...he sailed into proud Turkey. OK, so I totally don't know who said that. I could get up off my porcine bottom and look it up, but I don't wanna. I've been in work all day and class for the past two hours. Yes, folks, it's almost 9 and I just got into comfy clothes. I know what you are thinking:
* Well, at least I am not a small African child who witnessed the ruthless slaughter of his entire family at the hand of a mobile paramilitary death squad. I did not sustain machete slashes to my head and abdomen only to pretend I was dead under the oppressive heat of dozens of rapidly decomposing bodies, only to escape under cover of darkness to the nearest town, where I stowed aboard a U.S.-bound aircraft, losing several small appendages in the intense cold before seeking asylum. *
You uncharitable freaks. My suffering, it is tres grand!
Working in my office has given me quite a perspective on my own really wonderful life. Some of the people who come here for an education come from places where they have so little chance to be viable adults, should they live that long. The sacrifices some of them make are so profound: leaving home, family and familiarity, they come in the thousands to a very liberal American institution jutting like a radioactive mushroom out of nearby cornfields to learn. I may be out of my heavily forested, ocean-adjacent element, but when push comes to shove, I could be home with $200 and a four-hour plane trip. I have fantastic friends, a great job that pays for my education, a loving (we put the fun! in dysfunctional) family and my Horoz.
This weekend, I will be going to Chicago for the first time. Oh yes. How pathetic is it that I have been to Ames, Iowa since I have been here (9 hours) and not Chicago (4 hours)? Apparently there is a Turkish festival of some kind this weekend. I have gotten about twelve plaintive emails entreating me to join my Turkish kindred in the Windy City for some baklava, kebaps and as little English-speaking as possible. I must go: I mean, come on. I have Turkey tattooed onto my skin. I have a red shirt with the white crescent and star; the Turkish flag. I am a novelty to most of my Turkish friends. A Turkish buddy of mine came into work today and pointed at me and laughed. I ducked under the desk and combed my beard with my fingers in a desperate search for boogers. When I emerged, he was leaning over the desk grinning like a lunatic. He said:
"Every time I see you, you look more like a Turk."
It was the beard again. When I wore my Muslim skullcap once while sporting the beard, a Turk stopped me and looked into my eyes very deeply. "You are my father's doppleganger," she breathed almost inaudibly. Once, while roving about the ruins of the Greco-Roman city of Ephesus (near Izmir), I sat down and was attacking some Algida (Good Humor). An older man came and sat down next to me; his distance from me was not the kind of distance that we American folk can appreciate. I could smell his skin. He smiled broadly and clapped me on my shoulder. Our conversation follows.
Random Turkish Man: "Mehmet! It's been far too long! How the hell are you?"
Me: "Eh?"
RTM: "What? You don't even recognize your own brother-in-law?"
Me: "Eh?"
RTM: "Mehmet, you've always been a joker. So funny! Surye lucked out when she met you. "
Me: "Sir, I am not Mehmet."
RTM: "What, you don't think I would recognize my own brother-in-law?"
Me: "My Turkish is really bad. I am an American."
This went on for some time. Dinçer, my buddy, toddled over with his ice-cream. He asked me in English who my new friend was. I told him that his guess was as good as mine. The man looked slightly mortified: apparently, his brother-in-law would not have been, for all his graces, an Anglophone. Dinçer gently explained that I was some random American and not his long-lost relative. He was crestfallen, and I wanted to repair his shattered fun. I told him in broken Turkish that he should call Mehmet and talk to him, as it was apparent that they hadn't spoken in some time. He said he would, shook my hand, did the Turkish cheek-kissing thing, and bade me to enjoy his beautiful country. He disappeared into the crowd of Japanese tourists and was gone like he had never been there.
Those are the moments you know you belong somewhere.
If I don't get to Turkey again soon I think I am going to jump out of my skin.
Anyway, I am exhausted. I need my sleep and I need it bad. I won't be posting tomorrow night; surely you all will forgive me that.
Here's to dreams of arid islets jutting out from azure seas filled with the rubble of dozens of civilizations; of broad plateaux of waving grain and the wild crags of mountains still filled with ibex and the cry of eagles large enough to steal lambs; to the minaret-studded skylines of cities that were ancient when the horsemen thundered across the mare's head of my adopted homeland.
Hoscakalin, arkadaslar.
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