The year of the quince and queens

Here's to another year of uncorking your mind to embrace change and new possibilities.

Oct 29, 2023

Today I'd like to take a moment to announce the fact that I've endured yet another year in the Simulation: From offal enlightenments to headache-inducing amounts of headbanging, it's been a year of adventures, indeed. It only makes sense that we celebrate not my birthday, but all the people who made this dizzying spin around the sun possible. Vamos!

There must be a mathematical proof out there that shows all roads in Sitges lead to the sea… Now where is a mathematician when you need one? *Is there a mathematician on board?*

Judge fast, die young

Growing up as a tomboy, that in time turned into a grumpy, cold-hearted scientist with ideals that - I foolishly thought back then - clashed with what you would call "stereotypical feminine" traits of caring, nurturing, and compassion. Because of these preconceived notions, I looked down on the typical everyday duties like cooking, cleaning, and other domestic tasks, which even today, many women provide our society free of charge and recognition.

Unironically, the most nurturing picture I could find of myself is from a hot pot night out with friends where we indulged in a feast. I happened to be wearing an apron to protect myself from the splashing broth as we dunked those pig ears in.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize my mistake: only when I left the warm comfort of my parent's home in Istanbul to start a new adventure that I called “doing a Ph.D.” in the Netherlands, I was faced with my acute idiocy. Yes, I'm a grown-ass woman who just learned how to make rice - the proper Turkish pilav - so she can have midnight snacks that bring the gezellig to a nightly session of writing a motivational letter for yet another job application. Why did you ask?

This unexplained contempt for femininity, sadly, wasn't the only stupid preconception I've held until recently. As you might have noticed, I'm severely opinionated, and while this might seem like a non-threatening personal trait, I'm also quick to form these opinions. If I had a penny for each time I changed my mind about something, I wouldn't have to lose sleep over the stress and mental destruction of looking for a job in today's chaotic job market1.

When I look back at this year and try to think of examples of such misguided judgments, I immediately think of Pilates, quince, and Taylor Swift. If you’re puzzled by this triplet, fear not, dear reader. I have an arsenal of Substack posts in the works, each dedicated to unraveling the enigma behind the seemingly random things I've changed my mind about. Then it’ll all make sense, somehow, eventually. Or at least that’s the hope.

Pilates, I once thought was for retired models who were under the crushing and vile societal pressure to defy aging and look perpetually 18… even when they’ve got 3 kids and uhm, might be, say, cough cough 50 years young.

PLOT TWIST: it's actually a fitness regimen developed by a German gymnast during WWI for the soldiers to strengthen their body and their minds. I'm not the least bit surprised it was called "Contrology" at first, not only because it’s the most German gymnast-from-WWI name you could come up with, but also because that’s exactly what I found it offers me: a means to master my mind by moving my body.

Reading the ad for your dream job is red, losing the job to a more experienced candidate is rejection melancholy navy blue.

With Taylor Swift, it was merely a matter of indifference for me. I mean, she's not just part of the popular culture she is the popular culture. I was staunch in my opinion of "not having an opinion" until I read Oray Egin's recent article ingeniously tying Taylor Swift to the Turkish economy2. After 5 complete passes through the Swiftography, I dare say, I'm Swiftified. And to answer that burning question in your mind: I'm totally the Red era. In fact, at least 75% of this post was penned with the sweeft sounds of the Red album as my background score. A genre-fusing roller coaster ride of emotions... For an album that received so much hostility and criticism when it first came out, winced at by the critics for not being “country” enough – only to later scoop up the Best Country Album Grammy, booyah! - it's such a refined depiction of love in its truest and purest form that I'm afraid to touch it for I'll contaminate this undervalued gem. I consume it with utmost care.

And finally the quince... well I don't know what to say about this one. Except that my discovery of this fruit despite being born and raised in Turkey, where the fruit is adored and rightfully praised as it goddamn should be, feels like my own personal Columbus moment discovering America. I hereby declare that quince, following the juicy footsteps of pears and ripe figs, is not only my favorite October fruit, but it also proudly shares its name with one of the best Georgian amber wines3 I've ever had the pleasure of drinking.

Quince Chinuri by Samtavisi Marani. Shout out to Markus from the ASOP wine shop in Amsterdam for introducing me to this seductive beauty.

A much-welcome side effect of this newfound love is that I can finally smell the quince in wines that are described by the almighty experts to have "ripe quince and orange peels on the nose, opening up to floral notes". I confess... All this time, it was the bane of my existence as a wine nerd. And now, not only do I smell it, I can feel it. I can feel the ripe quince inside me.4.

I can feel the ripe quince inside me.

And now, as I see you have reached your last drop of wine in the glass, we’ve come to the resolution of my story today.

God bless the queens

Perhaps the most crucial reason why I’ve been so open, open to seeing the world out there for what it truly is, is that I feel safe. Because I am safe.

Ever since my first day in the Netherlands, I've been incredibly lucky to cross paths with nothing short of remarkable individuals. They've woven themselves into the very fabric of my life, creating a safety net and a second family, miles away from the one I was born into. A family that I'm sure many people aren't fortunate enough to have at birth. I'm wildly amazed, my heart brims with awe and gratitude for their presence, but even those words seem too feeble to mirror the depth of my appreciation. Often I find myself feeling immense guilt, like a leech, feeding off of their support that only seems to grow larger with each passing day. The women - or as I like to call them now, the queens in my life. Each one is uniquely crafted and proficient at just having your shit together and not shoving it to your face obnoxiously like a tech bro would.

Queen Audra strikes again! With those spidey senses of hers, *she just knows*.

Juggling multiple roles, including, but not limited to:

Her actual job, a full-time gig where she not only excels but hustles at, making a cool 75% of what her male counterpart rakes in. Who run the world? Girls!
Being a wife, a position with no prospect of any career growth, that at least offers a decent pension scheme she couldn't turn down.
Raising a child, a lifetime contract she was more or less scammed into accepting by societal standards.
Doing domestic chores, a task she was voluntoled for by her male colleague at the office and her ever-helpful husband.

And her dream project, her beloved hobby, a creative sanctuary that she cherishes, when the lights go out at night she's just so proud of herself for sticking to it even if she can do it only once a week when her husband and her kids allow her to.

These women, my mother being the head queen in charge of this fictional royal class that reign, sadly, only in my mind, inspire me to not just grow old but grow as a human.

They're the reason I wake up in the morning, roll out of bed, and commit to out-Aysun myself with each passing day. I'm investing in myself, honing my skills, and crafting a new life, all because I'm on a mission to transform into a queen like them. It's my way of paying it forward, my royal return on investment if you will… the only right way.

As I end this post, let’s not forget what one prolific philosopher once wisely said:

“Don't be a drag, just be a queen.”

Be a queen to someone else, and make your corner one that's worth living for. The state of the world today, although demoralizing, is our cue not to dwell on what is, but to chase after what should be. Stay royal, and remember, life's more fun with a little crown, even if it's just invisible.

Hang in there.

Cheers,

Aysun

Kudos for sticking with me until the end. So why not share it with some friends too? Let’s spread the love.

Encore

A completely spontaneous encore piece snuck its way into this post - consider it the bonus track. In case you had any doubts about the brilliance of my prose, rest assured, I've got ChatGPT's stamp of approval. When I sent my “elevator pitch” for this post to ChatGPT last night, just out of sheer curiosity, I was smugly delighted to see ChatGPT complimenting my writing, because, you know, money can’t buy you taste but a whole internet’s worth of data can.

Of Cheese and Corked Men

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