A Not So Turkish Life

Wandering Home

It may not seem much, a lone walk to a routine doctors’ appointment tucked under an umbrella on a windy winter eve, yet it’s these insignificants that are taking my breath away, replacing the panic-attacked lack of oxygen so recently a familiar feeling, with a peace that brings a smile to my face.

A year ago, little ones, our life was pretty idyllic. We lived in a quiet picturesque town, brimming with history that could be lived by you as you scrambled up the Byzantian-Ottoman walls surrounding the city attempting to find “your” sheep regularly to be found grazing under the Yenişehir gate we’d pass under en route for a picnic by the lake or an amble through cute pottery shop lined streets where people passed you fridge magnets and snacks “just because”. Our fridge was a continual rainbow of fruits and veg locally grown, either bought Wednesdays at the chaotically familiar bazar you were so enraptured with; or, mostly in the summer months, picked by us with good friends, from other friends farms. Kilos upon kilos of fresh figs and tomatoes that smelt like the sun and peppers that stained your fingers red, aubergines with skins so bright they reflected themselves and, your favourites, green plums so sour your lips puckered for days. Together you two spent hours running aimlessly outdoors in your toddler-purposed ways while the call-to-prayer kept the time for our days. You learnt to paddle in the lake, and began to swim in our complex. We had friends, and adventures, and the family time Baba and I’d dreamt of; we were looking for our dream house not too far from the beach and a settled life was realistically within our grasp. And yet still my heart gaped. Even when holding you both. And so your Baba, doing what only real love could let you do, told me it was time for me to go home.

So you see, stockpiling old bread crusts to feed ducks on the river (then learning ducks aren’t supposed to eat bread?!), trying every Chinese takeaway in the area to find the best veggie hot-sour soup, pulling wellies on for wet windy park days knowing we’re bound to meet other drenched souls there too; bemoaning vegetable prices and lack of “fresh” fruits, super-duper internet speeds with super-crappy service, bike rides in spaces purpose-built for kids on wheels, a back garden to watch raindrops dazzle on the washing line, and supermarket trollies with twin seats for both boys and coming home from those walks in the rain in the centre of a city I’d always loved, to see my kids playing in the arms of family who’d been wracking up airmiles to see them for a mere number of days, to scoop up those children and feeling every single squeeze with the entire fullness of my heart; those things aren’t minor little dailies, they’re the everythings. And when the little things are everything, the big things are a breeze – well, at least that’s what we’re praying anyway!

New adventures, familiar loves. I hope you’ll be happy here, Budsters.

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This entry was published on 01/29/2015 at 21:49. It’s filed under From Me to You and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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