Do It Before Wikileaks Does
BY CÜNEYT YILMAZ (ECON/III)
cuneyt_y@ug.bilkent.edu.tr
Running around naked is okay if you are a two-year-old baby or if you are Paris Hilton, in which case - CONGRATULATIONS - you've made it to the covers again. But in other cases where you are someone with a height below the average and a weight way above Paris's, that might not be the best way to get yourself into the Google's backyard until keywords like "your name+naked" come and find you. And, these days, most of the diplomats probably feel like the Paris Hiltons of politics, except that their weights are way below the average, and they weigh at least twice as Paris. So you might guess how they feel. Empathy, dude!
See, there is one thing I can't accept about the world today: how it keeps track of my actions. I mean, it looks like it was way easier to rant about anything in the past. It would only take a few seconds for what you just said to vanish in to thin air because nobody would care about what you were saying.
True, today, people still don't care about what you are saying; but, with social networking, now you not only rant about that thing, i.e. a Macroeconomic Theory midterm, but also update your status to something like "Another midterm tomorrow. Gosh, it sucks," tweet about it, and maybe even post something to your blog because you think people might not be content with the 140 characters you've just wrote on Twitter And the odds are that your professor knows how to use Internet, too. So - CONGRATULATIONS - you've just failed another class.
Knowing this was causing me to have insomnia already; but now that I know there are some people out there who keep my letters for the day I become a diplomat or something, I will kindly ask you to send me to a mental institution, because - CONGRATULATIONS - you've just caused a mental breakdown. Yes, there are some things in my biography too that I'm not very proud of. So herein lays the purpose of this week's column: I have a few confessions to make, for I know Wikileaks eventually will.
Ahem, ahem. Attention everyone!
1. It was the year 2000. I had a pen pal from Italy whose name was Lorenzo. That's all you need to know about him, which is also all I know about him. He didn't reply to any of my letters, I say "letters," because I have sent him almost a hundred of them. The very first letter I sent him was fine, you know the kind: Introduction to My Family, How I Love My Parents, Why Turkey is Such a Lovely Country, I Love Animals, By The Way, Oh and Hobbies are a Must too. But he didn't reply, not once, not twice. So I got mad and sent him hate mail, okay maybe two, or three. Now that you know my story, I'd really appreciate if you don't bring that up someday in the future. Oh, and Lorenzo, for your information, I didn't have an iguana. I lied to you. Neither have I ever played tennis.
2. In 2005, I wrote another letter, this time to a bigger name, Ronaldinho from Barcelona. Simply I told him how much I like his football style and that he should know even if the whole world turns its back on him one day, he could be sure that I was there. Cheesy, I know, but I did that. So don't be surprised if one day Julian and his friends bring that up. By the way, Ronaldinho did reply to me, in fact, he even sent me an autograph. So cool, I know.
In fact, there are a few more tidbits about me that would serve as a good source of reputation for the likes of Julian Assange in the near future; but, sadly, I'm running out of my space. I will have to leave it for another column instead. Now that I don't have any dirty laundry that you might find out one day, let's go back to the normal life, shall we? How are the finals coming anyways?