I’ve been thinking a lot lately. More than my summer brain could handle, one might say. And I know this to be true when I find myself contemplating about thoughts as well. But I also know that I’m not alone–
in her book The Years (2008), French writer Annie Ernaux ruminates on the difference between thinking and feeling. “In family moments,” she writes in one of my favorite chapters on the winter of 1967-68, “she feels rather than thinks” (93). Using a third-person pronoun to refer to her younger self, a mother and wife now, Ernaux elucidates what constitutes a real thought:
The thoughts she considers real come to her when she is alone or taking the child for a walk in the push chair. For her, real thoughts do not concern people’s ways of speaking and dressing, the height of pavements for the pram, the ban on Jean Genet’s The Screens, or the war in Vietnam. They are questions about herself, being and having, existence. Real thoughts plumb the depths of transient sensations, impossible to communicate (93).
Real thoughts delve into the realm of existence, Ernaux suggests. But the question remains: can we actually detach our existence from the unfolding events in the world? Our existence has always been intertwined with the currents of time and the complex web of collective experiences, yes. But the point of convergence between what happens in the world and what happens to us seems more poignant and defined than ever before. But… can my brain please stop?
my cat has been sitting by the windowsill and I’m terrified that she will impulsively jump through the screen because she can be silly like that I turned thirty-four last month I’m wondering how the body knows it’s time to turn strands of hair gray will I actually write that novel I’ve been emotionally and spiritually working on for years will I turn my dissertation into a book who was it who published their first novel at 35 Elif Shafak maybe that will be me as well why is gas so expensive why is it so hot perhaps I will be one of those academics who has just published one article so what I chose this why is the government still discussing the possibility of introducing all-girls schools because yes the idea of halal and haram has always created peace and love in this world except it never has I am tired of religion being manipulated in the hands of the ignorant I met a French guy who told me to marry him and move to Paris I am also tired of men, self-centered lovebombers, ghosters, stalkers, narcissists and possibilities that never turn into anything anything and everything is temporary and at times it makes my stomach sick, not even metaphorically, to think about the way the world is, the society is and has been there’s so much evil I don’t understand how my fellow citizens are not out on the streets protesting the 58% (?!) inflation in this country we all must be exhausted it’s the heat, the refugee crisis, the taxes increasing overnight waking up to the news of more women murdered at the hands of their husbands and boyfriends the fact that nothing is changing but everything is we have tried and failed and we have resigned will I ever regret not having a child I met a thirty-three-year-old guy once who told me the fact that he hadn’t started a family by now kept him awake at night there were two different families with a child at the coffee shop yesterday and I felt so sorry for the parents the kids kept crying and throwing tantrums and no it wasn’t cute nor was it romantic I was upset all that noise interrupted my morning reading and having breakfast I’m too selfish to be a mother and the thought has never excited me on the contrary I feel suffocated at the thought of it if I ever have a child though and they are reading these thoughts I’m sorry I truly meant it all (but I also probably truly love you but I’m never giving away my cats because of you) So, Hollywood, do you think AI could write like this? My booklist grows but English books in this country have become a literal investment no pun intended I wanted to buy this recently published book and it was 600 TL three years ago it cost around 100 TL I don’t even want to think in numbers anymore I could move to Paris and stop worrying about such things except not really doesn’t the reality of The Years temper this idea? “The times, people said, are not the same for everyone” (42), Auschwitz, Hiroshima, May 1968, Allende’s Chile, a post-9/11 world, Israeli war against Palestine, Saint-Michel metro bombing, Gezi Park protests, 2015 terrorist attacks, waves of migration sweeping through the country (plural), students sent to the hills in 1985 and “in Nanterre, they shared the same mud as new arrivals from the shantytowns. OS households and repatriated Algerians left one-story houses with outdoor latrines to be thrown together in housing developments” (88), burning cars in the streets of Paris in 2023–
the list is long, I think to myself, but I must have trained my mind well. I’ve done enough therapy sessions, read enough psychology books and novels alike to now know this: when the world seems overwhelming, it is a cue to pivot my focus towards kindness. This redirection may sound too idealistic and perhaps a little naive, but we don’t have much in our arsenal, do we? During moments of turmoil, I’ve learned that the way forward for me is to focus on kindness as a process, remembering that the world has been no stranger to such moments. As Ernaux recalls, after 9/11:
Everything seemed overwhelming. The United States was the master of time and space, which it occupied according to its needs and interests. Everywhere the rich grew richer and the poor grew poorer. People slept in tents all along the Boulevard Périphérique. The young sneered ‘Welcome to a world of shit’ and briefly rebelled (210).
