Dude! I'm So Pissed!!

So I call the lawyer yesterday to ask her to freaking apply for the freaking visa extention for the millionth time. Today I get a call saying they are low on office force and they'll do it in a couple of weeks. I turn the conversation over to my pending green card application and the lawyer tells me I should have heard something by now, since they are looking at cases from December, and mine was from October. Then she goes "off the record" and tells me the delays may be because of the extra security checks.

Ehemm...have you checked the facts in my file? Why do I need more checks than anyone else? Because of my nationality? That's disgusting. I left home because I got "extra comments and barriers" because of my religion.

Meanwhile both countries have me on record for tax payments. "Keep working," they say but they cannot recognize the human behind the number....

I believe in people, I believe in humanity, I believe in global friendship. I seriously do! I abhor any kind of cultural prejudice and stand against discrimination. But the systems of the developing or developed countries seem oddly similar at keeping certain people at bay.

And who knows, you might be on their list too!

Palabras, palabras

Work is getting to me...not work really, just people...Why do certain blondies feel like they can just talk to me like that? Because I am generally polite and apologetic?

Why am I so apologetic? Because I fear that I may lose my job? It's really not a creative topic, but comes up again and again. Anger swells up in me and I just have to swallow it back. The result: a broke record in my head. Should have said this, should have said that...and then it fizzles away. Another day comes by, no green card in sight. I keep my eyes on my toes, tracing one step after another...not daring to look one extra step ahead. Because I cannot afford to...I am not allowed to dream that far. I am not allowed to kick and punch, push through my cacoon...butterfly? Maybe someday. Right now keeping pace with the shoes.

Old Habbits Die Hard, If At All

I've been staying up late. I'm barely making it to work on time. I need three cups of coffee before I can put a check mark on a paper. What's wrong with me? My old friends are back on TV!! Damn Nick At Nite. Cosby Show, Roseannne, they suck me in...I laugh so hard, sitting alone in my apartment, checking my watch and getting reinvigorated with every episode.

I used to watch them dubbed - without understanding the cultural nuances. Now I get it all. It feels like I captured an opportunity to live through history again, without making the same mistakes and, better yet, enjoying the experience even more.

Dear TV, what did you do to me? I cannot do without you. I have no ability to separate reality from story. I empathize with the characters faster than cells have a chance to split. One bar of a jingle and I am there, in colorful la-la land. The trouble is, I do not exactly leave it when the show ends. I cannot just snap out of it and shake it out of my system. I go through the day, hoping for the moment when my life will start resembling the fascinating aspects of TV shows. If it doesn't happen today, maybe it will tomorrow. If it doesn't happen in this city, maybe it will somewhere else.

And the travel between this and that land begins. Half real, half imaginary - but overall very hopeful.

We...we...we

Once a colleague stopped me short of telling a story, saying "Turkey, turkey, turkey...You always talk about Turkey." It took me a while to realize that he was not talking about Thanksgiving dinner, but rather my homecountry Turkiye. I constantly compared my life here to there. Or traditions, customs there to here. That was-- and still is to a fair degree-- to explain myself to people around me. "Look at me closer, deeper. This is how I understand you, this is how I see you. Look at the world through my kaleidescope," I would say with each explanation of "In Turkey, we do...In Turkey, we say."

Am I Turkic? No. My anscestors are not migrants from the dry lands of Central Asia--as history books describe old Turkic nations. They are Semitic people who traveled with the Phenocians to the Iberian peninsula and blended in the folk life for thousands of years. Ajer, mujer, hijo, novio...all reminiscents of an unfading past life, distinct relics of an unlikely trail. After being expelled from Spain with the Inquisition, mis tatarabuelos found refuge in Ottoman lands. My family always prides itself for being able to trace its roots for the past several centuries to Istanbul. So, am I Turkish? Very well, yes.

What am I doing here-- shifting course from my beloved city and trying to blend in to a grid structure that accepts me enough to appreciate my taxes but doesn't release my immigration papers from the tall plaza building. When can I can start talking "In Brooklyn, we..."?

Romanticism

Romanticism about a country or a city is cyclical. For a long while, I obsessed about traveling to the U.S. and living there. Well, mostly just getting there and somehow adopting the lifestyles represented in teen magazines like Young Miss and Seventeen. TV shows fueled my desire to go to America - the casual, fun, exciting life of those boys and girls who mainly socialized, lived comfortably and, most notably, never worked too hard...That was pretty appealing. I could see myself fit in exactly. How hard would it be to wear jeans, make up and a white pair of keds? You carry folders in your hands and dump them in lockers while your eyes gaze over handsome creatures passing you by in the hallway. A conversation develops inevitably between you and yourbest friend about "him" -- or if you are lucky, with "him".

These teenage daydreams are far from the reality of going through finals, looking for an apartment, getting a job, getting visa papers sorted, finding movers, buying your own food and furniture, making friends with people who will not find your accent a barrier...

And while you are going through the difficulties of living abroad, making it on your own, you brew fresh dreams about home. Wouldn't it be nice to be with mommy now, having tea, and kicking up your heels on the comfortable family couch? Isn't everyone at home much more relaxed, humane and kind then most people you encounter here? It's just nicer, warmer there. People are closer. The land is more beautiful, exotic. The country is all the more interesting with its ever bubbling political scandals and economic crises. "We'll somehow make do," you think. These things will not chisel your happiness or the perfection of images in your mind. Because, unfortunately, you are again so far from reality.

Baggage

No matter where you travel and however many borders you cross, you still carry baggage in your head. You cannot run from issues by changing location. However, you may get a clearer perspective and experience new things that influence your views and feelings.

If I did not live abroad for so many years, so far away from my family, would I appreciate their advice on mundane details so much? Would I yearn to see them so frequently? When all else is not so equal, but gone, you tend to appreciate the core elements of your life.

Running away from family tif-tafs or a country's growing pains does not make you forget what home is about. It just makes you far from home. The anchor, the center never change -- you just move further or closer to it at different time segments.

Why Travel?

We all travel in our minds. Daydreaming during class or in a meeting...Getting to know a new person and hoping to visit their city... Or, simply watching a TV show and getting lost in the plot. Magic Box Travels is the story of a young girl who watched way too many imported TV shows from America in her hometown of Istanbul--and then found her way to Pennsylvania, USA.