May 24th

My time here has come full-circle. Hot, long days remind me of when I first arrived in Bilecik having no idea where this journey would lead me. Turns out, it lead me a few directions, from Istanbul to Adana, from Ayvalik to Antalya. It also allowed me to confront, in a deep and personal way, the particulars of my life that have caused frusteration. An opportunity to step aside, to live on my own for a year, cultivated a sense of self that won't be broken. Moreover, I've deeply valued my chance to connect with Turks - to put a face to the unfamiliar and the often misunderstood. I'm an American, yes, but more than that, I'm a teacher and a friend.

I know its been overstated, but my heart is overflowing with gratitude. I'm leaving Turkey in a few days, but Turkey will always be a whisper in the back of my head, compelling me to return. And return I will, not only the beautiful city of Istanbul, or to the sites and visions that spawned great civilizations, but to my hometown of Bilecik, pop. 48,000. Humble mosques in tiny villages, snow capped mountains, rolling fields and olive groves, the generosity of local vendors, and the blue of the sea have dug themselves into my conscience, where they will remain for the rest of my days. Turkey has both effortlessly and relentlessly taken hold of me.

But I'm not going back to a hapless existence in all-to-familiar America. I'm moving on with my life in DC for the next two years. I'll continue to study Turkish, and to study Turkey's layered and complex political culture. It's important that, beyond my face-to-face diplomatic presence in Bilecik, I contribute to peace and understanding between America and Turkey in other capacities too. My tenure as a Fulbrighter far from over. I am now able to offer up a rich portrait of a country so misunderstood by Americans. It's more than kebab and baklava, chief.

Last weekend, I took a trip with a few friends to the coastal town of Ayvalik. There I was, an American, sitting on a Turkish beach, a French family to my left, reading the Indian Rushdie's book on Nicaragua, The Jaguar Smile, listening to Rihanna blaring through nearby speakers, and sipping something from yet another country. The year has brought the world together for me, not only in the superficial way globalization has transformed sleepy Ayvalik beach into the UN, but mainly in the way intellectual connections minimize differences between people of (not so) different cultures and societies.

I'll go back to my flat now, and mill about in the living room for a bit before falling asleep. I'll cherish every moment of it too.