With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 2)

I must also pay tribute to the many Turks I befriended and the distant family that I became increasingly a part of. Never have I met people more sincere, loyal, and loving than in I did Turkey. Turks are - by their own definition – Akdeniz insanları, Mediterranean people, and for this reason are – again by their own estimation – warm-blooded. Friendly. Passionate. Quick to anger and also quick to make up. I don’t want to generalize or even Orientalize, but this description conforms to my observations of the people I met and also to my observations of myself.

I was raised in the U.S. and am, for all intents and purposes, an American. Yet from my mother, who was most influential in raising us, came an attitude toward life that I was always told was distinctly non-American (if there really is such a thing as “American” in the first place - in reality most of us are really only 2^nd or 3^rd generation). Honor, fierce loyalty to family and friends, sincerity, sentimentality, generosity to the point of self-harm – I’m not saying that I truly embody all or any of these qualities, but having been raised to value them I often found myself to be out of place and quaintly old world compared to my more stream-lined, Anglo, or integrated, friends. (Another issue entirely is how the two sides of my upbringing, Mediterranean and American, old and new world, battle it out for control of me, with the latter sometimes emerging victorious, much to the dismay of my Turkish mother.)

And so when I came to Turkey I found it easy to meet new people, to relate to my family and make friends. It’s like I was finally appreciated for my warm-blooded eccentricities. My quickness to make friends and form attachments (not to mention fall in love) were seen at last as normative. Friendships that I know will last a lifetime were made through a single conversation: again, bir fincan kahvenin kırk yıl hatirası var. And connections that I will remember forever were based on a knowing glance, that sense of have having a shared nature, not necessarily requiring all the trappings of common interests or a shared background to recognize a kindred soul.

This spirit of friendship is reflected in many terms of endearment, which in the Turkish language is an art surpassed only by that of swearing. Unlike English, in which darling and sweetheart are typically reserved for lovers or family members, and are almost never used between males, in Turkish terms of endearment are many and varied and can be used for almost any level of intimacy. This includes forms of address between males, where abi, big brother, can sometimes be replaced with a friendly abiciğim, my darling big brother, even and perhaps particularly when the person in question is neither your brother nor even an acquaintance. Turkish terms of endearment typically reflect a sense of interdependency. They describe the other person as being so valuable and essential to you that you could easier remove your own heart than live without them. Hence we have, canım, my soul, the most common term of endearment, and canımın içi, the core of my soul. There is also hayatım, my life, bir tanem, my one and only, gözüm, my eye, ciğerim, my liver, and toprağım, my land, used for someone from the same village or town. These words can be used between strangers and friends, between parent and child, brother and sister, uncle and nephew, and most other combinations (though between the sexes they are used only between partners, close friends, or family).

It really appeals to me to live in a place where I can give free reign to my sentimentality – referring to strangers as auntie, calling my auntie my soul, and throwing in a darling for my barber. It is the reflection of a culture - and a language- where I sometimes feel more at home than in my own. And I am endlessly grateful for the relationships – whether with my foreign or Turkish friends, and with my family - that being myself allowed me to form. I will cherish my friendships with all of you until I die. Iyi ki varsınız.