cold feet and your stomach

A colleague of mine saw my sandaled feet today and said,

"(gasp) Your feet are cold. You shouldn't be wearing sandals!"

"Why?"

"Because it will make your stomach cold! It's bad for the baby!"

"pttpbppbbb" (That's me, laughing at the person).

"What haven't you heard that?"

A third person enters the conversation.

"Yes Rachel, don't you know these things?"

Me: "That's ridiculous."

"No its not."

"Yes it is, it's not even scientific."

"Rachel, I'm just trying to be your friend."

That shut me up. I think I may have hurt her feelings and I instantly felt bad.

"Okay. Sorry. I like your pants, they're cute."

I asked another educated teacher later where she got this idea that cold feet meant was bad for your stomach. She told me it was known thing in Turkey.

"What about people in Sweden? How do you think they survive?"

"They get used to the cold."

"What do you mean."

"They're skin is better for the cold."

"You think someone's skin is thicker, like a whale or a seal, because they live in cold weather?"

"(laugh) Kind of."

This is what is referred to when people say something is a cultural difference. It may never make sense to me, but apparently it's something I have to accept because this is how the culture thinks, and I can't change that...

But I can't help but think that education might . . .

5 months

Turkey loves ultrasounds. I get one every month. It's standard procedure. Yesterday, I went to a "professor" who specializes in analyzing the heart and organs at 20 weeks. It's also when we get the 4D real time video of what's happening inside.

I left school a little early for the appointment. Tolga called me before I even caught my cab - he was already waiting. We were both a bit giddy.

The professor performs these ultrasounds all the time - especially because it is standard for all pregnant women to have this detailed reading at 20 weeks to ensure everything is "normal". I couldn't help thinking - I suppose if I were this doctor, it may get boring to see all these "normal" babies. In a clinical sense, I'm sure it is more interesting to see something different. At the same time, I felt sorrow drain all other sensations out of me when I imagined the few parents, like my cousin, who get a report that there is a problem.

Tolga and I are both feeling sensitive these days. A child and her pregnant mother will killed today in the cross-fire of terrorists. The unborn baby was birthed anyhow - at 8 months - but survived only one day.

We are proud and humbled by this miracle of life.

We both grinned ear-to-ear during the ultrasound. The doctor pointed out the spine, the heart, the brain, the kidney's, the knee -- all these parts with barely a wiggle of the wand. The 2D picture is becoming less recognizable to me between the blobs of liquid and a body part. But the 3D picture made me gasp. It actually scared me, I think. Our boy looked like me and I was suddenly unsure as to whether I wanted another me around. I guess I was hoping more for another Tolga.

We stared at the pictures over dinner, trying to see who he looks like and marveling at every movement recorded. Tolga called his family and they shared our giddiness enthusiastically.

"He has Rachel's nose!"

"He has big feet! He's going to be tall!"

And our grins just grow.

what my mom's barber says

I love my mom. I do. It's just that sometimes I wish my mom acted more like my mom. But more often, I get somebody else's mom. Or a commercial. I don't feel like I get honest answers or opinions from my mom.

I think it has to do with fear. I think my mom is often afraid of saying the wrong thing, so instead she says what she hears on TV or the news:
"House hunters says you should use neutral tones."
I'm sure this is fine advice, but it excludes my opinion (I love bold colors) and my mom's opinion (I have no idea what it is).

The other night, on the phone, my mom said:
"Kelly says you have to show me your belly."
"Who's Kelly?"
"You know, the one who cuts my hair."

I knew my mom wanted to see my belly, so I understood her request. But I really wish her desires didn't need to come through her barber.

two birds

Our parakeet is a little obnoxious, but curious and I suppose somewhat intelligent because of this curiosity. He plays with all his toys in the cage and notices changes right away. We let him fly sometimes, and he'll circle the room and land on my finger.

I thought our canary, and canaries in general, were just a lot more mellow. He makes our parakeet look like a pest. Our canary just sits and looks at the parakeet as the parakeet clambers all over the cage trying to engage the canary. The parakeet can even imitate the canary's sounds. The canary occasionally will allow the parakeet to be close, but mostly he sits at the bottom of his cage. He doesn't seem interested in his swing, or mirrors, or bath and only at night really perches on the stick across the cage - but the majority of the day he sits at the bottom of the cage.

I've come to think our canary is a little boring.

