Every morning we open our eyes and find ourselves in the story of the day. When we move, when we eat, even when we do nothing, we fulfill part of the story. We go out on the street, maybe to our workplace. Along the way, we meet our neighbors, stray dogs, drivers, students rushing to school, greet some, pass by others, but all these images are part of the great story of that day, even if we often don’t understand it.
We probably miss some details when we are walking absent-mindedly. We don’t see the flowers overflowing from the balconies with spring enthusiasm or the excitement of the young man waiting for his girlfriend around the corner, but there is always someone who notices us, because those who notice are obliged to record such an image in their memory in the story of that day.
Those who continue on their way with images of the woman walking absent-mindedly in their minds are confronted by others. Those who see them pay attention to these people who pass them by with important matters on their minds. They should be careful because in the story of that day, these are the images they were given.
Most of these people pass by a beggar that morning. Some notice him, others don’t, and still others drop the tiny treasure from their pockets into the beggar’s palm. The beggar memorizes the giving hand and face along with the money because this is his role in the story of that day.
Time passes, we live and we enter and exit many stories. It has to be so because we have to complete our own story while being involved, directly or indirectly, in the stories of others. Man may be made of earth, most of the earth may be made of water, but everything is made of a story. Just as the mountain has a story, so does the caged sultan parrot. Like the wind, you have a creaky chair.
While our own story continues, the stories of others merge with ours for a while. I say for a while because each story needs to flow in its own way. And when we part ways, we take solace in the fact that other stories await us. It has to be so because only in this way can we complete our own path.
Although the earth is divided into parallels and meridians, it is in fact a sphere woven with countless webs of stories. As endless adventures unfold on it, it fulfills its own story. Just like all the other planets that exist in the galaxies we know and the galaxies we don’t know.
One day everything and everyone will complete their story. One thinks that some stories are unfinished and sees death as the reason for this unfinishedness. But nothing is left unfinished. Perhaps the possibilities of the earth are limited for the completion of some stories. These stories will surely be completed in other lands.
Although we try to create a striking story when we write, we want to leave behind a good and compassionate story when we live. Everything will be told in places and times where we are not, because if the story has a story, it too will have the destiny of being told and passing through the years. This cycle will repeat countless times. Until the great story is complete. So, will it end with this? When the story is so entangled in our souls, who is to say that we will not find ourselves in new stories in unfamiliar lands…
