Six months. Six months since the wheels of my plane lifted from the Istanbul runway, only to land on that of New York eleven hours later. Six months since I bid my family and friends goodbye, not knowing when I would have the chance to see them again. Long story short, I miss Turkey terribly. I simit, baklava, borek, dolmuslar, my school, the not-quite-orange trees lining the streets of Aydin, the bustling main boulevard, the sea in Izmir, and on and on. I miss the warm feeling I got when I spoke Turkish, I miss feeling at home in this country that I had met mere months before. I love being home, I do. I love my country, and my heart lies here always. But a part of that heart was left in Turkey on June 12th when I took off. Now, at the end of 2014, with Christmas just passed, and a new year, one full of new experiences, starting in five days, I have decided the time has come to open up about what happened to send me to Aydin from Kayseri exactly one year ago. Read my story, think what you want about it. I learned a great deal from this experience.
I spent three weeks with my first host family. The first three weeks of my exchange year were terribly lonely. My family was extremely kind and welcoming, but the inevitable homesickness and language barrier had engulfed me like a tidal wave does a baby turtle. With a lot of Harry Potter I was getting through though! Until that fateful Friday morning. I had been woken up by the powerful wind and was lying in bed contemplating life when my phone started buzzing with an incoming call. I picked up and was greeted by the voice of my liaison's husband telling me to pack my things and be out of the house in one hour. He would not explain why, simply saying "you need to change host families right now." I hung up and walked downstairs to see if my host mother knew anything about what was happening. What I received as an explanation was a quick word I did to understand and a finger pointing upstairs to pack. I didn't have time to be sad. My anger bubbled up into my throat as the woman who had promised to care for me stuffed my things into my bags haphazardly. She bagged the gifts I had given them, placed my bags in the hall, and shut the door in my face. The woman who the night before had joked and laughed with me set me outside still in my pajamas without a second thought. As I walked downstairs and got into the car of another exchange student's host mother the grief hit me. I sobbed and sobbed as I realized all I had expected and wanted were falling to pieces within one hour. My friend and I made pancakes and sausage for breakfast. We watched TV and spent a few hours in a very comforting "American-style." And then my liaison arrived. I got in her car without a clue as to where I was going, and then it hit. The accusations. The assumptions. My host mother had called at midnight the evening before, apparently crying with a story of looking into my room and watching me strip for a boy on Skype. She said she watched me for four minutes. She named a boy from school, and said I needed to be out of the house by nine the next morning. My liaison did not ask me if this was true. She told me what I had supposedly done. She related to me with quiet confidence a story she assumed to be true because of my "youth." To clear up any confusion, I did not do what I was accused of. I had spent the evening speaking to Jeeda, my Jordanian sister, and my friend who was in Morocco at the time. I had been listening to music and watching Youtube occasionally. Then the internet had shut off, and I went to bed. What my host mother told my program was a blatant lie, and my liaison, the one person who was supposed to support me at all times, abandoned my trust. I was furious and heartbroken. But I moved on. I spent the weekend with a family who I will stay in touch with for the rest of my life. My host sister holds an extraordinarily special place in my heart, and I will be forever thankful to them for their kindness. Two days later I was moved to my second host family, and the second adventure waiting for me would soon begin.
My second host family had successfully hosted another YES student the year before me. This, and the fact that they are best friends, gave my liaison hope that it would work out. But she told me not to tell them what had happened in my first family, which left them wondering why I had left so suddenly. This added to my liaison telling them to restrict my internet access and my ability to see my friends left them suspicious and questioning of me; not a very solid basis to start a relationship. Three weeks into my stay there (what is with this number??) my host mother stopped talking to me. I should have asked what was wrong. I should have been open to communication. But I was shy and unsure of my ability to be a good exchange student. So I kept quiet. I tried to speak to her. I tried to be kind and helpful. She responded with cold looks and huffy sounds. My host sister soon followed suit in her own way, berating me daily about my supposed stupidness and ignorance. My emotional well-being deteriorated fast. I was restricted from participating in a volunteer program I had found, and I was losing interest in getting to know the country I was living in. I called my mom back home one day and got the story out between heart wrenching sobs. She took action as warrior mommy, encouraged me to do the same, and together we pressured AFS to move me to a different city. As we waited for a response we discussed other options. My Jordanian sister's family in Amman was excited and willing to host me, and if I had said the word, I could have been on a plane over there in an instant. When I was told AFS would move me to Aydin within two weeks, I had a decision to make. Jordan where I had people who already considered me part of their family, or Turkey, where I didn't know a person in the new city I would be in. I chose Turkey. I chose Turkey for the language, for the program, for the group of Americans that were like my family, for the commitment I had made, and for the excitement with which I had arrived three months later. My host family did not react kindly to the news of my departure. They accused me of running away, questioning my ability to do well in my chosen area of work (politics) if all I did was run during hard times. I didn't have the emotional stability to tell them whole truth. That what they had put me into a depressed state. That the thought of staying with them and my host mother's coldness made me sure I would be depressed beyond easy repair. I did not want to be completely honest with them, because I still had to live with them for a week before I went to Aydin. So I kept it in. We spent the week in relatively good spirits. They took the opportunity to tell me all the things I had done wrong, and all the reasons their first exchange student was better than me, but with my upcoming departure I didn't let it get to me. My host mother informed me of the things I had done wrong to make her ignore me, chief of them being the fact that I was too quiet. I will refrain from commenting on this. There are not so nice words I could use for this story, but I have left them behind now. So, on December 22, 2013, I boarded a plane in Kayseri and landed three hours later in Aydin. The rest is now history. All that I had wanted at the beginning and more was found in those last five and a half months in Turkey. My love for the country grew to an unbelievable size, and my appreciation for those I encountered will remain with me forever. I found out towards the end of my time there that the lie of me stripping for the boy on Skype had probably been put up to cover the truth; the host grandfather did not like my lack of religion. This solidified my commitment to begin open about who I am, although it still took me a few months to open up about my Atheism to my third family.
What happened in Turkey was hard at times. There were scars that I had to recover from, namely the fear that I would do something, anything, wrong that would anger my third family. This fear stayed with me up until the end. But the decision to stay in Turkey was the best decision of my life.
That is my story. It was not a straightforward year, it was not what I had expected, but I wouldn't change a thing.
Happy Holidays,
Izzy
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| My goodbye part at school |
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| My mom gave me my very own Kina Gecesi because I had been unable to attend one before I left |
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| Learned how to make pogaca! |
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