Tolga and I were cleaning the cages the other day. We've opened the door many times for the canary but he has taken no interest or curiosity in leaving his cage. Tolga guided the canary out onto the table where he hopped around some.

Then he tried to fly. He was in the air for a second, then dive-bombed the couch, bounced off and landed on the floor looking a little stunned.

I was frozen in a gasp of horror, and Tolga ran over and scooped our canary up gently, putting him back in the cage.

I think there's something wrong with our bird.

the best part of the day

I have an Italian friend who rides the bus with me now. She speaks English and Turkish, is married to a Turk, and has a one year old at home. She has been talking about the struggles she having in the middle school classroom.

She realized today that the students don't respect her when she speaks Turkish, but will listen more to English. (Forget the Italian she's trying to teach).

Her school let's out at 4:05, and our buses leave at 4:15. I said, "You really have to hurry to catch the bus then!" She said,

"Yes, but we run to the busses with pleasure."

chauffeurs

Communication is hard enough in English.

In another language, the most I can hope for is a vague understanding.

We have Wednesday meetings after school and a different bus service. The first day is usually a mess and the drivers sort out their routes on the fly with lots of input from the riders. As a foreigner, I just watch and try to follow the drama some.

The bus drivers are typically a little more rough shaven. The teachers usually a little more clean cut and pale.

The drivers are pointing and smoking and talking on their phones.

People are getting on and off the buses, changing their minds, getting information from the passengers, talking to the drivers again.

The three foreigners are saying where they live like a question. Birlik? Ayranci? The nicest dressed driver seems to be organizing the most, via his cell phone. He sent Victor from Brooklyn on one bus. The bus spit him out like bad food. "We don't want him, it's to out of our way! We're not going that way!"

The bus organizer told me I'm coming with him. Uh-oh.

The third foreigner he couldn't understand where she lived, nor did he seem to have a map or the patience to figure it out. He ends up taking all three of us in his private car. One foreigner's mother is Turkish, the other foreigner has lived here for 15 years and both know less Turkish than I do. The man's accent is so horrendous that the driver can't even understand the name of his street.

We're in trouble when I'm the closest we all had to a translation. The driver, on the way home, tried to figure out and explain to me what we will do next week. I think, in the end he couldn't figure out what to do with the other two. For me, he said next week I'll be riding with the assistant principal in her car. I found it strange that he was arranging my assistant principal as my chauffeur, but I just shrugged and said okay.

I spoke with the assistant principal the next day. She doesn't drive and her sister had brought her home the evening before. Apparently I misunderstood, my assistant principal will not be my personal chauffeur.

pressure changes

Our principal came in the other morning to give us our new schedules and to be sure we were okay with it. This was a little shocking because a) I didn't think she understood English, and b) I didn't have a lot of hope that they'd try and fix my problem.

And yet, they did - and for this I am still amazed. My history at work has been solely that of communication gaps, and here a bridge was gapped but this small gesture of bringing us a new schedule and asking, "Are you okay with this?"

I guess I am shocked, because from a business standpoint - I suspected having "native" teachers was for image only - not for actual learning. So the less they could pay/hire - the greater the benefit to the organization. From a native's standpoint, the list of reasons to find different employment had hit its maximum.

Now I am back to my original schedule with 100 more students then last year, but three less teaching hours. A trade off that I am happy with . . . and even a little shocked still.

We have two new hires - both with ties to Brooklyn. If they can stick out the chaos of the year opening, I'll consider us fortunate.

In the meantime, my stomach is growing but it still just feels like I ate too much for lunch. My latest pregnancy symptom is like when a plane is losing altitude and your ears pop - it's been happening to me after lunch and I get a strange echo in my ear that lasts for at least an hour.

I guess its my change in cabin pressure.

good lines

from “Life Support” by Robert Whitlow

A funny line . . .

“Preach whatever you think God wants the people in the pews to hear.” Alex thought for a moment. Then she pounded her fist on the side of the lectern.

“Men! Repent or suffer at the hands of the ultimate Judge! . . . . How’s that?”

“Short and to the point but limited ot the male segment of the congregation.”

Beautiful lines . . .

The Holy Spirit moved across [her] heart. It was a divine moment—a delayed response to the faith-filled prayers of an Ohio farm wife who had quietly walked into the upstairs bedroom where her dark-haired granddaughter slept and asked that the child’s life might one day shine with the light of Jesus Christ. The passage of a quarter of a century is less than the width of an eyelash in the perspective of eternity. All God-inspired prayers are answered in the fullness of time.

first days

The week has finished - what a relief. Monday will bring a whole new schedule and hopefully problems will be resolved . . . but I am a little wary. My department head was walking around a little blurry eyed as she tries to "fix" everything.

