The Landslide

I changed my seat on the non-smoking section of Starbucks for the third time, as my friend went downstairs to get us some coffee. When in Istanbul, we preferred to meet in this joint rather than a more authentic place because every other corner was covered with a cloud of cigarette smoke. That's istanbul, that's how it smells. Poor neighborhoods, rich neighborhoods - they smell like cigarette smoke with dashes of onion, garlic, sweat and sometimes a mild string of lemon cologne. Though the Starbucks on the posh Nisbetiye Avenue was filled with hip smokers draped in grunge outfits, imported jeans and accompanied by the latest laptops.

We had first met in Philadelhia, while in school. He was getting a masters' in engineering and I was studying communicagtions. He seemed like an out of the box thinker, someone who methodically thinks through every angle and asks all sorts of questions. It was tiring to think along with him sometimes, but I found him quite entertaining. So we remained friends through jobs, cities and other life events. This time we were in an America-branded coffee shop with Near Eastern clientele choosing late over Turkish grind. We sat across from each other on large armchairs but leaned over the table to hear each others' stories. Mine was quick: potential to change jobs, love interests, death of a grandparent, aging parents, aging self..."But never mind me, how are you?" I asked.

He danced around with short stories about his projects, his home improvement troubles and his film-making adventures. when I asked if he was continuing his travels to his father's city, he revealed his real job back in Turkey. Between contractors, family members, lawyers, real estate specialists, city officials and half-way records of their properties, he was sorting through a series of land disputes. The small consultancy, the plans to import goods to Turkey were all true but duty to the family was above all else. He told me how he was worried about his father and we both agreed that there could not be a better condidate but him to help sort out the mess.

He used to laugh things off and look at them on the lighter side. This was new. This was foreign -- at least to me. Underneath his highly educated, big city, mature adult layers he was showing an unshakable fist. A logic that was far from the individualistic American self, which is concerned about relations between himself and the rest, he acted as part of a family, as a son. His duty was to his parents, his fatherlands and hence to himself. This is why he had packed his life in New York and moved to Turkey. This is why he scoffed away many jobs after the company that employed him in the States went under. This is why he spent hours downloading music, doing imprv before his return. As the only child, the only son and the only one truly capable of helping out his family, he knew he needed to go back and help claim their own. He once told me he resented the idea that his children might grow up not speaking their ancestors' language properly. Maybe so. Deep down, he knew he was needed back home. His own aspirations followed a course set by the family. He agreed and followed. (Makes me wonder whether I would feel as comfotable staying in New York, had it not been for my parents' selfless encouragement to seek a future outside the country.)

I listened to the elevator versions of his intricate land dealings for over an hour. Seeing that it was getting late, I asked if he could please walk me home. On the way back, we chit-chatted about everyday things. We hugged good-bye and he dived back into the narrow side street to hail a cab. As I made my way to our floor, I realized I was visiting but this was home to him. He was not going to let anyone shift the land under his feet.

I gently turned the key to open the apartment's door. I found my parents watching TV in the living room. "Did you feel the eathquake?" they asked. "No," I replied baffled. "4.2! It was a slight one. You may not have felt the land slide," said my dad calmly. He continued to flip through the satellite TV channels, mumbling that he was bored of hearing the same news he wanted to see what else was going on around the world.

We were far from the campus and this was no locust walk. I was visiting but this was home to him