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She did not want to have anything to do with this God who invented copious ways of judging and punishing human beings but did so little to protect them when they needed Him.
Life was unfair, and now she realized death was even more so.
‘Why pray when God is no good at listening?
The evil and the good, the cruel and the merciful, had been planted six feet under, side by side, in row after godforsaken row. Most of them did not have even the simplest of tombstones. Neither a name nor a date of birth. Only a coarsely hewn wooden board with a number and sometimes not even that, just a rusty tin placard.
On average fifty-five thousand people died in Istanbul every year – and only about one hundred and twenty of them ended up here in Kilyos.
We must do what we can to mend our lives, we owe that to ourselves – but we need to be careful not to break others while achieving that.’
