Here Is What I Will Miss When I Leave Istanbul One Day

There will be a time when I finally leave Istanbul. These are the things I will miss:

I will miss my roommate whose journalist boyfriend was stabbed to death one winter evening a little more than two years ago for throwing a snowball at a shopkeeper’s window. Due to having had liberal political ideas, my roommate’s journalist boyfriend was murdered. My roommate doesn’t know English well but I’ve taken in her nights of sorrow stirred in with chain smoking and cans of beer and glasses of red wine, with the TV sometimes blaring Cartoon Network shows loudly. I will miss having my own space in her apartment, to nap, to dream, to write, to read, to talk. I’ll miss being near her. I’ll miss seeing portraits of her murdered boyfriend. I’ll miss the sea view and the view of rooftops from her living room windows. I’ll miss how sunny her living room is sometimes.

I’ll miss the cozy, homey, colorful cafes in my neighborhood. I’ll miss the dilapidated furniture in some of them. I’ll miss the cats that inhabit some of them; the taste of Turkish coffee and the paintings hung on the walls in some of them. I’ll miss the narrow sidewalks, the small side streets, the multi-colored apartment buildings, the many small boutique hotels. I’ll miss the cafe on my street where the expats and backpackers come and go. I’ll miss eating the homemade vegetarian and vegan meals they serve there’ the fact that there’s no boss, that it’s a true communal space where you can absolutely join in any conversation; rejection doesn’t exist. It’s a cafe devoted to creating a community feeling, feeding people who need sustenance, welcoming anyone who needs warmth from cold winter days and nights. For anyone who wants to feel a tad bit of acceptance, the cafe serves that type of purpose. It’s a small space that sparks that bit of hope in anyone who comes in that they are fine the way they are. I wish the message, the moral that people are okay the way they are would spread like an epidemic but for it to exist in that cafe is something I give a lot of gratitude to.

I’ll miss walking on the coast by the Bosphorus. It’s actually possible to walk along it for miles and miles and miles, along different municipalities. I love water. I drink many cups and glasses of it a day. I love how it makes me feel when I see it. Even more than seeing trees, looking at the sea lifts something inside me. There’s a smile inside that pulls up the corners of my lips. Something about walking for hours by the sea makes me feel happy; it’s not the same as walking through city streets. I wish I felt that level of good in the city as I do when I walk by the sea. I never miss a walk by the sea. I’ll especially miss seeing how the sea sparkles under the sunlight; as if it’s covered in crystals.

I’ll miss hearing the Call of Prayer. Sometimes the voice speaking through the loudspeakers is annoying, even sounding a bit imposing at times but I’ll miss it because, sometimes, I hear the first call early in the morning before I drift back to sleep. The early morning prayer calls are calming. At times, I feel like I have company for two minutes when I’m walking somewhere or when I’m reading in my room when I hear the Call of Prayer. I remember when I was at home in the summer, I felt empty without hearing it. I felt like the day was naked, more like it was missing an essential part of itself. In most parts of the world, the Call of Prayer isn’t heard; I think this is another reason why I’ll miss hearing it.

I’ll miss the different tastes that savor from a fresh Turkish meal. Bread with some jam and butter or with some honey or butter or with slices of cheese and some cucumbers and tomatoes, and black olives that I eat whole, removing the pit every time I eat one. I’ll miss the Turkish tea that’s ubiquitous — there’s really nowhere where you won’t notice it — in their tulip-shaped glasses. I’ll miss how complete the Turkish meal is; a wide variety of appetizers, salads, vegetarian and meat dishes and desserts — the Turkish meal doesn’t lack anything. And I’ll miss being offered Turkish tea when I sit in a restaurant.

I’ll miss seeing the mosques everywhere. I admit that a large number of mosques in Istanbul are beautiful, artistic structures. There are more than three thousand of them in Istanbul alone so not seeing them everywhere again will be a lot to adjust to. The domes and minarets will be missed. Watching men wash their hands and feet before going into the mosque to pray will be missed. I’ll also miss seeing the girls who are fully covered year-round. I’ll also miss seeing some of the ones who wear black, who also cover their faces. To see something different is a huge thing for me to adapt to.

I’ll miss seeing garbage collectors pulling their dollies with white woven tarpaulin bags tied to them. I’ll miss seeing their dirty, tattered clothes and tanned skin. They’re peaceful and never bother anyone as far as I’m concerned.

I’ll miss seeing Turkish flags everywhere and Ataturk’s face (founder of modern Turkey [1923]). I’ll miss the bakeries in my neighborhood where I pick up my morning meal. I’ll miss seeing the large number of Arabs that have been coming in bigger numbers in recent years in particular. I’ll also miss seeing the Central Asians (from Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan) who have said that their languages and cultures are closely connected to Turkish except that the Turkish language spoken in Turkey today is a modern kind of Turkish that Ataturk had had altered in the process of modernizing the Turkish Republic.

I’ll miss not hearing English. To be honest, I am not fond of the way American and Canadian English sound. English spoken in another way is nice to hear. Since early childhood, I’ve always loved anything different; anything that wasn’t ubiquitously American. I’ve always been attracted to anything I’m not culturally familiar with, not always exposed to. To be surrounded by something I don’t know well is an obsession for me. Not to be immersed in a Turkish environment anymore is a change I’m not quite ready to embrace. I’ve had a lot more downs than ups with Istanbul so I can’t put into words why I feel this way.

I’ll miss the students I’ve taught. Frustration reigned in the classroom quite a lot. There were a lot of serious and sad faces. Daily problems in seeking employment, with spouses, with boyfriends and girlfriends, at work, with parents can be felt every time I was near the student and I often saw their coming to class as a way to escape not smiling outside of the classroom. I’ll miss knowing more about the culture, how the students saw things, how they thought the world should function. I’ll miss hearing stories, I’ll miss hearing about what I’ve gone through. I’ll even miss how unreasonable people are at times. I’ll miss the different mindset, and actually seeing some rationality to it at times.

I’ll just miss being a part of something different.