It was with mixed emotions that I said goodbye to Portland and departed for Istanbul. At this very moment, I’m sitting in my well-appointed room at a small guesthouse, tucked away on a little cobblestone street in the sultanahmet district. I plan to stay for three nights while I get my bearings and a feel for the city. Much to my surprise, I’m feeling eerily calm given the host of emotions stirring internally. It feels a bit like a dream to be honest. I can’t believe that I’m actually doing it – that I’m actually here. My dream is now a reality. From this day forward, each day is whatever I want it to be. My life is finally just that: it’s mine.
I made it here safe and sound, with only a few minor hiccups along the way. My flights were relatively painless and, luckily, I was able to catch some much needed shuteye between Chicago and Frankfurt. Lufthansa was a delight and I would highly recommend them; they put United to shame.
I had the opportunity to explore the surrounding neighborhood on my way in, but not by choice. There was a traffic jam and my taxi driver, who didn’t speak any English, pulled over and forced me out – without a map, mind you. He pointed up an alley and made a few grunting sounds, so I just smiled and carried on. With the help of a few locals, who noticed me wandering aimlessly, I found my temporary residence within a half hour.
My first night was uneventful, as I was exhausted. I laid down for a quick nap, but minutes turned into hours, and before I knew it, the opportunity for dinner had passed; thankfully, I had M&M’s and a power bar: delicious and nutritious.
I awoke at sunrise to the call for prayer. Lying there in the dark, listening to words I could not discern, I was reminded of just how far away I am. That home, even though I no longer have one, isn’t an option. My thoughts quickly shifted to the fact it’s my twenty-sixth birthday; another year has come and gone, again.
Twenty-five was a year of change. Looking back, I can see that some of it was necessary and other parts, just heartbreaking. Regardless, I recognize that I’m in a better position for going through it all. That now, I have a better understanding of who I am, what family really means, and that it’s okay to let down my guard – to not only be present in my emotions, but to express them too.
One of the hardest things to accept was my parents’ divorce. I had to acknowledge that my perception of their relationship was all wrong. That all my life, I placed them up on a pedestal, assuming everything was perfect, when in all reality, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Perhaps the signs were there and I was just too young or preoccupied to notice. I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because it is what it is, and the damage is done.
It’s hard to know that I cannot go home again. It’s hard to accept that the family dinners, discussions, and outings won’t be happening – at least not in the way that I have grown accustom to. Well, I suppose they’re not gone… just different… incomplete. Cue that homesick feeling I’ve come to know so well.
Some might say that I’m slightly hung up on this event. That I’m an adult, and need to get the hell over it and let go – that I should look at the statistics and be happy that they stayed together for as long as they did. In some ways, I suppose that’s true… I just hate hearing it. I’d like to think that I’m having such a hard time closing the chapter, because I care so much. So damn much. You know, I think I just care way too much about everything and everyone. Care less, perhaps? Is that even an option? Food for thought. They say divorce is like an amputation; you survive, but there is less of you. In my experience, this proves true for all involved.
