77

Istanbul was like another world. And, in parts, I understood why my father chose that place. It wasn't for the ease with which ships from other countries could cross the ocean without drawing attention. It was not because the government of that place was not so committed to offering basic conditions for its population to survive. It was for beauty. Because he thought he deserved to be ruling a place that was beautiful enough so that no one was suspicious of what was happening under the carpet. And if no one reminded me of my reasons for being there, I would have sworn that it was just summer vacation. The sun would make me think of days of walking and holding hands. And the music that played on every corner, through the voices and instruments of street artists, would make me want to dance until dawn came.

It wasn't like Boston was a destroyed and unattractive city. No. I valued the beauty of my country. It was just that Turkey made me think like someone who should travel more often. I