Tevfik Hürkan Urhan holds a degree in Economics from Middle East Technical University (METU) and a master’s degree in Social Sciences from Humboldt University. He is currently engaged in independent journalism and publishing activities
NUMBNESS
He felt nothing. Standing outside in a Northern European city in the middle of winter, dressed only in a sleeveless undershirt. Yet he felt nothing. Not even the cold.
And this wasn’t about existential crises or nihilistic emptiness. Just five minutes earlier, he’d done two lines of speed and one of keta. Probably it was because of that. Though he wasn’t completely sure; perhaps it was heartbreak—unlikely, but possible. He took a few steps and quickly understood. Yes, yes, he was just high. It wasn’t anything tragic.
A few rats ran out from an old silo with a small, tilted entrance. One of them gently touched his shoulder and asked:
– Are you alright? – I’m fine, he replied. I feel nothing.
“Is that good or bad for you?” asked the rat, his closest friend. “If I could feel at all,” he said thoughtfully, “I guess it would depend on exactly what I’d be feeling.”
– Wanna dance? – Sure.
And so all the rats went inside to dance.
Halfway in, one rat stopped and looked back at the silo. She had overheard their conversation. The air was terribly cold—she could still feel it sharply. And for her, sadly, that was a bad thing.
12.2021- Burdur
PATHETICNESS
Have you ever lost all your friends and your lover in just one day? Well, I have. And it’s not like I did anything in particular. In fact, I did nothing at all. On January 23rd, suddenly, everyone around me stopped talking to me. It wasn’t exactly that they were offended; they just completely stopped caring. Since that day, they’ve been acting as if I don’t exist.
At first, it was a bit tough, but now I’m gradually getting used to it. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I secretly take a kind of pleasure in it. Then I realize the pitiful nature of that pleasure and get angry with myself. I’m pathetic. Even more pathetic is the fact that I enjoy how pathetic I am.
When my lover was leaving the house, I said, “I don’t think I’m doing well lately.” She didn’t even respond. Frankly, I hadn’t expected her to. Then I called my closest friend; he didn’t pick up. I hadn’t really expected him to, either. So, what else could I do? To protect my mental health, I forced myself to go on my daily stupid nature walk.
An old woman walking in front of me fell. I tried to help her up, but she snapped, “Get your filthy hands off me. I can handle myself, I don’t need help from someone like you.” She was right. Who the fuck am I to try helping people?
I passed by a playground full of children; they didn’t even have the manners to laugh behind my back. They made fun of me straight to my face, right there, looking me in the eye. I barely held back my tears and quickly walked away.
I sat down on a bench. I was so insignificant that I began to wonder whether I even existed in this world. And that’s how things are. So, why did people suddenly stop caring about me, you might ask? I don’t have the courage to find out or figure it out. I’m just going to keep on living like this. As I said, I take a mild pleasure in it.
23.02.2022 – Charlottenburg, Berlin
STUCKNESS
She was an immigrant. The rental contract had one month left, the employment contract two, and the residence permit three.
To find an apartment, one needed proof of steady income. To secure a job, one needed a sufficiently long residence permit. And for a residence permit, one had to have a rental contract and a registered address.
Consequently, none of her problems could be solved. A bureaucratic-flavored, paranoid, unsolvable puzzle. Such things are possible if you are an immigrant. Stuckness is a periodically recurring state of existence.
A home, a job, and the right to stay in a city… “How basic are my problems,” she thought. Yet, simultaneously, guilt crept in: “Am I asking for too much?” These two thoughts coexisted shamelessly.
No matter what she did, she would feel guilty. Welcome to the 2020s. During this decade, we find ourselves drowning in our stuckness, and in return, we feel burdened by guilt for our own sense of being lost. Ours is an age of stuckness and guilt. Our illusion of collective progress and development was shattered by an earthquake, magnitude 19 on the corona scale, burying an entire generation beneath it. We found ourselves trapped under the debris of the previous century.
Every breath feels heavier, residence permits expire, rents climb relentlessly, and in the merciless momentum of the digital age, the immigrant becomes trapped in digital survival, fighting for the crumbs of remaining opportunities.
Long story short, life didn’t flow; she was stuck.
Yiğitcan Erdoğan started working professionally as a writer at the age of 16 for a video game magazine. After working in hobby journalism for more than a decade, he debuted his first fictional work; the audio drama Zamanaltı, in 2019. Outside of literature, he’s also known for his panel shows both online and on stage.
Recently, I was talking with my dear friend Kubi Öztürk about HAFTW’s album “Unknown Territories,” whose story we will encounter again on these Dolmusch pages. To describe what he felt at that moment about making this album, Kubi used this metaphor: being the archaeologist of oneself.
At this point, I stopped, excitedly hit my friend’s arm, and shouted my enthusiasm for this statement at a decibel I sadly admit Berlin’s streets generally regard with concern — because I was feeling something very similar about what I was working on at the time. I’m talking here about Büyük Tufan (The Great Flood).
Büyük Tufan began its life as an idea in late 2020. My first radio play, Zamanaltı, which I wrote and produced, was nearing its end, and I was at the time staying at the home of my dear friend İlkin Taşdelen in Çayyolu, Ankara. Their apartment on the fifth floor had a beautiful city view overlooking the lined-up apartment buildings of this Ankaran suburb. Suddenly, it started raining. I remember holding a drink in my hand, though I can’t say for sure whether I’ve added that detail to this memory later. The one thing I am certain of is this: as the rain started and I gazed out at the view, I found myself thinking: What if this rain never stops?
