Four days of fantastic friends and food later, I’m sitting yet again next to an airplane window contemplating the future. This time I’m surrounded by an appropriately blond family (Lufthansa flight) and if I’m not mistaken, one of the teenage sisters sitting in front of me is named Anja. She keeps eyeing me suspiciously so I won’t take it as an omen either good or bad. I also won’t take the massive turbulence as an omen. It was so bad a minute ago that the food cart fell over. Oops. Glad Sarah suggested I get a bagel for the airport, and I was too busy yacking to my family on my phone to eat it.
I think this weekend really sorted me out. It was wonderful to catch up with my Reed friends Lily and David and see them flourish in a new apartment. They were one of the best parts of my life in Portland post-Reed, and always remind me of the fun times instead of the prolonged depressed ones. Hanging out with Kate “Donny” Donahue, one of my French soul sisters, was both terrific and awful. Terrific because she knows me (the best bits and worst bits and definitely the weirdest bits) so thoroughly and seems to like me anyway. Awful because it reminded me of how much I miss her. Seeing her is as easy as breathing. I hope one day we can end up in the same place. Grabbing coffee with Whitney, a friend from home whom I’ve known since we were nine, was wonderful as always. Whitney and I share the personal philosophy that we should do all of the crazy international stuff while we have the stomach for it, and hold off on the trivial shit - like careers, and serious relationships, and 401Ks, and fixed addresses - until later. It’s important to have a coconspirator at all times. Whitney, if you’re reading this: I can’t wait to hear about your class assignment.
I also got to see my homie Brian. He and I fortuitously crossed paths at Bennington College nine whopping years ago. I say “fortuitous” because we both transferred out after our freshman year, and we’ve been at least 3,000 miles apart at all times since then. Last March was the first time I’d seen him since 2004 and it’s a comfort to know that we can still shoot the shit, be knowledgable about each other’s lives, and eat really messy food together without judgment. Remembering my keen fondness/interest in Hassidic Jews, Brian took me to a massive New York electronics store run by them. Can I just say - it was fucking awesome. More curly sideburns and beards under one roof than I could shake a stick at. We walked down the High Line and talked about superheroes and Turkish antisemitism. Always a pleasure, Mr. Lisi. I mean that.
And then there was Sarah, my hostess extraordinaire and life coach. The term “family” is a complicated one for me, but Sarah is part of mine. We’ve been friends since before either of us can remember, and though we don’t call each other every week or even see each other very often, she’s someone I trust entirely when I need an ass-kicking. (And when I don’t.) She’s the person who tells me that I could be making my life better and easier by trying harder. And then she makes me try. She’s also the person who reads the weariness in my face and suggests we spend the afternoon drinking mimosas and painting our nails. We’re both going through rough patches right now, and sitting on her sofa, petting her curly-haired dog, and unleashing our mutual “situations” was precisely what I needed to deal with the extreme anxiety I’ve been feeling lately. The many cocktails we consumed didn’t hurt either, nor the visit to Mast Brothers, Blue Bottle, and the myriad of hipper than hip Brooklyn boutiques we passed through. Thank you, Sarah.
Actually, these past two Sarah-guided visits have made me realize that I totally could live in New York, and that I might actually want to. All of the adorable Etsy-like stores and sarcastic street art in Brooklyn are right up my alley, as are the consistently amazing food spots, but more than that, I’m so impressed with how truly diverse New York is. Stupidest “observation” on this blog, I know. But New York really does seem like a slice of the whole goddamn world. I saw Hassidic women with their Jackie Kennedy hats and black pumps standing next to Rastas and Dominicans and hipsters on the subway. Woody Allen-ish middle-aged men and Asians speaking languages I’ve never heard before. Old Polish ladies in the fur coats and teenagers groping each other in plain sight. And everyone seems to coexist. It’s kind of awesome. Returning to very homogeneous İstanbul after that is going to be... interesting.
Okay. Time to talk about that old so and so of a city, and where things stand. I’ve strayed long enough.
There’s good news.
-I no longer feel like throwing up when I think about it. (Which is great, considering I’ll be there in eleven hours.)
-I don’t have to worry about being sold into the sex trade upon arrival at Atatürk Airport. No dodgy Turkish employers picking me up and whisking me off to sketchy English schools.
-I don’t have to take up residence under Galata Bridge. Aydın offered to house me until I find something more permanent, and I have very gratefully accepted his offer. To be more forthcoming than I usually care to be: yes, Aydın and I are seeing each other and I’d be lying if I said I weren’t a tiny bit nervous about staying with him. Not because he isn’t a very good guy - because he most definitely is. He’s taking the day off from work just so he can pick me up from the airport, and he’s been secretly taking Ido and Victoria to look at flats and talk to landlords so he could surprise me. (That didn’t work out, though.) I’m nervous because I’m socially awkward, talk in my sleep, and worried that he’s going to find out in a big hurry just how weird and moody and private and reclusive I can be. And my hair looks super crazy in the mornings. I don’t know how to be soft and sweet and delicate. He’s never expressed that those are traits he wants in a ladyfriend, but it’s how I perceive most Turkish girls. And Turkish I am not. I’m a little scared. There. I said it.
-Due almost entirely to Sarah and her persuasive, rational, brain-utilizing, problem-solving ways, I might have found a potential legit living situation. (Living with Aydın might turn out to be super fun, but I’m not wild about his mom paying a surprise visit to her only son and finding me hiding in a closet. [I have a very active imagination. I can’t help it.] She’d probably try to get me deported.) Harnessing the benevolent powers of couchsurfing.org, I’ve contacted a few people looking for flatmates, and hope to be meeting with two girls in Mecediyeköy / Șişli on Thursday or Friday. I’m really excited about this specific flat because the girl who posted is getting her masters in architecture and apparently lived in Portugal for a while. She told me that she and her roommate are looking for someone they can be friends with and cook with. Ummm... Heck yeah! This could be a double win for me. Architectural knowledge and unlimited access to Turkish cuisine? Sign me up. So my fingers and toes are crossed.
-I still don’t have a job. That’s not good news. I sent my resume to more than twenty universities over Christmas, and the schools that wrote back did so to tell me they didn’t have an open position. I refuse on principal to return to the shithole of a school I worked at before, but I might lower my expectations and apply at their rival where my friend Chip works. They don’t pay quite as much, but they will secure me a proper visa, open a bank account for me, and give me a housing stipend. Once I get those things I can afford to be pickier.
Sarah asked me this morning what I was excited to return to. The first thing that came to mind (and this is me being totally honest) : walking by the Blue Mosque. I can’t count how many times I’ve taken that mostly out-of-the-way stroll now, but every time I do, I feel like I made the right life decisions. That all of the choices and minor disasters and feelings of queasiness that led up that moment were worth it. And that feels really fucking good.
I don’t understand my connection to İstanbul, but I know it’s real. I hope this time around I can trust my own intuition and learn to allow myself to enjoy the friendly insanity around me.
Guys, I think I might finally be growing up.
me + plane + highly inappropriate facial expression for that last statement
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