Bars of Gold

Hi, my name is Jenna. I live in a place made of reenforced steel and specialty woods from Europe. There is a food store that never runs out and a clean water tap that never runs dry.
A piano sits adjunct to a panorama of the Bosphorus. I can play it whenever if there is no one sleeping in the house.
Outside there is a pool which is cleaned weekly by someone else. There is also a garden where fresh strawberries grow and beat like petit hearts. I can stroll by them day or night, pick them if I wish to fill my belly or make a pie for all to enjoy.
Contiguous to the house is a winter garden where I can read my books, study my Turkish and play with the baby of the house if I'd like a break from thinking. My favorite place is there as it overlooks the Bosphorus as well, and Rumeli Castle and the second of the two bridges that connect Asia and Europe. A walnut tree is there, too. I'm grateful for it as its leaves shade me while I read and study. Without it, I'd be open and vulnerable to the sun because the winter garden is made of glass. Sometimes the light finds its way through the branches to my face and blinds me. Other times it warms my back and legs, giving me energy to continue my reading. I love the winter garden.
Then there is a girl who lives here, too. She is young, only six. She has golden hair down to her tush and a presence which demands attention. Her room is from a JC Penny catalogue with pink and purple and white and princesses decorating every inch of the space. Toys are stuffed into every niche and sometimes, so am I. She acts and plays like a princess, and if I were her, I would also be confused whether I was one or not. She asks and receives at a speed near the transfer rate of a fiber optic cable. There is no such thing as "no". And I am but another toy in her house of glass and gold.
Gold because though all is perfection and bounty and beauty, there is a price in gold bars. They define the space as Eden and all else as not. Outside them is a reminder of the city I came to see. Loud cars, cramped buses, ferries coming and going like bees at their hive. Just over the hill is a space where women dress in long trench coats with long skirts and head scarves. They are always walking, I never see them sit. The men are the opposite. They sit but not walk. They drink a lot of tea and smoke a lot of cigarettes. I shouldn't, but I like the style of the men more. They at least know how to relax. I don't think the women are allowed.
Across the Bosphorus there is another scene which plays to my imagination more so than my reality these days. That is of a monkey-Brendan at home in a world of stress and loneliness. I worry that he may be going mad without me to make him take a break and play. I worry that I may be going mad worrying.
Thus, my job is in its inchoate stage. It's fresh and new and beautiful. I am lucky. I have bars of gold that keep me safe and pay me well. Not many can say such things. Yet, I miss a bit the world of chaos and insecurity. It was fun because it was uncertain, and I thrive in the uncertain. I'm ironically unhappy that I'm not certain as to how I'll thrive here, behind bars of gold.