Tolga will leave tomorrow morning on another short business trip.

And I will fill my time with many things, like I always do.

gec mic olsen

Today was the first day of school. I only taught two classes, and my schedule is supposed to change Monday. We used to only have 12 to 13 students in a class, and we've jumped to 22 - which is a lot noisier to say the least. I'm glad I only had two classes today.

Students, even ones that weren't mine, noticed I was pregnant right away - which I was a little surprised by because I hardly notice it . . . except after I eat . . . or when I try on certain pants...

I've never really like the first day of school. I stopped going to the first days of school in high school because I found them so unbearable boring. Even as a teacher, I'd rather just skip to a week or month down the road when a routine has been settled into. I suppose I'm not the only one, as it is a phrase in Turkish: gec mic olsen - something you say to a person who is sick, or something has happened too - it's well wishing the person for things to get better, a sort of get-well-soon phrase.

After school I went straight to the hospital. There aren't really any clinics or private offices here. Most go to the hospital for even the most general check-up. My regular check-up isn't until next week. I went today because Tolga made me.

A week ago I couldn't sleep with bad stomach cramps that eventually turned into diarrhea. I didn't feel terrible after the first night, but I didn't return to regular and everything Tolga and read about my symptoms warned that if you were pregnant to see your doctor. We called my doctor, and she wasn't worried. Neither was I really as it seemed to be stress induced and I only had to run to the bathroom once a day.

Tolga is leaving again this weekend for work, and his dad was at home throwing up. I think the combination of these two things made him stressed and so last night for dinner he told me I couldn't drink milk and I had to eat soup and rice for dinner.

I did so quite begrudgingly. I really wanted a glass of milk though.

He also made a doctor's appointment for us today. We met at the hospital after school - it was an older man - a professor, Tolga kept saying. (Apparently that is the highest level of a profession . . .) While we were checking into the busy lobby, an older man tottered out - nosing around some, then telling Tolga and I we could have a seat - he'd get to us soon. I found it funny that he singled us out as his patients.

We were ushered back soon afterwards. The doctor was from Artvin, where Tolga's parents were from so Tolga tried to open a warm conversation. The older man seemed too busy with his computer. He quizzed Tolga about my symptoms, asked me the few questions he could manage in English, and did a superficial exam.

He wasn't concerned either, and diagnosed me with lactose intolerance. To which I said,

"But I love milk..."

That finally made him smile. His phone rang and he answered some questions about treating the former Turkish president, then he tottered out with us. The checkout line was backed up - so we sat and waited while a woman processed out paperwork. Soon the old doctor tottered back out and told the woman to take care of us. He smiled, shook our hands once again, and said "gec mic olsen."

being prepared

I like to be prepared.

At some point in my life I learned that being prepared can help avoid a lot of stress. Being prepared, preparing in advance, not procrastinating - it all leads to reduced stress, more success, etc. So I became a better student, individual, employee, and so on from the realization.

Sure, it doesn't always work. And surely, these can backfire majorly by unforeseen events - but I even try to plan for those with back-up plans. So I suppose being prepared can be taken too much to the extreme - where I can use it as a crutch to avoid ever feeling at a loss for a solution.

My preparedness philosophy is being challenged.

The chaos at my job is a direct result from living in Turkey. We don't plan ahead here, planning seems to be one of those newer fandangled ideas. (Just take a look at the layout of the city with apartment complexes littered with construction and rising up next to village houses). The school organization isn't much better. I'm surprised we have a school calendar considering half of the events aren't registered, and even government holidays aren't confirmed until a week before the holiday.

Tomorrow we start school. I have prepared some great exciting plans for the year that start with day one, but it looks like no one else will be ready. We are three teachers short, but I heard they have hired two. My schedule hasn't changed, but it will at some point - as for tomorrow, I'm sure there will be first day activities, but I have no idea when or what I'll be teaching.

This idea of preparedness is not lost on me when I think of this pregnancy. I am reading books about the importance of being prepared, while understanding that possibly nothing can prepare me for what is to come.

I might need a new philosophy.

Dikkat Et

I have a bus service that picks me up and brings home from work every day.  I usually have to walk to a corner - although I think if I act more pregnant they would come to my house.  There is also a rule that must allow me to sit near the front, again because I'm pregnant.

