War Is North

Monday, March 1, 2022

As war is north of me, about 700 miles across the Black Sea, I’ve awakened each morning to see the streetlights shut off and buildings illuminate their strobe lights an hour after sunset. They are beautiful, but war is not.

A view of the Anatolian side’s skyline sits to my left. Çamlıca Tower is just outside my doorstep—I’m lying; the tower is visible from my building’s 32nd floor terrace. From there, I counted over 30 mosques.

In a city that prays five times a day, I’d like to think I’m safe when there’s war up north. But historically, countries have fought over this practice, so…

On a politically innocent note, Turkey’s involvement is bilateral. And like most countries who see the immoral side of Russia’s actions, Turkey is doing all they can to pressure Vanilla Pudin’ by exercising the Montreux Convention.

I hope that any, if any, refugee who flees south by boat and plans to arrive at the shore in Turkey isn’t greeted with Turkey. Or at least the dry part of Turkey. Have some gravy for them. I mean, the stereotype of the mad Turkish man was shown to me at the airport.

While in line going through passport patrol, an elderly man and younger man nearly took each other’s heads off. The line was crowded and long. Who knows who cut who? Fortunately, I didn’t have to turn into batman before one of them went ballistic over who gets to show their passport first.

They must’ve taken great passport photos. Maybe the conflict between them was about space—the invasion of space.

Speaking of, that war up north has nothing to do with me except for my proximity to it.




Checking updates.




This just in, Russian forces have destroyed the world’s largest aircraft. Now, it’s personal. Because I really like airplanes.

Rest in pieces, Antonov AN-225, aka Mryira.

On a serious note, my curious heart goes out to the Ukrainian nation. May better days come. And soon.

Bye-bye now.


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