A Day

Today was a holiday here. Republic Day. Close enough that I felt like I had Nevada Day off for the first time in 6 years. On this day 90 years ago, Turkey was officially recognized as a republic and shortly thereafter, Ataturk was unanimously elected as the first president of the Republic of Turkey. Seemingly overnight, red flags with the white crescent and moon were strung up all over town, alongside huge portraits of the beloved first president. A Turkish friend I met recently told me that the holiday used to be more festive. That people celebrated more in the past. She said that the holiday has been dampened in recent years by the current government's attempts to return to a more traditional Turkey. Instead of everyone attending parades and cheering, many people go to protests and yell for more freedom.

Despite this, the holiday was still, as far as I could tell, thoroughly celebrated. I spent the day alone, my morning on reading and lesson planning, my afternoon on working out, and my evening on walking. My apartment smelled like a BBQ pit the entire time, thanks to my neighbors' feast fixing skills. There was a thrilling-sounding airshow that I could only hear from my apartment. Had I not been mid-workout and un-presentable, I would have joined the throngs rushing through the streets to catch sight of it.

Anxious to somehow participate, maybe spot a stray air plane or find the tail end of the parade, I showered and went for a walk. What I found was not a celebration, but the end of one. The part where everyone wants to leave as quickly as possible so they can get home for dinner. The part where everyone's pushing a double wide baby stroller shoulder to shoulder the opposite direction of you and not budging an inch to let you pass. The part where there are so many cars on the street, going in all sorts of directions, that they all just stop, sit there, and honk for a to-be-determined amount of time. I could tell that a celebration had been had, but the aftermath of such is never pretty.

My walk progressed haltingly and at one point, a man sitting on a bench stopped talking in Turkish to his friend and said loudly to me, "I love you, baby baby. Oh baby, I love you." Before I could control my impulses, I told a person out loud for possibly the first time ever to fuck off, thankfully not loud enough to be understood. By the time my second impulse of throwing my caramel macchiatto in his face surfaced, my self-control had been regained and I walked on. As I navigated the crowd, the call to prayer sang out from a nearby mosque and I started to feel a little bad for swearing. Especially when I realized that those were the only words I had said to anyone all day long, other than "a small caramel macchiatto, please." I usually only swear when drunk or really, really mad about something. I felt neither towards that man. Heck, at least I'm loved.

I walked, bothered by my impulses and by being called baby and by all these cars making all this smoke, until Migros, the huge mall a mile or two from my neighborhood, magically appeared. The safe, car-free interior of the mall sounded perfect. Inside, a crowd had gathered around a stage and I scuttered about until I could see what was going on. Just as I settled into my spot, a conductor took the stage and a small orchestra started playing one of those super famous classical violin pieces by Bach or Beethoven or Chopin. You'd recognize it if you heard it.

I had never really listened in a mall before and the amount of sound all around was...annoying. But it's a mall and that's how malls are and regardless of all the mall sound, I could still hear the violins meeting the cellos meeting the bass and I could see the straight-backed musicians in their tidy black gowns and suits and the conductor's bouncing wand and the lights glowing on their hair and skin and instruments, and I felt happy. I stayed there for a while, listening. After some time, a lady walked by and handed me a tiny Turkish flag and I tucked it into my backpack and headed home, finally content with the holiday.