earthquake, a volcano, a supernova or a black hole do us part and possibly even beyond that… Imagination imagines. Mystery mystifies.
Gizem Gizegen, 2025 Istanbul, ☉ Taurus ☽ Gemini
P.S. I wrote the article below after the destructive earthquakes that took place in the south of Turkey, demolished many cities, and took many lives in February 2023. I am sharing it here for a little time travel for those who wish to read.
Back then I was struggling to write my book and miscarrying drafts. I wrote: “And after this shaking and ruining, I know I must relate and build differently. I will be exploring that this spring… If I am to turn into ruins, I wish to find ways to turn into a beautiful one that hosts deep imagination and creativity. For that, I must build first, this time better, stronger, wiser. Otherwise what difference do I have from the very patriarchy and his rotten, corrupt men I criticise.”
I hardly use the typewriter. A week ago, I took it out and placed it on my table a few minutes before the earthquake.
This may be my Virgo moon’s doing.
The following Saturday, I went swimming again and they were still camping there.
I usually walk for 35 to 40 minutes to the pool, back and forth with a sport’s bag that puts quite a lot of stress on my back.
With few jinx and needling along the way… inevitable ;)
First Summer or Beltane as Celts call and celebrate it, is one of my most beloved times of the year.