While we may think at times that we live in the post post-modern age of unprecedented instability, Annie Ernaux’s writing is a poignant reminder that chaos/unrest is a timeless continuum, and that:
in the middle of chaos, harmony can also find its place;
amidst turmoil, the rhythm of everyday life persists;
even amidst hatred, kindness finds its place.
My mind settles now as my thoughts lead me back to the first of July–
when I receive a notification from a social media app that I now rarely use. I’m seated at a quaint coffee shop in the Latin Quarter of Paris, drinking my Americano. I remember how minutes ago I was embarrassed to ask for milk with my Americano, instead of a cup of café crème, but I shake it off. There are few tourists around the neighborhood in the morning. Soon there will be many capturing the grandeur of the Sarbonne University building. Across the street, students are already drifting in and out of the bookstore, its smudged window displaying various political texts on the Middle East. (The heavy books clasped in their hands confirm my assumption that they’re students.) I’ve been meaning to visit this bookstore since I arrived, but I’m here for a conference with a packed schedule. I make a mental note to get in and buy a few books before I leave as my gaze shifts to my phone on the small yet quaint table. (I have learned that anything that might be considered inconvenient elsewhere becomes charming in Paris.) It keeps vibrating with one of those “oh, look what you shared ages ago” reminders from the app. What was I actually doing on the very same day a few years ago? Surely, it wouldn’t compare to this moment in time in the heart of Paris. Well, now I am curious so I click it.
The app reminds me of a moment on July 1st, 2016 when I attached the following words to an article I shared: “…traveling and the wonderful, kind people whom I meet along the way are a constant reminder to me that there is still so much goodness and kindness in the world.”
Of course, I remember how–
in the summer of 2016, before my friend Allie and I left for our backpacking trip across Europe, I shared the article titled “Why I Will Never Cancel a Trip Because of a Terrorist Attack.” It was written as a response to the devastating terrorist attacks that took place in Paris, Belgium, and Istanbul in 2015.
Allie and I had met when we both started graduate school in the same year. While on a walk one day we decided to buy our tickets to Europe and spend June backpacking. Why not? I remember both of us repeating, our thoughts tinged with excitement. As our departure date approached, we, along with the rest of the world, couldn’t ignore the alarming increase in the frequency of horrific acts of violence across Europe.
(Little did we know that 2015 marked the beginning of a series of global catastrophes, including wildfires, refugee crises, the pandemic, and the rise of neo-nationalist ideologies, but that’s another story, one that is unfolding right before our eyes.)
Despite my excitement for our upcoming adventure that year, I remember a tangible sense of apprehension and nervousness having crept in. I suppose it wasn’t only me. While browsing the internet one day, I came across Matt Hershberger’s article discussing that this collective sense of dread and unease is the motivation for such horrible acts of terrorism. In their efforts to “strike terror into the hearts of their enemies,” Hershberger wrote, terrorists are motivated to undermine morale by creating a pervasive sense of insecurity. By targeting public spaces such as airports, markets, and squares– people engaging with activities that bring them joy– their goal is to play with our sense of safety. “For sure: there are times that travel isn’t safe,” he explained, “You should probably not travel to Syria at the moment, for example. But there’s a difference between being stupid and being scared. There’s a difference between putting yourself at risk and behaving the way a terrorist wants you to behave.” He continued:
“You can choose not to play along. You can choose to be unafraid. You can attend the Orlando Pride Parade, or attend a show at the Bataclan, or run in the Boston Marathon, or go to church in Charleston, or take in the Hagia Sofia. You can choose not to be the puppet of a terrorist or a fearmongering politician by simply continuing to travel. Living fearlessly is the best way to fight terrorists, despots, fundamentalists, xenophobes, and anyone else who gets their power from their ability to scare you into submission.”
