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..."?