my heart breaks. again.

My sweet morning TOEFL class is clicking their way through a practice reading exam and just the sight of them diligently taking notes, squinting at their computer screens, and waking up after an evening of Turkish domesticity pulls my heart strings. Before sending them to their boring though challenging midterm fate, we spent about half an hour discussing their favorite topic: American culture (vs. theirs). I have two bankers in this class - both of whom I adore - and they are both so keen to hear my thoughts. The older of the two, Duran, got here a bit early and told me when I walked in that I looked tired and must have been to the disco the night before. I laughed. Me at the disco. Alas, no... I look tired because I am tired. Because I couldn’t fall asleep last night. Because I stared at my ceiling for a good two hours wondering what the fuck it is I’m doing with my life. Why am I leaving a wonderful city where I have a steady - albeit absolutely shit - job only to go home where I have no job? Why am I leaving a place where the men gawk at me like I’m an exotic addition to the harem for a place where men treat me like a beached, bitter lady walrus? I know the answers, of course, but it doesn’t make them any less difficult to swallow.

I told the class that the biggest difference that I felt personally was how men and women interact here. Men and women (if they’re “together”) coddle each other. Women cling to their men and men respond by guarding them. Couples hold hands and lean into each other like small islands, and to be honest, it kind of makes me want to dry heave. Men and women who aren’t dating, engaged, or married aren’t allowed to touch each other. I asked the four and half (one of my students is 16 and goes to a German high school) dudes if they hug their lady friends and they all said “No. Yes. I mean, no. Maybe when I first see them.” They certainly hug each other. The men here are bordering on... homoerotically touchy. They walk down the street arm-in-arm, laughing, telling jokes. I’ve been men fall asleep on each other on the tram. I’ve seen cops walk with their arms around each other’s waits or shoulders. But heaven forbid casual touches between the sexes. I told them that I found the lack of casual touching very unusual and brought up an anecdote I had already shared with one of the two girls in the class. That I had planned on meeting Tarık for coffee but he had instead taken me to his apartment. I told them that we were just friends and I found that very normal. Their eyes widened. Ömer asked if Tarık were Turkish. (Didn’t use his name of course) and when I assented, he laughed in disbelief and said “Good luck!” If only he knew. Duran told me that he has a female friend who’s marrying an American guy and asked if I thought it would last. He asked me if Turkish men and American men were very different and I tried to answer as honestly as I could...

Are they different? Entirely. And... not at all. After some consideration, I told them that Turkish men are infinitely more charming. They’re very good at saying the right things, complimenting women if they find them beautiful (and even if they don’t), and making women feel special. But I was honest - Turkish men aren’t known for their fidelity and while American men aren’t either, they’re not infamous for their infidelity either. That’s a kind of major difference. I asked them if they thought that was true, and much to my surprise, they all (men + woman) agreed. I asked about Turkish women cheating and they all said it doesn’t happen. Interesting. Delusional, but interesting.

One of my students is an Iranian doctor pursuing his PhD here and getting ready to marry his Turkish fiancée. His Turkish is totally fluent (as are his Farsi, Arabic and English) and he seems quite at home here. I asked him if he missed Iran at all and he said that “his country is very closed and there are lots of human rights problems.” To be frank, I was surprised he said that.

I don’t know what to do with this mess of feelings. The thought of not hugging these people who have made the past three months worth living is heartbreaking. I want to hug each and every one of them. I want to tell them how special they are to me and how much I love them and wish them well. And by this time next week I’ll have to - I’ll have to say goodbye.

I’m not ready to leave. But I’m not ready to stay, either. Truth is, I can’t see this getting better without some kind of massive benevolent intervention from a deity. Maybe the God of the Bosphorus, or at least the Turkish mob. And even then - the facts remain. I am alone here and I don’t speak the language. I haven’t got a chance. Things here just aren’t what they seem. And they’re never straightforward. The İstanbul I met in April definitely still exists and there is magic in this air. Walking upstairs to the very dodgy cafe on the top floor my building, I see the cargo ships and the tug boats gliding through the water, heading East. They look so peaceful under the seagulls swooping down and squawking with the fog rolling in. These are ancient waters and boats have been moving in precisely this way in precisely this place for millennia. There is something in that. Seriously. There is something moving and meaningful in seeing the same things that others have seen before me for epochs. Conquerors and priests and soldiers and slaves and philosophers and writers and musicians. Bankers, doctors, students, housewives, dreamers. American girls. (Here in Bakırköy I might actually be the only one.) I will miss this view so much. I’ll miss waking up to dogs barking and seagulls chatting. I’ll miss Samsun Simit where I buy my breakfast sandwiches twice a week. (Fresh slabs of feta, tomatoes, and cucumbers on the most delicious sesame-seed encrusted bread.) Most importantly, I’ll miss these people - one of whom just gifted me an İstanbully book mark made out of “genuine goat-skin parchment.”

These people might be a little crazy, but they are so kind. So generous. Such fast friends. My heart breaks. Again.