The weather had begun to turn crisp. “It’s the perfect time for a little Bodrum escape,” she told herself, and last weekend she booked her ticket. This would be her fourth solo Bodrum holiday. She called it the best gift she could give herself before winter set in. The humid heat of the summer season and the crowds—being tangled in all of that didn’t feel right to her. She wasn’t there to lie on the beach and soak up the sun; she wanted to walk the town and feel it. She remembered a sentence her professor had once shared back in her university days: “A sociologist’s shoes should be muddy.” Though she, like so many others, never properly practiced her profession, she’d done her best to live by that saying.
Bodrum held a special place for her. Especially those magnificent doors that appeared in the most unexpected places. On every trip, one door left its mark on her. “I wonder which one is waiting for me this time,” she thought to herself.
When she stepped off the plane, it was nearing ten o’clock. “Oh, how wonderful a proper breakfast would be. Let’s see what I’ll find,” she said. She dropped her suitcase at the guest-house, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and set off. Just down the second side street she entered, she encountered an iron gate opening into a garden whose stone walls were ablaze with green. “Here it is!” she said to the turquoise-blue door, “This is it!”
The fuchsia bougainvillea and the turquoise door formed a beautiful contrast. Two little steps led up to the door, and what lay beyond stirred her curiosity. She couldn’t help but walk in that direction. Tentatively, she pushed the gate, and from inside she heard a sound like birds chirping. “Good morning. Welcome in, please come in. I’m sorry—we opened a little late today, so the gate stayed closed,” came a warm voice.
“Thank you, good morning,” she replied, and entered the garden. It was like a corner of paradise. Under the bougainvillea were tables of marble supported by elegant perforated-metal legs. It was a delightful little café. They didn’t seem to offer a huge breakfast spread—but that really didn’t matter. As she wondered whether the voice she’d heard belonged to a woman or to the sparrows flitting from table to table, a young woman appeared with a menu. “Our sour-dough croissants have just come out fresh. I recommend you try one.” Melek smiled. “Exactly what I was looking for!” she said. With a croissant and a cup of coffee, it was a lovely start.
She took a seat at one of the tables and pulled out her travel journal from her bag. She continued to watch her surroundings. Who might have lived here? The place radiated lived-in stories. How many generations had laughed, wept, loved, been loved, embraced? Who was the first owner? And the ones after them? What does it mean to own something? To have a “possession”? she echoed in her mind. How many people must have said “This is mine,” I wonder.
She was drawn from her thoughts by a voice: “Your coffee!” They had chosen cups with a pleasing curve, fitting nicely in the hand. The presentation matched the elegance of the garden. As she sipped her coffee, she kept imagining what the people who lived here could have been like. What would it have felt to be their guest… Now, none of them are here. I am sitting in the garden they once had. “What a great delusion,” she whispered. The question she’d just asked herself she now wrote in bold letters.
“WHAT DOES ‘OWNING’ MEAN?”
“Is it saying ‘This will be mine for a time with a beginning and an end, and after that I will have no access to it’ really owning something?” she asked. “And how much energy people expend for that.” Her own struggle came to mind. In her quest to have a property, she had missed months with her family because of night-shifts. Suddenly it all seemed so absurd.
Now, if this bougainvillea sprang from the earth, did that make it “owned” by the earth? She glanced at the butterfly that landed on the table. What’s the difference between that and what we do when we say “This table is mine”? Because life is short, we call the butterfly’s “mine” nonsense. But what if you compare our lifetime to the age of the world—does the situation change? With the finite and the infinite present, can one truly say “I have possession” of something? The more she thought, the more alien the word “owning” became. “Owning property, possessing it. In my view that word is wrong!” she declared. “At best its name could be ‘trustee’.”
She flipped her journal to the back and, in the “Notes to Myself” section, wrote: “Be aware you are the trustee, Melek. There is an Owner—but evidently it is not you.” While her thoughts fluttered in her mind, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Since the beginning of humanity, Our greatest friend and enemy has remained the same: The person in the mirror...
"Experiential Design Teaching" is dedicated to help humans discover their true purpose. It guides people toward open consciousness to make better decisions and choices. It offers strategies for real solutions to real problems.
The programs that begin with “Who’s Who,” followed by “Mastery in Relationships” and “The Psychology of Success,” aim to help people become happier and more successful compared to their past selves.
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