Embarassed to Read this Now!

October 16, 2006
Ankara, Turkey

The perfect kinds of nights are the ones you fight hard to remember months after they fade away from memory. The ones that are not so magical, but quite normal, and in the end, they are what make you happy. I am thinking of a few of these nights, ones that I will probably disengage from my happy recollections even weeks from now, but at this moment in time, they make me content. A few of Benan's friends are regulars at the apartment and one in particular is one of my favorites. He so theatre it's alarming; He is always the center of attention, always singing, or being a ham. On nights that he stays over, the four of us sit in the kitchen with the window open so that the cool breeze can flow in while we watch the guys eat. Last night, I took out my contacts so all I could see were three blurry images. While listening to the Turkish swirling around me, I tried hard to acknowledge the fact that I was in Turkey. Turkey, Khushbu. Maybe it will finally hit me once I leave. Anyway, here we are when Aydin, the friend, starts singing Turkish traditional art music, just as he always does. A few minutes earlier it had started raining slightly, and it was the most wonderful feeling – his singing, the soft rain, and the vagueness of it all.
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I wrote this three weeks ago and I still feel the same way. Ankara doesn't depress me anymore; now I wonder if I ever truly hated it. I know I will always look back on this experience as the most important because it has taught me so much about myself. It is the first time I have done something without a silver spoon in my mouth. I think I've always lived in a dream, wished for dreams, and searched for dreams. The first weeks of this trip were the antithesis of every hope and desire that I have ever had, and looking back on those days, it pains me to realize how close I was to giving up. I tried in the first days to label the rough times as "reality," but let's be honest; this is too cushioned to be real life. Yet, it is not a dream. While this may not be an epiphany for the rest of you, it was for me. Nothing has to be either perfect or a harsh reality because most of the time it is a blissful mix of both. When this first hit me, I remember sitting in silence for a few moments and feeling an uncanny out-of-body experience like I was watching myself grow up.

The same problems that I face in Santiago are popping up in Ankara, and a little part of me always guessed they would but I secretly hoped they wouldn't. For this reason, I was grateful to think that I only have about two more weeks before I can move on to the next leg of my trip, but a few days ago my professor summoned me into his room. He put me in charge of the organization of the book I told you all about, and then asked when I was going to leave. When I told him, he said that I could not leave under so soon, and asked me to stay a little late. Then I can travel until mid November and go to Budapest a bit later, which is not a problem because I will be there for five months and a couple weeks will not make a difference. I thought about this change for a few hours, and I think it would be pretty stupid for me to pass up this book opportunity, and besides, I am beginning to like it here. A lot.

So those problems – people. My parents always warned me that I was too sensitive and an emotionally attached person even when I was a little kid. A week trip here, a month there, and I decided that I didn't want to come back. India and Chile are tough examples of this, and I didn't want to make Turkey one of those, too. Honestly, I never thought it would be, but it is, and I find myself many times a day smiling at the great days and then willing to push these too-happy-thoughts away. Closing my eyes with my fists clenched and secretly saying to myself, " Khushbu, relax. Khushbu, you will never be able to keep doing this if you make everyone this important to you. Khushbu, try not to be so darned sensitive, besides, they're just people. There are 6 billion others you can be friends with and meet in this lifetime ."

And you all know I am probably the most sensitive person to grace most parts of the earth – let's not forget embarrassing video screenings where I end up bawling, movies where people have to tell me shhhhh!, and the worst – reading an article in the library during finals and crying silently while the guys across from me watch me in horror. ISRO really is like a family; a strangely tight-knit group of people that are so pure-hearted it makes me feel like the Wicked Witch of the West a little too often. I don't think that I will ever have such an opportunity to be around such innocence and security again for quite a while, or ever again. I wish I could show you even 1% of this feel-goodness because they cynic in me never thought such a lollipop guild could exist (like my Oz references?).

Home is even worse because it is like being surrounded by perfection in the form of siblings who I don't think have ever done a bad thing in their lives. It's kind of like being stuck in a Turkish version of the Brady Bunch, but with dirty jokes, cigarettes, and lots of cola. Relish these situations I do, but I have an odd feeling that I am being strangely spoiled by the karma Gods for something I did not do.

So there you have it. In Chile, it was the city. In India, it was my culture. Here, it is the people.