For whatever reason, our bus driver and route has changed several times over the past two weeks.  Our new bus driver is insane.  

He does everything that I've spotted crazy Turkish drivers doing: backing up on the highway, creating 3-lanes out of one lane (because another crazy Turk has already made it a double), and running red lights.  In fact, he honks and yells at people for stopping at red lights.

He also doesn't let anyone sit in the seat next to the door.  This is because there is a big open space in front of the seat and if he were to stop quickly (which happens quite frequently), the person in that seat would likely go flying out of their seat into the metal backing of the front.

Our bus was full today, except for the back seat - so I took the seat of terror instead.  (The seats do have seat belts).  The driver yelled at me not to sit there.  I yelled at him to drive more carefully.  The bus Nazi, the woman who controls all things that happen on the bus - offered her seat to me as a compromise.

Dikkat et!  It means, proceed with caution.

on my own

Tolga has been gone all week. He went to Istanbul (between the Black Sea and the SEa of Marmara), then Bursa (just south and across the Sea of Marmara), and now he is in Kayseri (southeast of Ankara, just below the "e" in "Turkey").

I went and saw a movie with some American friends last night. I laughed so hard I cried . . . which was a good feeling.

I kept myself busy today with laundry and cleaning, went out for coffee with a friend, shopped on Tuneli and bought some new contacts, and walked home - uphill the whole way. (I was breathing kind of hard). I haven't really filled a day before in Turkey with domestic errands by myself. It sure wasn't boring.

jockeying for starting positions

I went and visited a school the other day. It had a very American feel to it, and I felt immediately comfortable. I handed my resume to the middle school principal and had a great conversation. It is a school I would like to work at . . . eventually.

I don't trust my own school. I'm waiting for them to hire a couple of people to cover all the work. The director told me the other day, "You must see it from an organizations perspective."

I said no.

"I can't look at it from the organization's perspective. I must look at it from my own - I know my limits and cannot accept the burden of all these classes and students."

He said I'll have their support. I'm not sure he got the message. Whatever the case, there always seems to be administrative turmoil where I'm at.

Maybe its the Mediterranean blood.

I heard today that our insurance changed a couple of weeks ago. I went to inquire with human resources about this - I had to specify that important information like this needed to be distributed in English. The HR person giggled.

My bus driver and route change too. The driver is crazy, and drives like a Turk. In the past two days he has: run several red lights bypassing those waiting at the light, made a single lanes into a three-car lanes (because he isn't the only one), and reversed on a highway to get back to his exit.

They were waiting for me this morning - it was the first time this driver was picking me up. He told me 8:15, and I was called five minutes early. They were waiting for me several blocks away across a busy straight and he was saying he wouldn't wait for me again.

Maybe on Monday I'll stick my belly out, hold my back, and waddle a little slower to the stop.

when I can't fight

It was hard for me to go to work today. It was the first time I felt this, and I'm amazed at how strongly I felt it. I didn't want to fight, I jut wanted to quit. I guess I'm not so much of a resilient person anymore. In a day's time my student and class load had tripled while the hundreds of hours of planning I had prepared became irrelevant. And I wasn't willing to take this on.

But, I went anyhow. My plan was to drop a resume off at a different school on the way, but in the end I didn't because I noticed a mistake on the resume. I got a ride to school anyhow from my American colleague who has an idea about everything - without fail. She had already come up with a plan to present and did so the moment we walked in the door.

My supervisors are two people I really like. They are both about 5'2" and very different, but yet very much like sisters as they are so compatible. They are both extremely sensitive to everyone's needs and to their own detriment. Especially my supervisor - she showers me with praise, loses sleep and gains weight over my problems. They both have the job of fixing everything, but with very little power to do so - and so they stress instead. The other woman is like a favorite aunt - she always knows whose birthday it is and will bring in a sweet or present for the person. A card of encouragement for another. Or just something simple because it made her think of a person. The pair only seem to work to make their colleagues life easier. Their hearts are so big it's a bit comical having them as supervisors because the feel more like paid best friends.

And so, I love and hate bringing my issues to them. I am honest with what is going on - I told them both I understood that they had to give me these classes and there were no other options, but at the same time, I didn't have to accept the decision. They both took on my problems personally.