Büyük Tufan grew from this simple thought and first collided with the spirit of the times. In the heart of the pandemic, I had been thinking for a while that post-apocalyptic literature needed an update. The genre, seen in different media through works like Mad Max, The Walking Dead, The Road, and The Last of Us, often carries a distinctive pattern hidden in its very name: post-apocalypse.
In these types of stories, the main narrative begins after the apocalypse itself has occurred. Often, the story opens with a brief glimpse of life before the disaster, then jumps forward in time to show the audience a society radically transformed by the catastrophe — a stark contrast is drawn. Yet very few stories actually depict the time that is skipped over — the apocalypse itself.
The pandemic, however, showed us that apocalypses are not singular, clearly defined events that separate “before” and “after” like milestones. Apocalypses are long, drawn-out processes — and as the pandemic taught us, those processes themselves are often fascinating and worth telling.
The idea of never-ending rain, combined with the inspiration I felt while looking out from a window in Central Anatolia, naturally led me to humanity’s most enduring apocalyptic motif. Every civilization that ever lived in and around Anatolia has had some version of a Great Flood story — many historians today believe these stories refer to the breaching of the Mediterranean into the Black Sea. And of course, given the global climate crisis the world is currently facing, the possibility of living through another Great Flood on a massive scale no longer seems far-fetched.
The theme settled on this foundation. If another Great Flood were to happen, there would be two options: either humanity would stay on this world or leave it behind to start anew on another planet. The story began to take shape through two main characters who make these opposing choices, building a thematic dialectic around the ideas of departure and staying. This, in turn, allowed me to connect to the story on a deeply personal level — because I, too, had to confront my own decision to leave Turkey and my tendency to leave places only when it suited me. Büyük Tufan gave me the space to explore these inner conflicts, and as the story found its own rhythm, it also encountered new allegories.
The first script for Büyük Tufan was written in January 2021, the first episode was recorded in December 2021, and it met its audience at the start of 2022. In the summer of 2024, its final episode, The Day After Tomorrow, aired, bringing its 61-episode run to an end. And now, it is being rewritten and reread as a serialized novel, published week by week.
This process makes me feel, in Kubi’s words, like the archaeologist of myself.
I don’t feel any particular excitement about Büyük Tufan at this point. I long ago found the answers to the questions I asked myself between its lines, and I’ve already tried most of the things I wanted to experiment with artistically. Setting aside my childish belief that one must write a novel to truly call themselves a writer, I don’t even feel an emotional reason to keep digging into this story. Excavating the temple I built a thousand years ago and which was subsequently buried under the earth doesn’t excite me — because I still remember that buried temple all too clearly.
But I do it because the work demands it.
I could list other reasons: I’m creating a slow but steady income stream through this serialized novel; I feel a sense of duty to the readers who buy and follow it weekly; I hope that one day it will be published in print… But at the end of the day, they all lead to the same conclusion. When Büyük Tufan ended as a radio play, I knew I would turn it into a novel — because the work clearly demanded it even then. And at this point in the process, the diminishing excitement no longer matters. Because every artist around the world knows that starting art is not the hard part.
Sven Pfizenmaier, born in 1991, is an illustrious figure in contemporary literature. His novel, “Draußen feiern die Leute” (2022), was celebrated with the aspekte Literature Prize for the best debut of the year, the Kranichsteiner Literature Encouragement Award from the German Literature Fund, and the Literature Prize of the State Capital Hannover. In 2024, his second novel, “Schwätzer,” graced the literary scene. Sven Pfizenmaier resides in Berlin.
How did your journey as a writer begin? What inspired you to choose writing as your primary medium of self-expression?
It actively began when I was in University and read White Noise by Don DeLillo. Up until that point, I didn’t think about literature as something that I could do, even though I was interested (I studied German and English Philology) and even wrote little stories when I was a kid. But I lost interest in writing and reading as a teenager because I felt like literature was something for the upper class. I decided to make movies instead, but when I read White Noise, it changed again because suddenly literature was something that could actually be fun. After that, I started reading again and rediscovered my love for writing.
Although you refrain from defining yourself within a specific genre, both your readers and you have noted elements of magical realism in your work. How would you describe the key narrative and thematic features that create this effect? How have your personal and cultural experiences shaped the emergence of these elements in your work?
My family migrated from Kazakhstan to Germany shortly before I was born, so I was always surrounded by Russian language folklore, superstitions, weird tales from the village life in the steppes and all around a tradition that was closer to supernatural ideas than German culture typically is. So when I discovered Magical Realism, I felt very drawn to it and immediately sensed that this mixture of supernatural stuff and everyday life is a very good way to approach reality. I felt like this way of storytelling is very true to the emotions of people.
“Am Himmel über Neukölln sind die Sterne unsichtbar. Eine Kuppel aus Milch verschleiert den Glanz der Meteore, die auf dem Weg zu ihrem Ende hier vorübersegeln. Für die Straßen spielt der Weltraum keine Rolle, das Auge Galileo Galileis schiebt sich durch den Flaschenhals in den Schaum des Bieres. Jemand nimmt einen Schluck daraus, schaut zum Wettbüro. Dort steht ein Mann im Hemd und wischt sich die Tränen von der Wange. Hoch über ihm, im Dachgeschoss der Mall, werden Gespräche an der Hantelbank geführt. Ein Ratschlag für die Muskeln, vier Silben für das Herz. Der Zapfhahn spuckt Magnesium.”
Sven Pfizenmaier
Which literary movements or influences from other art forms have played a role in shaping your unique style?
