On my window’s sill dwells my cherished companion; springs up out of my fragile heart to look with its crimson and curious eyes, through the thick-double panes trying to sense its existence, or the new existence. He’s literally occupied this corner since our arrival last year, I wouldn’t forget that day, ever. We were really lucky to smuggle it through in oblivion of airport-checkpoints.
I snuggled near him when the almost heavily shower clatters against the windows‘ ridges twisting the bloodstream in my veins into every cell of my mind. And the tempest striking the streets with all almighty powers has glittered at the so blackened sky, until the thunder and hail have awakened my memory. My old ancestors had once said storms in spring are just like labor pains; suddenly break out to announcing a new life. The new blossoms should pass through a transitional hard phase. It unconsciously stems to masochistic belief that relief comes from the process of suffering. Salvation comes from struggle, an endless series of ritual or rather religious background.
What kind of struggle should my heart bear to ease up? My companion –nostalgia is still timid to move an inch away from the right corner of the window’s inner ledge! The five years of war has made scars deeper, stars farther. In a handful years, the miserable tiny details have been piled up with all merry moments to dominate our hearts. The killing fact’s when you realize that in your homeland you would feel the same sickness!
The feeling of Loss is so bitter, the feeling of impotence is bitterer. The feeling of hatred is the worst, and the most unbearable. You simply can never walk in the streets, you used to know, see the people, you used to see, and yet can never recognize them more! You breathe the stinky angst, the black venomous smell of death everywhere and every day. And as I’d once described, that the tree of malice growing inside our bodies will become the guillotine strangled our souls. Nostalgia lays beyond dirty reality, so save it as a treasure not a burden, then, move on.
In a new land, you have to move farther, to surpass your past and simply to survive. I’ve thought many times through the turbulent tempest of a daily life, that so many people were doomed or happened to die! In a five years fatal war, I could be dead by a shell or rather quietly by a sniper, or more pathetically; a distorted body drowned in the Mediterranean shot by Turkish coastguards then shown up in a dramatic media scoop. However, I’ve never been a „causality“! So let’s make it worth living! What about seeking my dreams, embracing the whole passed away peoples‘ ambitions into my existence and trying to fulfill them. For no reason, I’m alive, let’s rejoice the chance of living, let’s start to break the ice, to pass through the bottleneck we have enclosed ourselves in. Wake –up! The truth is broken glass cannot be fixed, so accept the fact that your nostalgia will be ever kept into your chest. Stop acting like a victim, and set off a leading role.
My experience until this moment is so satisfactory, in ten months I’ve almost finished my first part of the journey. I’ve gained the daily language, the amazing friends and acquaintances who are supporting me, the different activities I was part of –it all helps to move on and up.
Last May, I was invited to an event launched by students of Giessen University entitled „Share Your Story“. In an interesting presentation, I said: it is in short a „to be or not to be question!“, it is the urge need to belong to this land, we would never be successful without surpassing the painful past and seeking a real belonging. At last but not least, I whispered: „I believe that people who are „doomed“ to be displaced, to live two lives‘ memories, to keep their bags behind the front door of their houses. Such people have the power to move the mountains!“