I remember reading Hershberger’s article several times on July 1st, 2016, his writing offering me the words I needed to hear. Yes, I thought, these are exactly the reasons why I will not cancel a trip because of a terrorist attack. I shared the article with my friends, adding the note: “Also because traveling and the wonderful, kind people whom I meet along the way are a constant reminder to me that there is still so much goodness and kindness in the world.”
And this sentiment proved to be true all throughout our trip. Across more than ten countries we visited, an unsettling sense of imminent disaster hung in the air. I’d anticipated the overwhelming presence of soldiers brandishing rifles in subways, train stations, and public squares, but what caught me off guard were the heartwarming acts of kindness. Despite all, Allie and I met the kindest people who readily extended their help whenever we needed it. Paris, in particular, caught me by surprise with its warm and friendly bonjours, strangers pausing in the middle of bustling streets to see whether the two confused tourists needed any help with directions, and the kind police officer near the Louvre graciously escorting us to the coffee shop we had asked for directions to (among many other instances).
As I sit at the coffee shop on the first of July seven years later, reminiscing about my first time in Paris and taking in the serenity of the moment, the streets of Nantarre are set ablaze. I can’t help but wonder whether this reminder from the app at this moment in time is an instance of what Carl Jung called “Synchronicity.” I’m not sure. Riots and arson attacks have erupted following the tragic murder of Nahel, a 17-year-old, by a police officer during a traffic stop. Just a few days earlier, oblivious to what was happening a few miles away due to my busy schedule, I had, in fact, shared a photo from my hotel window with a caption praising the peace and kindness I felt in the city during this visit as well. From friendly strangers who stroke up conversations near the Pantheon to the adorable elderly gentleman who paused to help me as I navigated RER B, I have seen nothing but kindness in the city (also extremely rude waiters, but that’s a performance, right?).
Nahel’s murder and the arson attacks, while seemingly different from the terrorist attacks in 2015, are interconnected with the complexities of our contemporary society, where various acts of violence, terror, colonization/de-colonization, and rising fascism converge to shape our global and local realities. Looking back at what I wrote in 2016, I can’t help but feel both sorrow and solace. I’m overcome by a wave of sadness–and then relief as I remind myself that my words are still relevant in 2023: despite the chaos, “there is still so much goodness and kindness in the world.” The majority of us may not be combating on literal battlefields in the twenthy-first century, but we all are fighting, nonetheless. We live in a strange era where we are implicitly conditioned to fight our own cold wars. Perhaps for this reason, I take comfort in the fact that my sentiments from back then still hold true.
I don’t mean to be a pessimist when I say this: we all need to acknowledge the fact that with the effects of global warming and pervasive neo-nationalist/extremist/religious policies that work to polarize us, the world is what is, what it always has been. For this very reason, holding on to moments of kindness and solidarity in various forms becomes ever more important–what else do we have in our arsenal? As Ernaux highlights, the world order gets an “upgrade” almost every decade, ushering in a “new-new world order” that rarely favors our interests as world citizens who care about others, animals, and the planet. And we don’t have much else in our arsenal.
From The Years and my cat by the windowsill to Paris, my thoughts seem to have taken a detour.
It is true that the world seems like a maze of conflicts and uncertainty at the moment, and it is true that we feel overwhelmed, exhausted, and, at times, even hopeless. But now my thoughts turn to all the beautiful, kind souls I’ve met, both near and far. Each of these encounters is a reminder that kindness, just as chaos and unrest, has been an integral part of the human experience. What if we were to embrace these truths as fundamental aspects of the world we inhabit? Could it be that this cyclical rhythm of turmoil finds its counterbalance in the resilience and kindness inherent in the human spirit?
As I think these thoughts now, I’m also wondering whether Ernaux would call them real because I’m not so sure. Does it even matter, the realness of thoughts?
At the end of the day, what truly matters is whether you are on the right side of history, yes, and–
what you end up saving
“from the time where we will never be again” (225).
READING & WRITING TO MAKE MEANING OF THE WORLD AND BEYOND 