Söz

I read tarot. My mum reads coffee. My sister reads astrological charts.

My dad reads faces.

I was working from home. Meetings, Instagram lives, articles, YouTube videos, Interviews with a variety of people. When people asked me how I am, I answered fine. I was fine. I am always fine.

At lunch time, I was sitting with my father, chatting about life and other people.

“Aysun, you look pale,” he remarked in Turkish, breaking off the previous conversations.

I shrugged. He raised an eyebrow. I looked away.

“Aysun, are you working too much again?”

“Baba,” I frowned with an eyeroll.

“Kızım,” he said, “if you don´t want to end up like me you need to start prioritising yourself.”

“Easy to say if no one has ever taught me how to have a health relationship to work.”

It was anger talking out of me. Anger towards whom? Him? For sacrificing all his time and effort to raise us? Definitely not. Anger towards myself. It was anger towards me for not doing more, being more, to give him the relief that he deserves for years now.

He should be mad at me. However, all I could see in his eyes was sorrow.

“Biliyorum.” The Turkish word for “I know.” He knew. He understood. And he was sorry.

“Please, don´t repeat our mistakes.”

“I don´t know how,” I cried out. I knew that he could see my glassy eyes. I didn´t mind crying in front of him. I never did. But I cared about him feeling guilty.

He looked at me like he saw me. Truly saw me. He always did when it came down to it.

“I don´t care about your goddamn career if you´re not healthy and happy. I need my daughter to be healthy. Do you understand?”

“Evet,” I said, nodding yes. I didn´t look at him.

“Aysun,” he started again.

My eyes met his.

“Söz mü?” He asked me to promise. A serious request. A Bora doesn´t break their promise.

“Söz,” I nodded.