My Dream World

My dream world has pointy ridges and snow capped mountains. No fancy rides to shoot me to the top.

My dream world has rivers with strong currents. They gurgle and churn like cold mouths.

My dream world smells of smoke, of charred endings and new beginnings.

My dream world echoes with sharp words from lips that taste just right.

My dream world has crooked noses, big ears that flap like wings.

My dream world has whirlwinds that carry hope in bubbles. They burst on my face like wet kisses.

My world has large, sticky webs that weave dreams with strings of faith.

Life is like a bad hair day

Frizzy, wild and uncontrollable.

            Hairspray just doesn’t stick. So we pile on the wax to mould our paths, to smooth the kinks. We stick a few road signs to know our limits and prevent hazards. We build roundabouts for safe passage.

            But we can’t control the weeds. No matter how hard we try, they curl out of the cracks, like long, lanky fingers that poke and probe our well preserved guts. 

            We stumble then along our pristine paths with aches in our stomachs, we jumble the signs, we give way when we should stop. We go around and around the roundabout wondering what happened to our carefully mapped out streets.

             Well, there is no blueprint.

             Life is like a bad hair day, unruly and disobedient.

             With rocky roads and potholes full of surprises.

Unroadworthy Love

We can’t take it for a drive, it’s leaking in three places.

But it’s smooth to touch.

The engine’s faulty, it needs a service.

But it sounds so good.

We can’t fix it, it will cost too much.

And yet we try to patch it up with bandaids that are soggy with sweat and tears.

Believe your eyes, this is a Turkish delicacy.

Long after the lights go out in Adana, Turkey, and vendors wheel their chestnut carts home, midnight traders take over dusty streets to sell a more appetizing snack, Șirdan (shirdan). Made from the innards of sheep or cow, this meal is best eaten with eyes closed. To wrap a mouth around one while sober is enough to send girls into laughing fits and boys…to reach protectively for their crotch. 

Some say this is a reflection of the city’s masculinity (for those of you not familiar, imagine tall, dark, macho men with thick moustaches). But jokes aside, Șirdan is an extremely popular meal in Adana and tastes too good to dismiss for its…ahem, unique shape. It’s made from a rubbery layer of an animal’s gut and is stuffed with seasoned rice, meat and onions, and stitched into a neat little package that tastes bloody delicious— if you can get past the pungent smell of sheep. But once it’s out of the sizzling pot, sprinkled with cumin and pepper, you can’t devour the chewy texture and aromatic rice fast enough.

While we soak up alcohol at Maccas after a big night out, Adana locals crowd around Șirdan stalls in the early hours of the morning and down them with a side of pickled peppers. But eating one is risky business. Picking the wrong stall can give you more than just a tasty mouthful. These things are hard to clean. The Șirdan needs to be soaked numerous times in scalding water to get rid of the faeces. But once it’s sterilised, stuffed and stitched up, (be sure to remove the string) this is one delicacy I crave after a few Vodkas!