“Defne you always talk with your hands, just like me.” That's what my grandma says almost all the time. We tried one day, while i was talking they hold my hands to not move them, it was being tied with ten knots. It felt weird, like there was not enough expression, emotion, not enough exaggeration..

How come when I sit at my desk, notebook open, I stare and don’t know what to do with them. I was more so annoyed at the fact that I feel the ‘imaginary’ blockage. Usually what I do is to look around to anything for anything, some little movement to push the blocks around in my mind, a spark.

Drifting in between websites, mostly image surfing at that point, I came across hand shaped papers and was intrigued. Wanted try out for myself, nothing in mind. Just to see. Overlined a few hands on figma, and while I was moving them around, the shapes of the intersections tickled some childhood nostalgia in me.

I enjoy following random idea-sparks or more so 'what if' thoughts, it’s what helps me to seek for more, keeps me weird and interested in stuff.

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Until.. probably 7th grade, in between every friendship there were moments when one traditional gesture would decide our current mood and relationship situation, almost like a game of heads or tails.

Like all children, we somehow all collectively agreed to play "küs mü barış mı?" with our fingers which'll loosely but simply translates to "are we mad at each other or friends?" To settle our little huffs and puffs, the pinky finger symbolized being mad, and the index finger symbolized being friends. We’d figure out the vibe based on which finger the other person touched, using their own finger as a symbol. Can we bring back this fun little trick-game, please? No more ghosting or avoiding, everybody be direct now!!!!

Circling around my thoughts, I re-realized the “pinky promise” was a thing too, but maybe the harsh attitude from our childhood traditions showed itself in other ways. Back then, it started more as a power move than a promise. Later, it evolved into truly making a pact: if one person broke it, they had to do something in favor of the other. That’s when I got confused and started searching what linking different fingers could really mean, weird rabbit-hole. As written, bunch of countries around the world have their own history behind the pinky promise but questioning mine if they were the real memories of the mirage it carries.

There were a few games I remember playing as a child, a classic. We’d call it “el kızartmaca” in Turkish, which loosely translates to something like “hand reddener.” It was almost like a reflex game to avoid getting the shit slapped out of you. One kid would place their hand down first, and the others would pile theirs on top. The goal was to slap the hand below before they could pull away, but somehow there were always bright red hands stacked on each other, taking the hit. Everyone screaming in laughter, in envy, and also in pain. It would go on until recess ended, the teacher came in, and we were still shouting around one desk, ten to twelve kids tangled together. The teacher would yell, “Everybody, go to their desks now.” Chaos ensues, takes around five minutes to settle down, out of breath, giggling through the itching pain.

Haven’t been writing in a while, I can almost feel the dust on my hands. Miraj is going to come out of the desert she’s stuck in and clear it all with one blow. She’s the lead of the story that I'm writing, for now. I miss her. I feel like I locked her up and threw the key somewhere else. Cruel. She’s standing with all her glory on top of the shelf, trapped between a few words written on kraft paper, as I now write and sip my once hot, now almost iced green tea.

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I want to get a palm reading. I’ve always loved the idea of it but was never curious enough to learn it myself. I’m interested, but not pulled in. That’s how my thought bubbles work. I don’t go full in. I just say hi through the door. So did I really want to get a palm reading? Do I want it bad? I’m having a sub-existential crisis because I keep asking this question pattern to everything I do. Yes, I do want it. Bad, in fact. Some things not so bad.

I’ll keep lingering towards whatever pulls my interest and hey,

at least I’m still curious and trying.

Kisses from my first ever river blog post, an extension of my apophany diary.