The earliest influences were video games, especially Final Fantasy VII, which completely hypnotized me as a kid. It is a story about a group of sword-wielding, monster hunting eco terrorists who take on a huge corporate conglomerate that makes money by sucking the life essence out of the planet. Obviously, I didn’t get the political implications of this story back then, but the way it mixed modern day technologies and fantasy elements and then tells a story about greed, love and friendship with it, and even does that by being at the same time funny and horrifying – it was just mind blowing. I played that game over and over again.
The biggest influence to this day would be cinema – I love movies a lot, especially horror films, but I can find in any type of film something that I like. There are so many films that I deeply love that it would be wrong to name any.
How would you describe the influence of Berlin on your literary world? In what ways does the city manifest itself in your writing?
I think Berlin influenced my writing in the sense that you see a lot of very different lives here, good and bad, you see poverty and addiction and you have the excessive nightlife, you have nerds and lovers and activists. Seeing these extreme realities getting mixed up together and trying to find my own position in there makes me question myself all the time, what I do, how I live, how I write.
“Als die Apfelschorlen geleert waren, bestand Gewissheit darüber, dass es keinen Kuss mehr geben würden, kein Wiedersehen, nur ein aufmunterndes Wort. Der Mond leuchtete am Himmel, doch das Licht, in dem sie standen, kam von der Laterne. Ein Lächeln, eine Umarmung, ein Gruß, die Augen. Warme Luft, die Sterne, volle Bäume, vertrocknete Böden. Am Horizont eine Wolke und auf beiden Heimwegen die leise Ahnung, etwas falsch gemacht zu haben.”
Sven Pfizenmaier
Do you have a regular writing routine? Could you share some insights into your creative process and the sources of your inspiration?
I don’t have a strict routine, but when I work, I do so every day in the morning, it’s the time I function best. In the afternoon, I mostly just read. There are weeks or even months where I don’t write much at all, this is the time for going out, meeting people, coming home after sunrise – things I don’t do a lot when I’m in a writing phase. I usually don’t drink then, do sport, write every day. Then, when I’m done, I’m letting it all go and don’t think about writing at all. I need these big, long breaks from writing, I don’t think I would write very well otherwise.
Do you think German literature is evolving toward a more multicultural direction? Considering that Turkish people constitute the largest minority, how visible do you find their contributions in the German literary scene? How do you assess the impact of Turkish-origin writers and cultural motifs on literature? Additionally, which Turkish authors writing in German do you follow?
I do think it is evolving in a more multicultural direction, at least compared to twenty years ago. Obviously Germany is still a place with a lot of hate for multiculturalism and the literary scene is not spared from that – but I do think that there is bigger interest in the stories of migrants and their children now. I recently read the Berlin Trilogy by Aras Ören, it is a cycle of poems about the time of his arrival in Berlin (in the 70s, I think). As I write this, Cemile Sahin just got nominated for one of the most prestigious literary prizes in Germany for her novel Kommando Ajax. It is kind of a heist story about a Kurdish family and art theft in (mostly) the Netherlands. I read that book a couple of weeks ago and it truly is great, I loved it.
What future projects are you currently working on?
I started writing another novel, but it still feels unsure. I talked to different friends about doing projects, a theater play, a comic. Working feels shaky nowadays- fascism is on the rise again in Germany and it needs to be fought. I’m more worried about that than about my work at the moment.
“In der Nacht ihres Falls kletterte der westdeutsche DJ Westbam gemeinsam mit Hunderten anderen über die Berliner Mauer. Oben angekommen, drehte er sich um, um der Person hinter sich hochzuhelfen, und da stellte sich heraus, dass es sich bei dieser Person um den lettischen DJ Eastbam handelte. Auf der Mauer stehend reichte Westbam Eastbam die Hand. Ein Triumph, der Jubel, die Freiheit. Menschen zogen ihre Warnwesten über und begaben sich hinter schweres Gemäuer. Wummernde Gravität. Liebe in der Dunkelheit, die Pupille ein See. Das Jahrzehnt des Raves war angebrochen.”
Sven Pfizenmaier
Interviewee: Sven Pfizenmaier Interviewer: Tevfik Hürkan Urhan
What is next now? The university years that seemed like they would never end were over! Özgün was absently walking through Middle East Technical University in Ankara, the capital city of Turkey after their last exam. They mumbled on by themself:
-“I guess it wasn’t a good idea to finish my studies my dear, what am I supposed to do right now?”
Özgün remembered the moment when they came from a remote corner of Anatolia and walked through the door of this campus like it was only yesterday. Years ago, they were finally able to free themself from the suffocating monotony of the countryside and plunge into a social mobility, namely into a life of a university campus. But Özgün had never considered that this study experience would only form just a small part of their life. They were like fish out of water. Terrifying feelings were rushing on them. They were graduating.
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Özgün felt even more upset with themself when they saw how happy everyone else was to graduate, celebrating their graduation childishly. Proceeding from the fact that the probability of something going wrong with everyone except themself is very low, they decided to concentrate their thoughts on themself. Actually, Özgün just forgot that they were going to graduate one day, and it wasn’t a big deal in the end. They had assumed that they would live like this for the rest of their life. A simple mistake, an innocent premise…
Özgün had to find a solution. What should they do now? Would they start working? What would happen to their political ideals, their artistic dreams, and their search for an alternative life? Was it over? Everything they had ever dreamed of and believed in was collapsing like sandcastles. Their closest friends were starting to get jobs one by one, and now only their career plans were mentioned in confabulations as if almost everyone has prepared a ten-year development plan and had even started to implement it step by step. Indeed, Özgün didn’t even know what their plans for the next ten days are. The money they had, could at most protect them from hunger and cold for a few more months. Özgün felt very stuck. Özgün kept repeating: this story shouldn’t end like this.
