When I used to imagine my life in Turkey I likened it to a mixture of Under the Tuscan Sun and Shirley Valentine with maybe a bit of Mamma Mia thrown in. I would have the provincial life of living in a small village in Turkey, interacting with the locals, learning the customs, massacring the language, singing Abba songs and all the while making passionate love in the Adriatic Sea with my very own Costas (The Turk).
I realise that Turkey will never be Florence. I am not walking through those lush fields of green or staring in awe at the beautiful buildings all the while eating delicious Italian food. No I am wearing my gumboots while navigating muddy puddles while passing by dilapidated houses (old yes but not provincial). I accept that Turkey will never be Italy nor with The Turk ever be Costas (and would be mortified if I suggested making love on the beach). I do sing, especially after a few glasses of red, but I highly doubt I would sing an Abba song.
So instead of being Under the Shirley Valentine I need to make it my own story which is full of love, family and joy. Years ago I attempted to write my autobiography for a writing course. It was called “Memoirs of a Drama Queen” but that isn’t really who I am now. I had excessive drama during my twenties, mainly caused by my Mr Mediocre although he is now a distant memory *cough cough*. I am, however, enjoying the blogging. It helps me analyse my thoughts and I appreciate the feedback that I have received over the past few months. I often think my blabbing on about personal things to the world is oversharing to a completely unacceptable degree but then it becomes more of the case of “fuck it”. I think I am humorous, sometimes, and I think I can be empathetic, sometimes. I hope my stories are interesting and, on the occasion that I become opinionated, please take that opinion with a grain of salt.
I have a wonderful friend back home in Australia who rings me every couple of weeks and we chat about this and that. She does, however, give me enough encouragement to continue to write. She said that I should imagine that it is just her reading the blog – that I am writing just to her. So to her I continue to write. My daily happenings. The silliness. The sadness. And the occasional rant.
I miss you my friend and hope that we chat again soon.