Before we went into our meeting with the director - these two had a meeting. I was a little shocked because neither had mentioned the meeting to me. They told me later they had told the administration "everything." The two are often afraid to be so direct, and most Turks fear their jobs will be terminated at any moment - but this time, they didn't mince words. They told the administration things I hadn't planned on sharing, but they did it for me.

We immediately followed their meeting without knowing all had been prepped on the issues. It was myself, my three American colleagues, the director, the principal, and the new English Coordinator. The new English Coordinator was a big advantage because he was American, nervous, and seemingly eager to find solutions.

I didn't have a lot of hope for the meeting, but my colleague did the majority of the speaking - and she did it quite positively and intelligently. I didn't have much to say, and when I tried - the director quite oddly kept interrupting me. And me, being Scandinavian, let him. Eventually I said a few words - words maybe I'll recall tomorrow, but I am exhausted now.

I am not convinced a solution was found, but I do believe now they are trying to find teachers to fill the shortage and relieve the burden that had been shifted to me - and so, for this solution, I am waiting.

The director concluded that whatever happens, they would support me. I wish had asked him how he planned on supporting me. Taking my extra classes/students? Tripling my salary for the triple work load? I accept. Cheerleading while I attempt to carry a 500 lb boulder across the field?

I already have some great cheerleaders that happen to be fighters too.

just a pawn

I wrote too soon.

Or maybe being content was the mistake.

I forgot to hold onto things loosely. Actually, I was holding on loosely in the form of skepticism and mistrust, and it turns out my doubts were right.

The reason I started working at the school I am at was because Tolga's co-worker's wife worked there. She was my only connection in Ankara and I thought it would be nice to have a friend. I stayed at the school out of loyalty to her and the people I work with.

But today was the last straw. Actually, I was waiting for it. I knew it was coming. I saw it back in May, but I decided to be patient, not jump to conclusions and wait and see. When we returned to school and the school still hadn't replaced the two teachers lost, I said - It's not my concern, it's not my job.

Today it became my concern because instead of finding a new teacher, the classes have been reorganized. Now instead of twelve 4th and 5th grade classes, two hours a week (about 200 students) - I will be teaching 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades class, one hour a week (about 500 students). The beautiful lesson plans and worksheets I created to supplement the readers, the papers I have been working on for the past five weeks for hours and hours a day - they cannot be used because they were made for two periods a week, not one - and so half of my years plans - plans that they adamantly required I turn in before the year started - are half, useless.

The school is doing this because, when it comes down to it - they hired the Americans to be able to say the students will get "exposed" to a Native teacher. The program actually was never created for professional teachers as evidenced by the lack of record keeping, time, and administrative gaps relating to the Native teachers.

The thing is, I came to teach. I am a teacher.

Their problem is going to compound when I quit. I have never not shown up to work. Even when I'm ill, I push myself too hard to go - but I'm having a hard time now finding a good reason to go to work tomorrow. Or the next. I am one who thrives on preparedness, its what makes me a great teacher. But now, just like life, no matter what I do to prepare - it seems all for naught.

back to work

We returned to Ankara yesterday and the trip exhausted us. I slept a lot of the day away, and then had trouble sleeping at night. Even so, I don't mind returning to work. I'm happy where I am and I have plenty to do to keep myself busy. Not to mention, I really like the people I work with.

I have yet to sign a contract with the school. They drag their feet on this. My American colleagues worry about this, and not having enough teachers, and so on. One thinks they will not offer me a full contract because I'm pregnant.

I'm not really worried, unless Turkey supports discriminatory practices. Even so, I'm still not all that concerned because I know my services are needed. If not, I know they are needed elsewhere.

And my focus will be changing forever this year, to family life.

Lightning

We were in Kusadasi and Tolga's middle brother, Gokhan, decided he wanted a bird too. This is very typical of the family - on emotional whims they buy something sweet and totally unnecessary. Gokhan especially is being extreme - he works from 7 am often until 10 pm, six days a week. He's only been at his job a few months and has already lost 15 pounds. And, he still doesn't get his full salary on time - a typical occurrence in Turkey. But, he had this bayram holiday off, and in his own celebration - bought a canary.

Baba named the canary Ceylan, which means "deer". Tolga and I call him Lightning in honor of all of Abigail's toys and pets. (She named everything Jewel and Lightning).