Whilst thinking about these matters, Özgün raised their head and realized that they had come to the bus stop next to the cafeteria. Özgün had to take the Ayrancı shuttle from there, to go home. But Özgün didn’t want to get on yet. Özgün was thinking with a good sense when they were walking. At the same time, walking was calming them down, making them feel better. They decided to walk a little further, pass the Revolution stadium, which was called that way because of the writing on top: “Revolution”, and get on the shuttle from there, in front of the dormitories. They were very confident that while walking they would suddenly find a radical and clever solution to all their problems.
Özgün raised their head again. They were in front of the dormitories. But they couldn’t pull a rabbit out of a hat yet. They started to walk up to the gate of the university, known as A4. The rabbit would be pulled for sure until they get there.
Özgün raised their head: A4. Still no rabbits. They got out of the university. ”I’ll get on from Yüzüncüyıl Bazaar”, they said. This time perhaps, it is not possible to pull a rabbit out of a hat under these circumstances, they thought.
Raised their head again: Yüzüncüyıl Bazaar. There is no hope. Destination: Karakusunlar. ”But I will for sure catch the shuttle in there!”
They raised their head one more time: Karakusunlar. There is no solution. They started to think about their own condition they are in… Direction: Balgat crossroads. ”I have to get on the shuttle from there, how long I can walk?”
They raised their head: Balgat crossroad. “What will happen to my political ideals?” Direction: Sokullu. ”Fuck the shuttle, I’ll get on once I’m tired.”
They raised their head: Sokullu. “What will happen to my artistic dreams?” Direction: Hoşdere. “May God damn the shuttle and this order!”
They raised their head: Hoşdere. “What will happen to my search for an alternative life?” Destination: Ayrancı. ”I’m almost in Ayrancı.”
They raised their head: Ayrancı. “Will I starve to death if I pursue my dreams?” “Is this how this system works?”. “So my subjectivity has no value in the face of material conditions?” Direction: Alaçam Street, home.
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
They were quite tired when they arrived at Alaçam Street. But they didn’t want to go into the house just yet. They knew that if they entered their home without finding any solution, it would mean admitting defeat. Entering that house was a psychological border line in this case. They wanted to walk and think until they found a solution but their legs had no strength left, and their brain couldn’t move their legs any longer. In order not to enter the house yet, they sat in front of the second-hand bookshop on Alaçam Street. They checked the shop, it was closed, and there were only the owner’s cats inside, watching him through the window. They checked the time. Later in the evening, it was. As it was in these hours, there were no people on this street.
They tried to roll a cigarette as they took the tobacco out. Found the tobacco, found the filter, found the paper, but couldn’t find the lighter. They must have dropped it on the way. They weren’t exactly a smoker, however, were feeling the need for it greatly at that moment. The cigarette was an object of desire from after that moment, wave after wave, it was stimulating their body and mind.
They decided to ask the first person who passes through the street for a lighter. However, Alaçam Street was rather emptier than usual, with not a soul to be seen. They lay down on the grass in front of the shop, yet, sitting did not stop their fatigue. They were going to get up if they hear someone passing, and eventually were going to digest their defeat against life with a sad cigarette and will go straight home. At least they had tried to fight in their own way and deserved this honorable defeat. Özgün had nothing to do, so they released themself slowly…
Özgün was beginning to feel a kind of inner peace which they couldn’t understand exactly where it was coming from when the silence of Alaçam Street was torn by the engine noise of a vehicle that sound like a shuttle. Özgün continued to lie down without breaking their stride, and just took a glance. The shuttle stopped when it came across the second-hand bookstore. Özgün heard the driver of the shuttle open the front door. He spits on the floor, jumped out of the vehicle, and closed the door. After a glimpse of silence, the driver started screaming:
Neukölln, Neukölln, Neukölln… Ayrancı Neukölln. Ayra… Kaff, kaff, kaff… Captain Hakan had to stop screaming because of his sore throat. He grumbled about not having a road assistant and having to do everything himself at his age.
He was just about to start screaming again when he realized that no one was around and that he was shouting all alone. He piped down, embarrassed. Then, he couldn’t scream again. After all, according to a rumor, shuttle veterans are soft under their tough appearance. At least, it can be said that those who have passed through the mill are like this such as Hakan Kaptan.
He lit a cigarette. As soon as he did so, his eyes were fixed on the young who was looking at him with a raised head from in front of the shop. He realized that his previous unnecessary screaming had been witnessed by someone other than himself and he blushed a little more. This drama also brought a reflex, such as taking a harder pull from his cigarette, compared to a usual one. He kept the smoke in his lungs, more than ever, and he let out the smoke with all his fury. It was almost as if he had pinned the poison of his mind to the smoke and thrown it out.
The young had risen up and started to approach him. The clothes of this person, who is about to reach their mid-twenties, were very shabby according to Captain Hakan. An ugly gray t-shirt, which was obviously chosen and worn hastily over jeans, and besides, the antidote to chilly Ankara evenings was a brown cardigan, which years have worn out but could not kill. The captain rated this outfit as four out of ten.
However, his rate for his own clothes was nine, thanks to his modestness. It was in fact, a ten. There was no club in Berlin that he could not enter. In time, he learned about Berlin fashion. He likes black, and when he sees chains, he couldn’t help himself but he would put them on himself, or even on his shuttle. These chains were especially useful for the shuttle on snowy roads.
