On Tuesday, July 18, 2017, Istanbul received such a large amount of rain in the early morning hours that its gutter and canalization systems were suddenly tasked with handling way more water than they were capable of handling. Thus, the water, having no where else to go, rushed down streets and through homes in basement floors and into shops. The systems, like those early computers trying to compute fairly unsophisticated mathematics, were overwhelmed in a short amount of time and then broke with a sigh and a whimper. The water, like a raging river was subject to the laws and gravity and was seeking lower ground.

Lakes appeared where there was asphalt. Cars were stopped on the D-100 in front of Akasya Mall in Ünalan. Drivers stared straight ahead. Engines were soaked. If that one driver had tried to open the door, and had been able to, he would have become one with the water which was held at bay by the car which he was safely inside of. He would have needed to become a fish.

Rivers ran down Libadiye Boulevard. I had to high step my way across that busy road to make it to my car. My jeans up to my knee, my socks, and my rain shoes were suddenly full of water. I became a sponge.  Then there were the manhole covers which had been removed from their positions by the force of the water. Some had even been turned over by the water which was squirting up like a fountain.

It might seem obvious, but let me say that I did not make it into work that day. I was dealing with family issues, traveling down roads; no, I was traveling on rivers where there was once a road. I was also attempting to receive our repaired washer.

The experience one feels is hopelessness.

The next day, a man sat across from me on the Marmaray–it didn’t have the problems the Yenikapı-Haciosman Metro Line had due to the deluge. He was mentally slow. He had earphones on and yet attempted to speak to his mother. Whether or not she heard him, I’ll never know. But he tried. And the lady next to him tried to speak to him. At one point, she pulled out his earbud and began speaking loudly into it, into the headphone!–as if it was the line to his other ear or even someone else somewhere on a different frequency that could soothe the frustrations she had.

It was a bewildering scene and massively frustrating. There was no one to fight. Can you fight an old lady yelling into the earbud of an intellectually slow person? Crying was the better option. And the tears would have come easily at that moment on the subway but I fought them hard enough that they didn’t leave their ducts. Yes, it had been a long commute and a frustrating one–what with the squabbles on the bus from Vezneciler to Yenikapı. (The captain had very determinedly told us that because people in the back of the bus had forced the door open, he would not go on. He would pull over and park the bus.)

Life in Istanbul sometimes seems like this: There is lots of activity. There is lots of movement. There is lots of fluttering and flitting about and the drumming noise of people and autos and (if it were possible) concrete in motion, in a motion of activity. Everything is moving somewhere, ramming into each other much like molecules hoping for evolution. If results happen, if something comes from the motion of this city, it is the result of some greater force. It is something outside of the visible points of reference. It is a sound and fury which ignites THE ENGINE which drives THE PLAN, though many are unsure what that is.