"I get upset to see things thrown away and forgotten," I said. "They say the Chinese used to believe that things had souls."
"Before we Turks came here from Central Asia, we spent a huge amount of time with the Chinese; there was something about this on television just the other day," said Aunt Nesibe.
Then suddenly I'd hear a ship coming from the direction of Karaköy and Tophane blowing its whistle, and I would remember the noise of the city, and its crowds, and as I tried to conjure up the image of the ferries approaching the piers, I would reluctantly realize just how involved I'd become with the Keskin family, how much time I'd spent eating at this table: As these ships had gone by, blowing their whistles, I'd not even noticed how many months and years had passed us by.
While these Turkish films kept telling us that one could find "the truth" leaving behind this "world of lies", by now I could no longer believe in the films we saw in the open-air cinemas, with ever dwindling audiences. I could no longer submit to that sentimental realm.