The young approached him. They politely asked for a lighter, smiling. Captain Hakan immediately took a shine on this person and, he took his lighter out of his pocket, handed it:
– There you go homie!
– Thank you (They took the lighter, lit their cigarette, and returned the lighter).
– You’re welcome.
– Is this shuttle line new? I’ve been living here for years and have never seen a single shuttle.
– Is that so? No, it’s not new, and I’ve been driving on this line for years.
– Interesting! Where is this place you call Neukölln? It’s not familiar… Is it around Cebeci?
– No, it is not. Neukölln is a district of Berlin.
The young was surprised. What was this driver, who was in all black like teenagers, saying?
– I don’t think you’re claiming that this shuttle goes to Berlin.
– On the contrary, that’s exactly what I’m saying, my young friend.
– Brother, don’t play with my mind, please, I’m already having a hard day.
– Far from it. Why would I do such a thing? Why are you having a hard day?
– Mmmmh. Now, it’s hard to explain when it’s suddenly asked like this, but… Anyway, let me give you a quick and direct summary. I finished studying. I’m drifting towards a life I don’t want. But I have no other choice, I think I have to submit to my fate. But still, it tears my heart out.
– Maybe that’s all Ankara can give you. How many years have you been in this city?
– It has been 6-7 years… I took a victory lap.
– My dear, I suggest you to change your city. The new city comes with its new energy. It is obvious that Ankara has already given what it can give you. You should be able to say thanks and move on, so that you don’t get dragged into a life you don’t want.
– It’s easy to say, how can I go?
– Big decisions are sometimes made in five years, sometimes in five seconds. In my experience, there is no difference between five-second ones and five-year ones.
– I don’t quite understand?
– Jump into the shuttle of Ayrancı-Neukölln. No need for money either. It’s on me this time. We’re going to Berlin. What’s your name by the way? I’m Captain Hakan.
– I am Özgün.
Özgün was very confused. What was happening? Were they dreaming? It was obviously a little too much for them to meet this strange shuttle driver, combined with the feeling of despair they had experienced in the last few hours. Instead of thinking a little more and deciding not to take this ride, they wanted to embark on this ridiculous adventure that appeared out of nowhere. So that they could forget about their narrowness a little. After all, this shuttle couldn’t really be going to Berlin.
They opened the front passenger door of the shuttle and jumped in. “Come on, Captain Hakan, let’s go!”. Captain took another puff on his cigarette and killed it under his foot. Jumped into the driver’s seat with a huff, started the engine. ”Aye aye”
Courtesy of Yiğitcan Erdoğan
Part III
It’s the shuttle. The spine of life. Let’s face it, we didn’t have a lot of metro networks, suburban trains, or trams. Even our bus lines were not enough. O my Anatolia! My poor but peaceful Anatolia. Shuttles would suit you the best. They move when they are full. People pass on the money, hand to hand. Maybe it is still the same. I don’t know. I have fallen away from my beloved Anatolia. Now Özgün and Captain Hakan are coming towards me. They can’t bring Anatolia to me, but they are bringing the shuttle of it. Well, sometimes it happens that way.
The shuttle is moving forward now. Ankara, Istanbul, then Athens, and from there to Prague. Then, ‘all aboard!’, Berlin. The last stop: Neukölln. S Sonnenallee to be exact. Captain Hakan always ends his journey there. His favorite club was here. It’s no longer here though! They destroyed it. Instead, they built luxurious offices. They gentrified the neighborhood! Hey rich white Europeans, no matter how much profit you make, you can’t buy the personas that Captain Hakan left in that club! Come on, don’t tell me fairy tales, come off it! They destroyed the club, but Captain Hakan still intends to respect the club, he always stops his shuttle there. You have destroyed it and the day will come when Captain Hakan will destroy you, you should not take especially a mine worker or a shuttle driver against you in this life, friend. You are going to learn this!
For now, the shuttle is moving forward, stopping, and moving off again. Slowly slowly, but also insistently and consistently. Sometimes a migrant gets on it, sometimes a sex worker, sometimes a dissident intellectual. If this shuttle could have talked, it would tell numerous deep stories to us! Some passengers of this shuttle flee from war, some from hunger, and some from oppression. Captain Hakan does not ask any questions to his passengers, and he doesn’t take any money. He doesn’t need money, he doesn’t do it for money.
Radio plays Anatolian folk songs, in Germany, and techno in Turkey. Between both countries, Captain Hakan gives the turn to passengers. His musical vocabulary expands this way, and a kind of social environment can be formed. People talk based on music. If they were to be silent, music would fill the silence. Music is good anyways. Captain Hakan likes to listen to music and make people listen.
The shuttle is moving forward, filling and emptying itself. Özgün, as happy as a bug in a rug, has thoroughly surrendered himself to the arms of the adventure. Captain Hakan got into his role again and started to step up the gear in the most elegant way.
Özgün realized that the road will not end any soon. He asked the Captain:
– Brother Hakan, where are we?
– I don’t know.
– What do you mean you don’t know? Aren’t you the driver?
– Why does the place matter, my dear, we are going!
– And when will we arrive?
– I don’t know.
– What do you mean you don’t know? If you don’t know, who will?
– What is the value of time, my dear, we are going!
– What matters then, brother, what?
– Don’t be mad. Look, the road is important, the journey is important! And we are going on it, there is no problem!
– You are so carefree captain, for sure you will live a long life.
