The melody was raw, repetitive, and incredibly gentle. It sounded exactly like the thoughts in Aras's head.
He sat on a weathered wooden bench overlooking the Bosphorus, holding a lukewarm cup of tea. The city of Istanbul swirled around him in its usual chaotic symphony—screaming seagulls, aggressive ferry horns, and the rushed footsteps of a thousand strangers. Yet, inside Aras, everything was perfectly, agonizingly still. Can Kazaz Kendi Halimde
A young woman sat on the other end of the long bench. She was holding a guitar case. She noticed him staring blankly at the water and gave him a soft, polite nod. Aras forced a faint smile and looked back at his notebook. The melody was raw, repetitive, and incredibly gentle
The song by Turkish indie artist Can Kazaz is a deeply intimate, melancholic, yet gentle piece. Its lyrics revolve around isolation, misunderstood feelings, and a personal struggle that cannot be easily voiced to the world ("I have a trouble of my own, how can I explain it politely?"). The city of Istanbul swirled around him in
“Duymaz sağır, uydur bağır,” he scribbled. The deaf won't hear, so make up lies and shout. That was the rule of the world, wasn't it? To be heard, you had to fabricate a dramatic story, or scream at the top of your lungs. Pure, quiet, honest sadness was just ignored.
He wasn’t angry at anyone. He wasn’t heartbroken over a lost lover, nor was he holding a grudge against a friend. If someone had asked him why he looked so exhausted, he wouldn’t even know how to answer.
He felt a sudden, desperate urge to tell this stranger everything. To tell her that he felt like he was drowning in a sea of polite small talk while his soul was screaming. But he knew what would happen. People didn't really listen to the quiet ones. They wanted you to be loud, to conform, or to fit a mold they understood.