Nearly five years had passed since I last walked through the corridors of my high school. The first time I went after returning to Turkey was a couple weeks ago for a reunion party. The second time, the subject of this blog post, was last Friday. I always listened to my elders talk about how they felt when they returned years later to some special place—but I never understood. That changed a couple days ago.
Last year, I received a Facebook group invite from some of my old drama friends for our high school’s drama club. Through that same club, I then met a girl who had apparently heard of me before. I was confused, but then the girl explained to me that my professor, who directed my plays, would talk about me as she explained to the newcomers how it was done back in the day. Honestly, I felt really good about myself. The last time we talked, the girl said she wasn’t going to participate in my professor’s new play for this year, and we didn’t talk much after that. Then I came to Turkey, and one late night I saw this same girl on TV. She had mentioned to me before that she was going to be in this show, so I sent her a message over Facebook congratulating her. We started talking again, and I mentioned that I was going to be in Turkey until February, but our conversation again didn’t last much longer than that. Then, out of nowhere, I got a message from her saying that she was going to be in my old professor’s play again. She also said that I should stop by. I said to myself, “I can see my professor again.”
School was already let out, and there was no one there apart from a couple of administrators and cleaners. I walked down the steps into the great courtyard, and my heart just started pounding. I felt like as if it was ‘05, and I was going to the theater hall. It sounds funny since it was just only five years ago when I would stay after school for hours to work on my plays, but the feelings were there. I think the fact that school was out, and I was all by myself going through those corridors did not help my situation at all. Nevertheless, I finally reached the entrance of the theater hall and quietly entered. At first, I didn’t know what to do or say, so I stood there silently watching the play. I was waiting for some sort of interruption where I could walk up to my professor. She got up and went to the kids on the stage and then, on her way back to her seat, she saw me. She couldn’t tell who I was at first, in the dark, but then she turned to the others and said, “Kaan! This is Kaan! Here he is!” I felt really embarrassed since I really wasn’t that big of a deal.
What happened afterwards is a big blur—I still can’t comprehend how it all happened so quickly. Still, I am happy about my decision. My professor, Ayla Hoca, asked me to help her out with the play. She said she was planning on finishing it before March, and that worked perfectly with my plans. All of a sudden, I found myself in a very familiar spot. I felt like I found a piece of myself that I left in Turkey five years ago. Now, I will be going to school every Friday afternoon to help Ayla Hoca out (maybe even have a role in the play if I decide to stay in Turkey for the year). The interesting part of this is that I had no idea I would be doing this when I first set foot in the theater hall. Life works in mysterious ways.
It’s been a while since I had the chance to use this, and this is a good opportunity to remind myself: we shall see—bakarız.
