When I was small, I used to think clouds were made of cotton; I’d imagine myself lying on them.
In a small village surrounded by mountains, when you lift your head, you see a sky stretched out endlessly, adorned with cotton — especially if you happen to be a child.
I’m feeling that same feeling again…
I’m in my forties now. I know clouds aren’t made of cotton, and neither is cotton candy. But I love this illusion as much as I love watching the sky.
When all this hustle, stress, and exhaustion wrap around us like steel cables; life becomes, most of the time, nothing but struggle. The same alarm, the same hour, the same road, the same routines, and the same steel cables.
I’m feeling that same feeling again…
And here I am, in Istanbul, in Tuzla, in the Şifa neighborhood. That is, in a different city, but under the same sky. With a hundred-bead tasbih, I’m cutting through the steel cables, one bead at a time, for a little while. With each remembrance I rise a little higher toward the cotton clouds; I become a little more of a child, and I smell of my mother when she tickles me. Though I don’t deserve it at all, I hope I’m drawing a little closer to my dear God.
For a child, what does the rest matter?
Cotton candy is made of cotton, and so are the clouds.
Until the day you grow up and learn the truth,
Just like the endings of fairy tales, always beautiful.
I’m feeling that same feeling again…
Turkish original: “Pamuk Şekeri” on aliosmanakcaoglu.com.