The power of language is undeniable. How evocative the act of arranging letters in a particular order can be. CIA. FBI. NSA. DIA. AIA. ASA. NRO. Betcha you’re not sure what all of those represent. Don’t beat yourself up. It doesn’t reflect poorly on your intelligence.

If what I am intimating has even a modicum of veracity, I’d be out of my fucking gourd to write about it… or would I? Everyone has a breaking point, a point when one can no longer swallow the bullshit and finds themselves compelled to speak. Perhaps I’d reached that stage… or did I?

Who likes timelines? From January to August 2009, I was in Indonesia. Curious timing, wouldn’t you say? On July 17th, 2009, two separate bombs…

Over the course of a week, we explored by car and on foot. By day, we’d explore the culture and geology of Goreme’s surrounding areas and beyond. By night, we ate delicious food, drank ridiculously sweet tea, and puffed on a hooka until nausea set in. Although there were a fair amount of tourists, most were of the tour bus lazy-ass variety, which meant for the most interesting hikes, we had the area to ourselves. I knew Cappadocia would be interesting, but I underestimated its magical quality. Get there while the weather is cool and before the hoards descend. You’ll not be disappointed. Crannies to inspect, caves to spelunk, and phallic “fairy” chimneys to ponder….

I defy you to visit Istanbul and not drink a shit ton of tea or smoke an assload of hookah. It’s a cultural hotbed of social interaction and almost feels like a requirement, though a pleasant one at that… until you make yourself nauseous from tobacco. Also, I’m surprised I have any teeth remaining after guzzling tea equal parts sugar and water.  

If Taksim Square is Istanbul’s heart, then Istiklal Avenue is its main artery. One can find anything and everything—shops, restaurants, cafes, bars, theaters, galleries, etc. I patrolled this thoroughfare no less than 1.32 million times. With Istanbul being the cosmopolitan “East meets West nexus,” anonymity is easy to attain, even for a 6’4” goofball American….

My feelings evolved. In the ensuing years, I experienced deep regrets and emotions that often threatened to overwhelm me in an instant. I wasn’t afraid she still had feelings for me, that she still needed me. I was afraid she didn’t, and I couldn’t bear the truth. 

I’d fallen down an abandoned well of despair, one I believed I’d never escape. I didn’t want to see Leslie again. I needed to see her again. My life came to a standstill, an existential limbo. I thought of her life. What are you doing right now? Who are you doing it with? Do you ever think of me? Of us? Do you still have a warm place in your heart for our time together? Such thoughts could and would send me into a downward spiral that took days to recover from…