The shuttle is moving forward, making a person both melancholic and bored. But anyway, the shuttle is hope. It is to go on the road. It is to leave a place behind and take the path to the unknown. Not everyone can go like a shuttle, not so easy.
The shuttle is moving forward, the road is getting longer and longer, and passengers are traveling in their inner worlds, besides traveling in the outer world. They go the same way outside and different ways inside. Özgün was thinking of the people they had kissed in Ankara, of course, there must be a reason. And Captain Hakan was thinking everyone he had sex with, probably there was no reason.
– Özgün, look, my dear, our friendship is all the way to Berlin. When you get there, you didn’t see me, you didn’t hear about me. I didn’t bring you. Don’t get me in trouble with the German police.
– How is it, Captain? What am I going to do there? Won’t you help me? It’s not nice. You’ve upset your loved ones.
– My dear, firstly, you are very sweet, of course, I would like to help, but firstly, I also have a life, although it’s hard to believe, and secondly, I would be doing evil if I helped you.
– What would cause that?
– My dear, you must learn to bite, or you will not be permanent in this city. If I help, you won’t learn to bite.
– Brother, you underestimated me so much, I could get water from a flint!
– My dear Özgün, look, it’s not that easy. How many brave fellows have passed in this city, it’s not that easy. Although you may not have noticed, when you travel to Berlin with this shuttle, you leave not only your hometown but also your privileges back.
– What a privilege! The situation is obvious in our country, what a privilege.
– Your privileges that you’re not even aware of, my Özgün. That you’re not even aware of. Those you can understand only when you lose them.
– Captain Hakan, don’t exaggerate, please.
– In short, now that you have come to the place of real Whites, your white Turkishness is not white enough my dear Özgün.
– There ought to be a law to say that I am a white Turk Captain. I’m from the countryside, a fucking countryside! Not a white Turk.
– I like to use concepts with a little twist dear Özgün. After all, I am not an academician, but a driver. They didn’t accept me for a doctorate before and the white privileged academy excluded my alternative views. The bastards even monopolize the knowledge. They even take the knowledge under their domination.
– And what did you do captain?
– I became a shuttle driver, as you can see. Instead of lessons, I chat in the shuttle. This is how we resist, my Özgün. Underground social science… That’s the deal. There isn’t anything to do!
– You’re a strange person, captain, definitely one of the strangest people I have ever met, I must say.
Captain Hakan pulled the shuttle to the right, slowed down, and stopped the vehicle. He looked at Özgün for a while. He didn’t say anything. Then he turned his gaze inside the shuttle:
– Dear passengers of the Ayrancı Neukölln Shuttle, welcome to Neukölln. Don’t forget to return to your homes at the end of the night. Viel Spaß!
Korhan was looking out of his window. His house had a position for him to see Sakarya Street from the front. So, he was in one of the best places to observe all the turmoil. Thirteen days had passed since scientists announced that exactly twenty-eight days later, a meteorite would crash into the Earth and bring about the end of humanity.
Things haven’t gone so well for Korhan lately. For almost a year, he has been contemplating existence and searching for it in his own way. After one year, he could not reach anywhere, and while he was cursing his fate, he heard the news from television. His fate, which had not revealed the secrets of existence, gave him the gift of “annihilation” itself.
After hearing the news, Korhan realized that he was happy inside, let alone sad. This meteor promised chaos, rebellion, falling paradigms, freedom and annihilation. All this was convenient and pleasant for Korhan. For a man who is chronically on the verge of suicide, he could not be filled with more joy and happiness.
A long time passed away before he thought of taking a look outside, shedding the thoughts that he had been buried since he received the news. He wondered, how did people react to this situation? He was horrified when he looked out the window. Life was in its normal flow.
He had already given up hope on people, but he thought that this was too much even for them. How can someone who would die in twenty-eight days still commute to work? He reassured himself that maybe they did not hear about the meteor yet, or they did not grasp the gravity of the situation. “Let’s see after a little more time,” he said to himself. He still had to go out while everything was “normal” and get food, water and cigarettes, so he did.
Courtesy of Emrah Özdemir
Chapter 2
Now, thirteen days later, Korhan could envision the meteor and the annihilation in a more reasonable way. He was sitting and watching Sakarya Street from the window as always. People were also starting to realize the situation, and so the chaos was felt faintly.
Still, some people did not get out of their routine. For instance, the police were still guarding the interests of their precious state, the politicians were making restraint calls, and the religious preachers declared the coming of the apocalypse and called for worship. But except for these people, everyone surrendered to chaos and extinction.
Outside, Korhan saw a crowd dancing, drinking, talking, having fun and making love around a big fire. “It’s just like the old days of resistance,” he thought, got out of the house and surrendered himself to the crowd moving as if it were a single, large organism.
He drank, danced, laughed, drank again, chatted, loved the conversation, liked, had sex, sobered up, got high… And he ruminated… The world would disappear after a very short time. For this reason, he was perhaps living the happiest day of his life. The more he looked at this strange situation, the more he felt special. However, as a quick observation would infer, he was not much different from other people. The majority of the people were well aware that they would extinct after a while. Interestingly enough, they were happier, except for some presumptuous paranoiacs. People were suddenly unchained. Future anxiety, responsibilities, complexes, morality, the state, insecurity, in short, all oppression mechanisms became meaningless. The collapse of these mechanisms, which took hundreds of years to form, in a few weeks, gave Korhan incredible pleasure. He took one last puff and killed his cigarette.