Our parakeet has been in Kusdasi all summer. I don't know if Gokhan got the canary because we would be taking our parakeet back to Ankara and he wanted a bird in Kusadasi, or because he wanted Jewel (the parakeet) to have a friend. Either way, we started putting their cages side by side. Jewel was very curious poking his head at the cage of the canary. The canary, a less social bird, wasn't impressed. As the week progressed, we found when we separated Jewel's cage from Lightening, he tweeted very loudly - seemingly calling for the other bird.

As we were packing out bags to leave and preparing to take Jewel, the moment Tolga walked out with the cage we could here it chirping loudly for its friend. None of the family could bare to separate the two, so when I came downstairs with my bag I found Tolga had put Jewel in Lightning's cage. Jewel was chasing Lightening around the cage seeming trying to play.

Now we're back in Ankara with two birds.

cipura

When we eat fish here I have to find a dictionary to learn what it is I'm eating. Then I have to search it because I often still don't know what I'm eating. Here's what I've learned:

Hamsi is actually an anchovy. I thought I hated anchovies because I had only accidentally had it put on top of a pizza once in Rome. The slices were hairy and spiny and the fish smell permeated the entire pizza so even when I decided I couldn't stand it and scraped them all off, I still couldn't stomach the pizza. In Turkey it is fried in oil and eaten whole. I don't mind them as much here, but I pick out the meat and leave the bones, head, and tails for the cats.

Istavrit is horse mackerel. Levrek is sea bass and cipura is the gilt-head bream.

I know, it still doesn't mean much to me - but Tolga barbecued some cipura tonight and they were very tasty and I felt very Mediterranean.

I am Turk . . . or trying

Since moving here, I have tried to integrate into the culture. Imitating the culture around me is something I've always been good at ... whether it was just in Jersey, or overseas. It's part of my nature because I hate sticking out. I pick up on vocabulary of areas, some accents, subtle actions, and even dress in my efforts to blend in.

This trait helps me adapt, and I've felt embraced by family and friends here in my slightest efforts. During the Bayram holiday we have neighbors stop by, and its tradition for the Turkish bride to serve all the guests. Actually, I hate this tradition, and find it demeaning and promoting of slavish attitudes towards women . . . but when the alternative is my sweating Anne with her groaning remarks about various aches and pains trying to serve the guests . . . I was happy to jump in and take over my duties. While everyone sat, my Anne directed what I should bring. First I serve a tray of chocolate for each guess, then I offer cologne (which I forgot), then I served up baklava (which everyone rejected), then fruit and water to drink. I was being a Turkish gelinin (bride) and making my Anne and Teyze (aunt) proud.

The thing is, I don't step up often because lately - as in the last year - everytime we are here in Kusadasi there have been cousins and aunts and Hakan's real Turkish bride that have stepped in to manage the household. So, I s take the backseat, not really sure of my place, not willing to elbow my way into the kitchen and match personalities but lamely offering myself to be ordered around to cut this, set that out, and so on.

As time has progressed though, my position - or rather lack of position - has made me feel quite lonely. A feeling that I don't think is founded in anything real, but a growing feeling nonetheless that sprouts its ugly head when I'm around family. I'm finding myself wanting more and more desperately a sense of family, but as our family has grown - I'm only feeling more and more like a yabanci, a foreigner.

It could be the language barrier, but I finding the feeling really took hold with Hakan's wedding. I saw all this family come in, all these traditions played out: his father dancing at his wedding, meeting the in-laws, celebrating with Henna, showering of gold - all the exciting traditions of a the culture. There marriage beginning was a completely different experience than ours - and we moved to Turkey shortly after and I watched as we Tolga's extended family became involved with Hakan's new bride. And his new bride fulfilled all her duties as a Turk.

When it was just us - just Tolga's family - we were warm and close and there was little obligation put on any of us, all things felt equal. But Hakan's marriage brought in all the traditions and obligations of a culture that multiplied everybody's stress. More people became involved, and we participated in many traditions through them. I am excused from many obligations because I am not a Turk - which I am partially thankful for - but over time, excusing me has had an isolating effect.

Tolga and I, must regularly visit Hakan's in-laws and the women serve, the men sit and chat, and I am lost with what to do. I eat the food put in front of me. Tolga is everyone's "abi" their older brother that they go for advice, ask his opinion. I am his yabanci esi - his foreign wife. I am his brothers' abla or yenge, but while it is tradition to refer to me this way, and I am called this by strangers and distant cousins - I am not called this by Tolga's family. I am Rachel, the yabanci.

And I feel like a foreigner.