The best part of waking up is discovering what I’m going to write. Who will influence these transcribed words? How will the world receive it? And where are you when reading this?
Sunday, August 17, 2025
Last night’s dream, I was dropped in Istanbul, Turkey. Our driver was taking us to Fatih, where the fishermen fished in the rain off the Galata Köprüsü [bridge] for really small fish. Below the bridge are seafood restaurants and a market of fresh-caught salmon, mackerel, sea bream, shrimp, red gurnard, and so much more.
If you run the bridge, it’s often crowded—because from what I saw in my dream, not only is it a tourist attraction, but a commuter route next to the Eminönü ferry stations.
The best part about this dream is that it was actually a memory, reminding me of the foreshadowing dream I had when I saw my father’s portrait sitting on top of my hotel room’s dresser. The lone eight-month-long trip I took overseas had many moments where I felt a longing for the day when I’d be returning home.
But actually, I didn’t have a home. I had memories…
My father once said, “When it rains, everyone gets wet.” I’ve always thought, yes, this is true, but some of us have better umbrellas or the luxury to watch the rain from inside. Some people work in the rain, while others call Uber Eats and DoorDash.
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When semantics create the separations of our understandings of each other, we forget that the aromas of rain carry the same oils and bacteria fed to fish…
-Budd
This Is Where BuddWrites 