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Bright Lights. Big City

Yazan: HaberVs

Cristina RotaruIt’s every once in a while, when you feel like mornings don’t blind you with their softness anymore, and afternoons become just an excuse for a long night, that you hear the road calling you. It’s usually a high-pitched tone that not all ears can hear, and this time, just this once, mine brought […]

Cristina Rotaru
It’s every once in a while, when you feel like mornings don’t blind you with their softness anymore, and afternoons become just an excuse for a long night, that you hear the road calling you. It’s usually a high-pitched tone that not all ears can hear, and this time, just this once, mine brought me to Istanbul.
“But why Istanbul?” I hate this question. I’ve had to answer it so many times and I still don’t know what to say. Because it’s exotic? Maybe. Because I’m selfish? Most definitely. Because, at some extent, I needed some sort of gratification that I actually am special, just like everybody else? For sure. But for now let’s just stick to “Because I wanted to look left towards the West through Eastern eyes for a change.” And, after three weeks in the big city, I’m further away than ever of finding a plausible answer to this question. Sure, it’s great fun pretending that you’re not a tourist any more, that you’ve learned some shortcuts to your new home and where to buy cheap Döner, and maybe even not to photograph every single thing any more, but I have a slight feeeling in my gut that the more time we’ll be spending here, the more we’ll start to realize how far we actually are from knowing and understandng this place, this place and its legacy.
They say 15 million people. I say no. Well all right, demographically speaking, it might be so, but let’s face it, shall we: which one of us, university students, actually get to experience real contact with these people? Yes, it’s cool telling your friends back home how “freaking AWESOME AND HUGE!!!” this place is, isn’t it? But, my friends, we live in a bubble. A bubble that takes us from Taksim straight to Santral Campus every day, a bubble that allows us to buy beer and take pretty pictures of half tumbled down houses in Dolapdere, to go to the Sunday Tarlabasi market and buy tomatoes for one Lira and feel the thrill and mix with the locals. It’s exciting and new and insightful, but most of all, it’s safe. Not in the way that the city itself is safe, but rather that we, exchange students, still have something secure to back to, a place in the back of our heads where everything is quiet and familiar and comfortable. Home. How transparent we are, and how ignorant and selfish, telling everyone that we’re living the real Istanbul life when we’re actually just living the life that Istanbul created for us. And yet, despite knowing all of this, why do people here still like us? Why is it that I feel like they’re real people when talking to someone, something I haven’t felt in Vienna in the whole three years since I’m living there? Maybe there actually still are some simply nice people out there, who don’t need a reason to talk to you or hug you (or ask you to marry them), in which case, BOO HOO Western Europe! You got it all wrong.
I don’t intend to sound skeptical and mean, but I am, so that’s how it comes out. Maybe it’s in my blood: the Eastern European ancestry that dreamed for so long of being rescued by a Western prince until both the dream and the prince turned out to be fake. Maybe it’s because I don’t know where my roots are anymore, or maybe it’s just because sometimes, every once in a while, I hear this high-pitched tone telling me that it’s time to hit the road. I’m not a stayer, not by far, but for now I melt in the dim Istanbul afternoon sun, knowing that I know nothing about this city, and I feel at home. I am ready for the big city lights to blind me.

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