The Bosphorus reflects the heartbeats of this country I fell in love with. On summer days, when seagulls float aimlessly teenagers skip along her shores, families join the throngs of picnickers on promenades, the adventurous run by her in a quest for long life; on cold winter morns with high waves crashing down, lone fisherman cast their rods to its depths. Since I first came to Turkey, I’ve fallen in love with this nation, tea by tea, in many a town round the country and whenever I’ve returned back “home” to this city, I’ve stopped to sip a cay by these waters. Every single glass has held a different mirrored view for though this city holds a past vibrant and exotic and truly deserving of notoriety and rank of its wealth for us, today, its too complex desires for a future unwritten are eroding the beauty of its present, convoluting the ordinary in everyday. It’s in ordinary exceptional is most often found.
Yesterday it was raining, pouring actually; a storm rolled in so terrible it’s sea sunk a coal ship nearby. Most people looked out of the windows, cranked up the heating, settled in for a pyjama day which probably explains why I dressed the three of us warmly and headed out into the city, for coffee and smiles and adventure. Days like yesterday are your answer to the whys and the whats, reminding you to adapt and persevere, that we are only human, after all. And M you loved being out in the rain. Tucked cosily in the pram, you squeeled with delight as raindrops bounced from the raincover overhead, delighted while on the metro in wiping condensation forming away. This morning, as the weighted nets rose and fell in the shadow of the storm, a gentle mist rose and blurred the city landscape we see. I can’t wait to watch you splash knee deep in puddles.
Tomorrow my husband and I will pack up our children and head to a landscape we barely know to a town as yet full of strangers to find a base to build a home for our family. And although, out of all of the unpredictable adventures I’ve journeyed thus far this is by far the most extreme, it seems the most secure of all because it really doesn’t matter where we live or where we don’t, what the weather or schooling is like, what matters is the footing we take the steps with and in that, we feel our path is secure. As long as we’re here to hold each other tight when inevitable bumps come around, it’s the right steps we’re pacing, wherever the road sign is pointed.
The space that you live in can either act as your echo or transform your thoughts into those of its own. The longer we stay in this city, the more cups of tea it takes to see through the glass – I don’t want to view Turkey through the smudges I feel. In years to come, you’re both going to ask us why we live the way and the where that we do. You’re going to want reasons why it’s here and not there, this and not that and as bilingual, multinational children, your heritage gives you an abundance of ready made fodder to tantrum through teenage years, whatever the decisions we make. There’s a fine line, boys, between isolated and insulating. With Gods help this adventure we’re starting will give you plenty of the latter to swell through all these angst.
Normally Wednesday’s are wordless. I enjoy adding to this montage of our life by taking time to smother myself in captured moments, forgetting about comprehension, simply scanning through photos to post. It’s a way of clearing out the clutter from an always overstuffed week. And moving to Iznik is something like that.