Days were passing by. The end of humanity was fast approaching. Humanity was perhaps at its happiest era ever since hunter-gatherer times. Those who could think for a little bit were questioning how humankind could have condemned itself to suffer all this time. There was no answer to that. The meteor was like an executioner, fulfilling the last wish of a death row inmate. It has given humanity its last wish; freedom. Yet, this did not mean that the execution would not happen. The meteor was as concrete as a guillotine, annihilation was as inevitable as a revolution. Death is too close to be worthy of worrying.
The meteor came quite close and created a sight too beautiful for words to describe. There were three days left to the hit. The world was overwhelmed with joy. Korhan had slowly begun to think about where and how he would face the annihilation. He definitely wanted it to be in a crowded place. He must see the last moments of other people. Should he be lying down or standing? What should he wear? Should he be high or sober? He had to decide all this right away. He could not simply die out. What about his last words? “Oh God, there is so much to do,” he grumbled.
Courtesy of Kubilay Öztürk
Chapter 3
Korhan made his way home to sleep and postpone what needs to be planned. He was feeling confused as he climbed the stairs from the apartment door to his house. Someone was sleeping in front of his door. He recognized Yasemin while trying to get into the house without waking her up. Yasemin, Yasemin, Yasemin. He found Yasemin unexpectedly, as usual, she was lying on the mat, curled like a cat. When Korhan made a move to wake her up, he felt discomfort and restlessness inside. He felt this way for the first time since the approach of the meteor.
For a moment, he thought of not waking Yasemin and continuing his life. But realizing that his conscience would not be at ease afterward, he sent this thought back to the depths of his subconscious.
-Yasemin, Yasemin! Wake up, you will be sick.
– Wait a second (stretches, yawns). Korhan is that you! Ha, ha! You got bald and thin, I hardly recognized you.
– It cannot be said that the years have been very affectionate to you too. You got old.
– Korhan, my dear, getting old is an individual decision. Some of them age at fifty, others at twenty like you. Dear Korhan, would a person got old in the second year of college like you? As for me, I will grow old the day I come to fifty.
– Yasemin, I am not sure if the past years have aged you, but as far as I can see, it has fed your ruthlessness. Wait for a little dear, don’t attack from the first minute.
– Oh yeah, I was indiscreet again wasn’t I? But I’m sleepy, you could not come. Won’t you let me in?
– Sorry, I was lost in thought. Come on in.
So Yasemin and Korhan entered the house. Korhan was taken aback and puzzled.
“So this is where you live, huh, the location is pretty good.” Yasemin started the second round of conversation.
-It’s ok, I like living in the center of the city.
-The inside of the house is also not bad, I like it.
“Thanks,” said Korhan. Yasemin did not ask a new question or start a new conversation. At that moment, in this moment of silence, Korhan realized that the subject that made the conversation exist was Yasemin. Korhan decided to break this annoying silence. But there was a problem. Korhan’s mind had turned into an empty board. Nothing came to his mind to break the silence.
Unbroken silences grow. The tension increases as it grows. As the tension increases, panic starts. The more you panic, the more difficult it is to find something to say. This is a vicious circle. Korhan was experiencing this. Mutual silence continued for a long time. Korhan, who was nervous, decided to gather all his attention and put an end to this. Korhan forced himself to think: “What can I say, what can I say?” “The meteor!”
At this exact moment of “eureka”, Korhan remembered that he had only three days to annihilation by eluding the drunkenness he had experienced since seeing Yasemin. Yasemin had blown his mind and he completely forgot about the meteor. Finally, he broke the silence clumsily. “By the way, we don’t have to worry about aging anymore, we will have three more days at best.” Yasemin had difficulty understanding this assessment coming out of the blue.
– Oh, you are talking about the meteor. I don’t believe it.
– How come?
– Just, I don’t.
– What does it mean, how is that possible? Look, it can be seen right over there, above us.
– I don’t believe it, do I have to? You cannot question people for not believing. Do they have to believe? There is no such thing! I have a friend who doesn’t believe in atoms, in fact, they are three brothers. The little one doesn’t believe in time. The other doesn’t believe in inflation.
– Inflation?
– Yes, inflation. I accept it too. It is ok not to believe in atoms or time, but not believing in inflation is quite difficult.
And they became silent again. Korhan, who could not tolerate a new silence, immediately came to the point without dancing around it.
– Why are you here Yasemin?
– You know when people do not believe in God but pray anyway. Like that, I say goodbye to the people I value in life even though I do not believe in that meteor.
– So, tecahül-ü arif?
– No, it’s more like a hüsn-ü talil .
Korhan was very happy. It was priceless to experience, just before the annihilation, one more time that Yasemin loved and valued him as he was. Yasemin was saying and showing this in her own way. They spent that night together.
When he got up in the morning, Korhan realized that Yasemin was gone. He was already expecting this, otherwise, it would be more difficult. Yasemin left a note: “There are other people I should see. Stay with love.” Korhan had found the peace he was looking for. Frankly, he no longer cared about existence or annihilation. He had gone beyond existence and annihilation. He felt like Epicurus. And why he felt that way, he had no idea. He always thought that as he got closer to annihilation, he would feel like Nietzsche. Where did Epicurus come from now? He decided to follow this feeling and read Epicurus’s philosophy until the annihilation. In this way, he decided how to say goodbye to his existence soon.
