Istanbul… That’s where I’m from, a gorgeous, exotic city. You can sit at the coast of the Bosphorus and breath in the city. Close your eyes, and just listen. Become one with it. In that way, the city is often romanticized by authors, poets, painters. Once the capital of a great empire. When you are born there, you are automatically expected to carry the burden of history. Why would it be a burden, most would ask. I could talk about social oppression of women, the way female students are viewed but these are all out there. There isn’t much to say about them, nothing I could elaborate. It is a burden because it requires all citizens to put on a brave face, carry elegance along with them anywhere. Yet, most believe their brave faces will be enough so they do not hold the elegance. With all the hustle and bustle of the chaos of the city, lately I had forgotten who I was, who I wanted to be.

Believe it or not, the city most of you are dying to visit one day, became my cage, as I tried to fit in each and every day. Coming here, to New York City, was my rescue. My acceptance letter was my savior. I’ve been here only two months, and I can feel it. I feel more confident. I feel like I have found myself. I now belong somewhere. Here, I’m not pushed around or seen as the awkward girl in the corner. Here, I’m as out there as I want to be, here I can be whoever I want to and I’ve only begun to discover who I am. There is more to come, and everything coming my way can only be better. And you know what I will embrace what I was, the lost girl who didn’t belong and build on it all in the pursuit of becoming someone the world will remember. That’s what we all want after all, to be remembered… Not only by our families and friends but also by those strangers on the other side of the world…