Sudden decisions

51 - Resilience

Sanem

As the sun sets over the coast on the other side of the Golden Horn I slowly return to reality. I have been sitting for hours on an upholstered armchair in the garden watching the light change on the roofs and facades of the Balat neighbourhood, which is positioned lower than what should be my new home from now on.

I look around, realising that it is now dusk, and the automated garden lights come on as if by magic to illuminate the trees and shrubs. I get up from the armchair on which I have spent the whole afternoon thinking and rethinking about what has happened over the last few days. Having it around me all the time had prevented me from focusing on what I really feel and what alternatives are in front of me, I don't think I have many, but I want to be optimistic, I will find my way.

I go back to the house, take a quick shower and put on a comfortable dress of multicoloured cotton, tie my hair in a high ponytail and go back out onto the porch to admire the coast dotted with a thousand lights in the night. I firmly believe that the view from this garden can be incredible at any time of day or night and in all weathers. A gust of icy wind makes me shiver, it is April, the nights are still cold especially in a place so exposed to the winds coming in from the Bosphorus.
I go back to my room to get a cardigan and realise the time: 9.30 pm. Apparently Can has better things to do than to go home to his new bride for dinner, so I grab my bag and without turning on the light I move around the house which, thanks to the large windows, is well lit by the street lamps in the garden. I turn on the light are when I arrive at the entrance, on the cabinet near the door there is a set of keys, I take them and try to open the front door, I imagine that the other one will be the one for the gate. I put them in my bag and go out first to the garden and then to the street. At a rough guess the centre of Balat must not be too far away, I'm glad to go for a walk after being still for so many hours.
I start walking down the streets of an elegant neighbourhood that slowly gives way to simpler houses with a style that is unmistakable for this district. Even in the light of the street lamps I can appreciate the bright colours of the typical wooden buildings leaning against each other in an alternation of colours and sizes that make them cheerful, almost eccentric in their uniqueness. I arrive in an alley full of life where a small restaurant has set up tables on the street, the smell coming from the kitchens is inviting and I decide to stop for something to eat. Once I have ordered, I pick up the phone to make the call I have been wanting to make for days and the answer is what I expected: 'I'll be right there'.
I don't even have time to finish the rich hors d'oeuvres offered by the house when here he is, my lifelong friend, the one who probably knows me best in this life. Osman sits in front of me, watching me attentively as he absent-mindedly orders something to eat for himself as well. 'OK Sanem, explain to me what you are doing having dinner alone, four days after your wedding, in the alleys of a neighbourhood on the other side of the Bosphorus'. I feel on the verge of tears and this does not seem the time or the place to let go. "Let me tell you instead how wonderful Venice is? What do you say?" Osman stares at me intently for a few moments then nods, "Tamam, I'm all ears, tell." So the dinner passes peacefully, with him I can finally let myself go in enthusiasm for a city that has enchanted me at every step and every glimpse. It seems like an eternity since the last time I was able to speak freely, I almost feel like the old Sanem again, the carefree and dreamy one who wanted to write her novel and go live in the Galapagos to observe the flight of the albatrosses.

Once dinner is over, we stroll through the alleys of the neighbourhood full of life, women sitting on the steps chatting while eating sunflower seeds, men at the bars playing backgammon while smoking hookahs, and screaming children chasing each other through the streets. We walk down to the coast where there is a promenade very similar to the one near our neighbourhood, we sit on a bench and Osman repeats the question that has clearly been plaguing him since he joined me. "Sanem, what are you doing here alone? Where is Can?" And there are those stupid tears again, coming inopportunely when I would like to explain everything calmly and rationally, but there is little that is rational about what I have experienced over the past few weeks so I let myself give in to a too long suppressed cry that only his embrace manages to quell.