Courtesy of Barış Pekçağlıyan
Chapter 4
At home, Korhan mingled with his thoughts for a long time, his mind was very clear and thoughts were almost rushing in his mind. He was thinking so quickly, clearly, and boldly; he was suddenly discovering the bridge between two thoughts that he could not reconcile with each other for years, or he could see the missing side of a thought he had been affirming for years in a “snap”. Yasemin left him with two things: tranquility and sorrow. This duo stimulated Korhan’s brain. When he looked up at the clock, he said “yes”. “Time is up.” Annihilation is now at the door. He wore his favorite clothes. He pulled out some of his favorite books and put them in his bag. He put a bottle of whiskey and cigarettes in the bag. He was ready now and he could leave the house and welcome the annihilation.
Korhan stepped out of the apartment door as if stepping into a festival. It was so crowded that there was no place to step. Korhan’s sharpened intelligence immediately began to examine people and their last hours. People were waiting for the meteor as if they were waiting for the New Year. Most people came together and formed this great crowd to meet the annihilation together with other people. The crowd grew as the meteor approached because people could not stand the idea of dying alone, they wanted to die together. Korhan could not decide, were these people afraid of death or loneliness? Even for those who fear death most, when everyone died at the same time, it was as if death was no longer frightening. At least Korhan’s instincts were telling that. In this case, people must have been afraid of loneliness.
But when he recalled the life going on just before the meteor, he realized that the situation was a bit more complicated than it appeared. They were so lonely and loveless that if people were afraid of loneliness in that disgusting system, they would rather die than live like this. The dilemma of whether people were afraid of death or loneliness, so they needed to come together just before the annihilation, challenged Korhan. He overcame the dilemma with a synthesis: People were afraid of dying alone. Another possibility was that this issue was a subject far beyond what Korhan could understand. Korhan was overwhelmed while thinking about all these.
He felt the urge to be away from people, which he often felt, deep inside his soul and mind. Korhan would not be able to do it. He did not like people insomuch that even the transformation they had experienced in the last month was not enough to make Korhan love them a little. It took less than a minute for him to change his mind about what he had been planning for the past week; observing people’s final moments. His new plan was to go to nature and to meet the annihilation there, in the arms of mother nature. There was only one place in Ankara where he could meet with mother nature. Thus, he set out for the forests of Middle East Technical University. He wondered how much time he had. It was getting dark. The day the meteor would hit was clear, but no one made a statement about its hour. Korhan was hoping at least to enter the forest before the collision.
He was looking at the meteor and trying to estimate his remaining time. But it was not possible to understand. In this uneasiness, he was able to reach mother nature on the double. Large pine trees and slightly moist soil with a fragrance greeted him. Korhan was grateful and happy. He sat down on the ground reverently. He took out his whiskey and had a sip. He wanted to take out his joint and light it up. He could not. Because he forgot to take a lighter with him.
Courtesy of Kubilay Öztürk
Chapter 5
At that moment, Korhan felt like crying due to the absence of a lighter. His situation was really, really annoying. He had to struggle to get calm again. When he succeeded, he got up and started touring around in the forest. Being very aware that he was making his last walk under the pine trees, he walked slowly towards the pond. As he approached the pond, he heard crackles first, then realized that the crackles were coming out of a fire, then he saw the fire, then he saw the old man with the long white beard over the fire, and finally sat next to him.
– Old man, do you have a lighter?
– Yes, here.
– Can I sit by you if I am not going to ruin your last moments?
– Sit down. You are a God-sent guest.
– Would you like to take a puff?
– Alright.
– I’m Korhan.
– Nice to meet you.
– Making a fire was a good idea, brother. Otherwise, we would get cold.
– Yes.
– Are you always so silent or is it special for today, old man?
– I am silent on special occasions.
Based on his short answers to Korhan’s questions, Korhan realized that he wanted to spend his last moments in peace. This is exactly what Korhan wanted; to disappear in peace. He stopped talking and left the old man in peace. But the approaching footsteps broke the silence which was just beginning to rule. However, for the first time in a long time, the silence was not bothering Korhan. It was easy for Korhan to be silent next to this old man. “I wish I had met this man before, I could have learned a lot from him”, he thought.
When Korhan turned his head in the direction of the sounds, he saw two people, one man and one woman, approaching. Afterward, they asked permission from Korhan and the old man and sat next to them. After them, two or three people coming from different directions sat in the same place. So they formed a small group. Apparently, the idea of dying alone seemed unbearable to people here also in mother nature’s arms.
The group, which seemed like a mid-sized group of friends with the participation of new people, was waiting in silence. Everyone now understood that they were living their last minutes, given the terrible size of the meteor, and no one was speaking. The silence was growing. Korhan knew that unbroken silences grow. He didn’t want that. He broke the silence immediately:
– Yes friends! Let’s take your last words.
Some said a poem, some quoted, some swore, some prayed. The old man just smiled and kept his silence. Then someone from the group asked the last words of Korhan. Taking a deep breath, Korhan drank his whiskey in front of him and took out the book with the Epicurus picture from the bag, threw it into the fire in front of him. He said, “If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not.”
As soon as he completed his words, the meteor hit the earth. It started an uproar. A cloud of dust covered the earth step by step and left nothing behind. It was very fast. Nobody could understand what happened. Nobody suffered either. Everyone was dead. Except for one person. Korhan was alive. Nothing had happened to him. He hadn’t succeeded even not to exist.
Courtesy of Barış Pekçağlıyan
Tevfik Hürkan Urhan
2015 /2016 Winter, Ayrancı-Ankara
Translation from Turkish: Meltem Uz
Cover Design: İlkin Taşdelen
Photographs: Barış Pekçağlıyan, Emrah Özdemir, Kubilay Öztürk
