Blisstanbul

I was a really weird kid. Countless stories (many of which involving crayons and dancing) could illustrate this, but one stands prominent in my memory as the most important. Outside of my first house in Baltimore stood a giant tree whose majestic, knotted branches encouraged play and roughhousing. All the kids in the neighborhood used to come every day to swing on its thick wooden arms, and I used to watch them out of the window. I don’t remember doing this, but my mom recounts this story at parties constantly (much to my chagrin). One particularly kid-filled afternoon, I crept out of my front door and walked over to the other children, wringing my hands and clearly uncomfortable in my own skin. My mom said she watched me as I stood, staring at the kids swinging on the branch. My brow furrowed and I crossed my arms. Then, I turned around and marched back into the house. Mom rushed after me to urge me to go back outside (Jesus Sally, find friends!) and, when she approached me, asked me what I was doing.
“Well mommy, I’m getting a pillow to place over the roots so that the other kids won’t hurt themselves.” My mom sent me back outside without giving me the pillow, determined to make me roughhouse and think only of myself. To this day, this side of me remains. For some reason I can’t help but constantly be concerned about others. Therefore, it’s difficult for me to be in Istanbul with friends and not constantly be thinking about whether or not they’re having a good time. I’m perpetually thinking of things to tell Katie and Kelsi about language, or things about fashion or culture to share with Cassie or Natalia, or ridiculous and terribly obnoxious Turkish sentences to teach John. I hardly think that this detracts from my own experience, but today something struck me.
During lunch, some people came with me to a Turkish place just off of where Orhan dropped us off. After eating, we all pulled out money to pay, and Joe said he would pay for me. I asked why, and he said it was because I had been doing so much for other people, and that he could tell I was a little bothered. I felt immediately both grateful and terrible. It terrified me to think that I could somehow be putting off an aura that implied I was bothered by others’ questions. I wasn’t at all. What bothers me is repeating things. Joe reminded me that repetition would have to occur in a group this big, and I agreed. What I need to do is stop being so concerned about whether or not others are having a good time, and concentrate on what an adventure this should be for me. This trip has been like a flashback of my life up until now—little tastes of everywhere I’ve lived. Images and smells have been smacking me in the face like dreams I had forgotten and now suddenly recall.
Walking along the water last night with Katie, I realized what smells remind me of Turkey: strawberry pipe smoke, clove cigarettes, and overwhelmingly flowery perfume. It’s just so strange having taken all those things for granted for all those years, then realizing how much I’ve missed them. I’ve missed the incredibly friendly people the most. I don’t think I’ve had to pay for food on the street once this trip. Nice old men just… give people things here. It’s just incredible to me how much people here live in the moment, constantly talking and smiling, not afraid to approach you or touch you or ask you questions. During the tour today when we were suddenly surrounded by the peanut gallery of local Turkish boys, I couldn’thelp but be more fascinated by their gathering than the information I was hearing.
Yet, as much as I love at here, and as at home as I feel, I am not a Turk. I’m not quite American either, nor am I German. I’m a strange, unbalanced mix of the three. Amergerturk. I can literally pick out elements of my character that stem directly from living in all of these places. American me loves barbeque sauce and refuses to pay for ketchup. German me hates it when things or people are late and prefers walking to driving. Turkish me doesn’t fear cars. Sometimes I wish that I were just one nationality, but really, I couldn’t be luckier. Taking this little taste test of my life has really helped me realize how important it is to be introspective and maybe even once in a while, just a little selfish.