I am in the room with moments of sadness and grief. I run my eyes sadly over the faded photographs in discolored frames hanging on the walls. I look at the sparkle in the eyes of the woman in the wedding dress, the pride and happiness on the face of the young man in the groom's suit. In the photo next to it is the enthusiastic image of happiness that was reinforced with the addition of a son in the following years. On another wall, the long-lost elders of the family are lined up side by side. In fact, Hasan Dede's first and last photograph, the only one, hangs on the wall and had to be taken for his headshot. His grandchildren, who are well past middle age, tell me about their grandfather with smiles but with tears in their eyes, with a grim and angry expression because he never liked having his photo taken but was forced to do so. I look around with my eyes; I get stuck on the lockable drawers of a console that is obviously over 100 years old, a console from long ago, with the keys still hanging on them. I think, who knows how many precious things were locked in them for the owner of the house who passed away from this world about two years ago or for the previous ones. There is not a single scratch on it, it still looks very attractive and beautiful. The lace cover on it is the same model as the ones on the coffee table. Again, who knows with what dreams it was knitted, whether it was the late landlady's or a dowry gift from her mother? Every texture of the house made me feel heavy as if I was in mourning, as if I was lonely with the absence of the hostess who just this morning got out of bed, went to wash her face and collapsed on the floor. Now the light of this house is completely extinguished with the departure of its last member. The lights go out when the woman of the house leaves, as it happened here two years ago. But still, for those who stay, life goes on, even in appearance. So as not to upset their loved ones. Now, I think to myself, on this beautiful console, people's belongings have been thrown away, tea cups piled up, strangers sitting on those armchairs that don't bear wiping, spilled salad dressings on the carpets that don't bear stepping on. Wow... Human beings are not as long-lasting and permanent as the photograph on the wall or the linoleum chair. Even if the last person in the house is 92 years old, he's gone, and the pictures on the wall look as if they'll last for hundreds of years. Even the console. Solon, one of the world's greatest statesmen and sages, was asked on his death bed: "As a sage who lived so long, what do you think about life and death?". Solon replied: "I don't remember being born, I know I'm about to die, it only seems to last a moment". As the saying goes, "Life is the lifetime of a butterfly", some butterflies live a lifetime in a day. Cicadas live for only a month and then they are gone. Some turtles live for 400 years. In the end, a short or long life lasts and ends. You can live 400 years if you want. Life and death are intertwined. In fact, life is a death. Life is the end of life in the womb and the beginning of life in this reality, and it flies away like a cloud. It is as short as the passing of a star. There is no gulf between birth and death, as one might think; they are as close as breath. One moment you are there, the next moment you are gone. What are we after then? In pursuit of what? Or why and for what are our anger, resentment, competition, sadness, pain, suffering, fears, struggles? To be nothing in the end? If the goal is to win, it is better to defeat ourselves than the world. It is better to decipher the language of the soul, to discover the shimmering skies of love, to sip the taste of getting lost in the sweet intoxication of separation, to try to get lost in nothingness before the meal of life is eaten and finished. Like a tree, before death approaches, to be painted with all our leaves in the color of the morning redness!!! It doesn't matter if the rotten leaves break off and fall to the ground, let them fall. Where it falls is its own root, its own essence. Human beings also fall to their own essence and roots like leaves. In other words, with all the depth and interiority of our whole being, we are equal to each other and we are one. We are part of a single whole. Then what is all the fuss? Those who go and those who remain are not separated, tears are in vain. We are in the same whole, in the divine, in the same harmony. We need to understand that we are in unity, immortality and eternal vitality, just like the veins that separate in the heart and join in the heart.... That's all...