By: JaTon Kılınç
Mes amies, I’m back in the U.S. after spending half a year overseas in Turkey—and here’s what I’ve learned.
It’s much easier to romanticize a place when you’re only there for a week or two on vacation. Being a tourist is an entirely different experience than relocating or trying to build a life in a foreign country. Things you find charming as a traveler can drive you absolutely crazy once you become a local.
Now, I believe wholeheartedly that I know what it takes to make an international move successful—or at the very least, to give yourself a fighting chance at surviving it. I’m not saying my time in Turkey wasn’t successful. In many ways, it was a huge learning curve—a trial run of sorts. But to be fair to Turkey, I had one foot in my home country and one foot overseas. While I desperately wanted to experience life beyond the States, I wasn’t entirely ready to leave it all behind.
So, let’s start from the beginning.
When I first arrived back in the U.S., I was thrilled to be on American soil. Everything felt exciting for a moment. I even welcomed the over-the-top, slightly superficial smiles in grocery stores and Target. Ah, there’s that customer service I missed, I thought. I offered a genuine smile in return and gladly whipped out my wallet.
After using lira for months, it felt good to handle American dollars again—and not have to carry wads of cash like I was robbing a bank just to buy a roll of tissue. (Okay, mes amies, I’m exaggerating… but only slightly.)
My excitement didn’t stop there. I was so happy to hear English spoken on the streets, to watch television without subtitles, and to walk into a store and have a conversation that went beyond polite greetings. Believe it or not, I was even happy to return to work—not just to be around other Americans, but to feel like a productive contributor to society again.
When you’re living abroad on a residency visa without a work visa, after a while you start questioning your purpose—but that’s a conversation for another day.
Then, after the honeymoon phase of being home wore off, I started to miss Turkey.
I missed the warmth of the Turkish people. There’s a coldness in American society that many immigrants mention, and now I understand it more clearly after being on the other side. (I’ll write more about that one day—how travel deepens empathy.)
I missed the fresh food, the ability to walk to the grocery store, and the simple rhythm of life. In the U.S., everything is supersized—including, dare I say, the egos—so there’s more distance between you, your neighbors, and your local stores. But the space doesn’t stop there; there’s also this invisible distance between people themselves. Everyone minds their own business, and no one particularly cares to know you either.
I began to feel like I was living in an organized concrete jungle in my own home country.
I missed the Mediterranean—the big open sky that greeted me each morning and kissed me goodnight with breathtaking sunsets. I missed sitting by the harbor with a friend, sipping tea, and having meaningful conversations in the middle of the afternoon.
In the U.S., people greet you with a casual “What’s up?” but rarely mean it. No one truly wants to know how you’re doing or to grab that coffee “sometime next week.” It’s just a figure of speech—because everyone’s too busy.
During my time in Turkey, I forgot about America’s political tensions, its endless labels, and the subtle ways people are categorized. As if the hectic work-life balance wasn’t enough to drive you insane, the social divisions only make it heavier.
While I love my job and my coworkers, I’m constantly tired here—because in the U.S., you’re always on the move, going from one box (your house) to another box (your car) to yet another box (your job). Things I once accepted without question now stand out more clearly. We really do live in a matrix of boxes.
But mes amies, before a tear slips down your cheek, let me assure you—it’s not all doom and gloom.
There are conveniences in the West I’m not quite ready to give up. Still, I miss the laid-back rhythm of life in what felt like the center of the world. Life was simpler there, less complicated.
Okay, I’ll admit, I did occasionally have morbid thoughts about ending up in a foreign hospital—but that was just my overactive imagination at work.
One day, mes amies, I’ll find the balance between the laid-back structure of the East and the conveniences of the West. And when I do, you’ll be the first to know.
Until then, I’ll keep adventuring in America—and I promise not to go months without keeping you, my dear reader friends, in the loop.
So tell me—have any of you experienced the blues of resettling into your home country? If so, drop me a line or two. I’d love to hear your stories.
Until next time mes amies,
Stay young, stay curious & stay true,
Je suis JaTon
Je suis JaTon 