At 5 am, my parents and I arrived at the airport and met my husband and his family. Being grown up and all, we both chose to spend our last night in Turkey with our own parents. Many people were surprised at our choice but I think it makes sense; after all, we would be spending a lot of time in the same house in the days to come.
I was hyper energetic and my heart was racing faster than a purebred on steroids (had to google this). Colors were brighter, future was promising despite the doubts in my head and I was with my hubby whom I trusted to hold my hand whenever I needed (ehem). That was true happiness.
Thank god, I was not naïve enough to believe that these feelings would be ever lasting. I knew that in the months to come, I would be going crazy either looking for jobs and wondering why noone ever responded to my applications or even worse, still waiting for the damn work permit, and of course it was the latter case. I knew that we would be stuck doing the same activities as we would be too broke to “spice up” our daily routines, which would lead to some kind of frustration in our relationship every once in a while. I also knew that I would be feeling very lonely, since lacking a work permit and study permit along with money means there are few ways I could socialize.
Yet, I still did enjoy these first months, as I had enough time to take long walks through the city and daydream about the shops, jobs and lives behind the building walls I passed by. It was once again in these first few months that I did everything I can to find out about events and festivals in the city. I believed that from then on, life could only get better. I thought that as soon as I found a job in this country where human rights are respected, where people can express their wishes freely, where life is easier, our lives would only be on the rise for a better standard of living.
That’s where I was mistaken…