Vacuum of Non-Existence - 2

What made me try to imagine and write about my grandfather, Ejder’s death, was a series of important developments in my family and particularly an interesting anecdote that got refreshed on my memory after a recent family meeting. I don’t know why but most of the thoughts on my mind nowadays are about “The Family”.

I was only 40 days old when he died. Now looking back, during my early childhood that I spent in his apartment with my mother, aunts and widowed grandmother, they seemed to be living in a state of sad harmony with a continuous sense of supporting each other as if they were navigating through some crisis. Only I didn’t know what the crisis was all about by then apart from the very evident feeling of that emptiness that seemed to be sharing the apartment with us. It was like an invisible creature that would first provoke generation of emotions and then suck them all in like a black hole in an urge of survival of the family universe. It was the vacuum of his non-existence that he left behind in the family and the vacuum alone became my grandfather.

At first he was like a mystical myth. Stories told about him had left an impression of perfection on me and as my limited life experience by then wasn’t rich enough to allow me to question the hero concept, he became my hero. A clever intellectual who had marginal/mystical interests (namely, claiming to be a medium, an enthusiast of telekinesis and member of some esoteric organization), someone who wasn’t afraid to stand out. Growing more powerful on me with the help of this charismatic image, this emotion vacuum I grew up around, became something due to be filled in me during my teenage years.

Objects have helped a great deal in this quest. When I was 16, I started to smoke his pipe that I had found in his dusty closet of books to be still filled with the ashes of his last smoke. And when I was 18, I was given his watch which I’m still keeping today.

As I grew on though, stories told about him started to change. Perhaps it was only the length of time that had passed since his death. Or the urge the three sisters and their mother felt to come into peace with their past. But they started to dig out most private things even in our, their children’s presence. I always liked this openness in my greater family which I attribute to the female dominance in it. His weak sides started to appear as well among the ones of my grandmother.

As his perfect image started to decay, I started to feel even more connected to him. And perhaps most ironically, something else started to happen. Even though we didn't have much in common in the way we look, more and more cases started to occur, where older relatives would catch odd things like a look, a comment I would make upon a little thing, where they would say that they caught Ejder in me.

His vacuum became a teacher – a mentor if you will – for me, showing we are not supposed to be perfect and if we try to be perfect, we are doomed to lead a crippled life.

About 10 years ago, I came back from school to find a little red agenda lying on our dining table. It looked like as if it was beamed there from outer space. Its binding was quite worn but intact. With a great curiosity, I started to page through. It was more like a diary written by someone with a hard to read hand writing. Owner's name wasn't written.

I called my mother in awe to ask where it came from. She was still excited about the story: Apparently a week before, it was found in a second-hand bookstore by one of my aunt's rather strange friends who was into old books and diaries. He immediately recognized it to be my grandfather’s diary for by then his wife in future's, my now grandmother's name, Süverce, which was frequently mentioned in the diary is a really rare name. We don't believe there are more than a handful people with this name in Turkey. So thinking that she must be that Süverce, he brought it to my aunt which was then relayed to my mother.

"Ask for your grandmother's permission if you want to read" my mother said. I didn't listen to her. I perceived it to be a crucial document to understand my roots, not a document of privacy. I also felt that learning about private matters about my grandmother from 50 years ago wouldn't harm anyone or anything. Besides, even if she had allowed me to read it, she still could have felt bad about it. So without having the slightest bit of bad conscience I started to read.

I read about this young man who was about the same age as me when this encounter happened. He was apparently in love with his fiancée, Süverce, that was the most frequently mentioned figure in his diary. I read about their almost daily routine where he would pick up his sweetheart in the evening to go to movies together at Istiklal street - a street where 40 years later I would spend my high school days. Movie names, actors and actresses’ names were exclusively recorded. I read about his depression about working at his father's publishing house and his protest yet submissive style when describing his father's trips to strange places. Then about their moderate wedding and some other interesting details I won't disclose here.

At last, this was a direct contact to the owner of the vacuum.

The taste remained after that reading is still very vivid today. There are not many things in the world that is as fulfilling as to learn more about someone whose vacuum you have been used to. 


I believe to get to know someone is not strictly dependent on the amount of time we spend together. It is more like related to the depth of bondage you were able to build. In Ejder's case, I grew up around the vacuum of his non-existence which actually turned out to be as effective as his very existence. After all, the persons you love are not necessarily the ones you see most but the ones with whom you could connect and maintain that bondage.