Everything was pale white outside the Sabiha Gökçen Airport. The outside world seemed so quiet, cold, and cruel from the point of view of the waiting room. The waiting room that was always full of thoughts, the self that was being captivated inside a waiting period. People were getting restless, as they have been waiting for sometime now for the plane to get ready. A flight bound for Roma Fiumicino, which was delayed due to the heavy snow pouring outside - something not unusual during this time of the year. It reminded him to a book he saw at Robinson Crusoe 389 bookshop near Taksim Square, which titled "The Power of The Mass". A book that he had back home but never finished reading. He was also getting restless, just like Crusoe, stranded in a faraway land.
Just this morning he took the ferry from Europe to Asia. Only a mere 20-minutes ride, it was nothing compared to the great miles the conquerors traveled across the land some hundred years ago. He gazed outside the window as the morning sun delicately shone through the thick cloud above the Bosphorus. The wind seemed to be rougher that it was yesterday. Seagulls were flying according to the wind's direction, not even willing to force their own aims. He had a simit for breakfast, which he got from the stall outside the ferry dock, for 50 cents.
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