Tag: Mediterranean

What Life is Like Returning Home From Overseas.

Published on by jesuisjaton2 Comments

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

I Was Once a Poet

Published on by jesuisjaton3 Comments

By: JaTon Kılınç

Born, on a winters day…

Clinging, to my mother’s breath…

I found the light, I found the way…

Lungs were presented instead of death…

This is how, the lyrics were formed,

How life created, my first poem…

…

I learned to cry, and how to walk…

To be brave, in a world lacking peace…

Examining the trees, I learned they speak…

The wind the sand, the entire land…

Becomes the subject, of the poet

…

I used to see sunsets, and blue calm…

Now its blistering stars, accompanying moët…

Where am I and where is my song?

Not long ago, I was once a poet…

Until next time my friends,

Stay young, stay curious & stay true

Je suis JaTon

Please Tell Me…Why the “BLEEP” Am I Studying French in Turkey…

Published on by jesuisjaton16 Comments

By: JaTon Kılınç

The first and most obvious reason is simple: I’m crazy, lol.

The other night, just as I was winding down for bed, I could not remember how to say “I’m sorry” in Turkish. It was right on the tip of my tongue, yet the only thing that came out was Je suis désolé—“I’m sorry” in French. Panic set in immediately. How could this be? I had just told the immigration officer how sorry I was for being a few minutes late to my residency appointment, and only the other day I had apologized to my husband—aka “teddy bear”—after he had a rough day at the office. Surely, I had memorized that phrase.

I was convinced it was as solid in my brain as the number nineteen in French, which, thanks to my ninth-grade classmates, I have never forgotten. A few of the boys in class decided to turn dix-neuf into “these nuts” whenever the teacher made us count aloud. Because the words sounded similar, the teacher never caught on, but the entire class laughed every single time. My American readers will likely understand what I mean by this. To this day, whenever I count in French, I can still hear those mischievous voices echoing in my head.

Mes amies, I had to immediately kick “Mr. French” out of my mental bed and go chasing after my Turkish lover in the recesses of my mind. My fingers itched to grab one of my phrase books or my translator, but I refused to give in. I knew that if I tried hard enough, I could remember. After all, a girl should never forget how to ask for help, apologize, or—dare I say—beg in a foreign language. Those are some of the most important tools in the linguistic toolbox.

Finally, the phrase came rushing back to me like a freight train, and relief washed over me. Looking back, it is ridiculous how paranoid I was about “losing my touch” with Turkish.

When I packed my luggage, I thought nothing of bringing nearly every French book I owned. I even subscribed to weekly emails from Frédéric at Talk in French to study both languages simultaneously. (He is wonderful, by the way. This is not a paid advertisement—just genuine appreciation for great content.)

However, the problem is clear: these two languages could not be more different. They belong to entirely different language families and are structured worlds apart. Both use the Latin alphabet, but each conjures a completely distinct atmosphere—one evokes flour fights and bidets, while the other calls to mind dervish dancers and mosques. Although now that I live in Turkey, I see a few similarities. Both remind me of fresh bread and rich cuisine.

Mes amies, I will tell you this: that night I fell asleep with my Turkish companion close beside me, begging him never to scare me like that again—only after apologizing to “Mr. French” for discarding him so abruptly. I even told Frenchie to stay near; after all, we could always have a quick rendezvous in the morning before coffee.

The real question remains: Why the “bleep” am I studying French in Turkey in the first place, when I should be focusing on mastering Turkish?

It is a fair question. I could not even tell my new spa girl to give me a moment to breathe during my Brazilian wax (ladies, a warning: wax jobs in Turkey are very different from those in America). I literally had to remind myself, “JaTon, woman up—you’ve had a child, for heaven’s sake. You can and will survive this hair removal session.”

Anyway, back to the point. The first and most honest answer is simple: I love French. The second is that I am competitive—extremely competitive, even with myself. I once read that it is possible to learn two languages at once, as long as they are not from the same language family. The author also mentioned that it was not necessarily recommended, but if you give me an inch, I will take a mile. So let us kindly forget that part.

Being an optimist by nature, I decided to go for it.

I can personally attest to why similar languages can cause confusion. During my time in Italy, I kept replying to people in Portuguese, and while visiting my husband’s family in the Netherlands, I once mistook the cartoon characters’ Dutch dialogue for English until my ear caught the familiar guttural sound. Even my husband sometimes slips into Dutch mid-sentence without realizing it.

The third reason I continue studying French is simple: hearing it soothes me. When I hear French on television, it feels like a long-lost friend has joined me in Turkey. When my ears grow tired from the challenge of Turkish, I switch the channel, and I no longer feel like such an outsider. I may not understand every word, but the familiarity comforts me.

It might not be the same as watching Neil deGrasse Tyson explain the solar system on British television at ten o’clock at night, but it still brings me joy. And yes, I admit it—I watched a show on quantum physics with a glass of wine in hand. Let us call that adulting 101.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I am not so sure that applies to language lovers. Languages can be fickle companions, running off with another the moment your brain gets distracted.

I do not know how long we will stay in Turkey, which is precisely why staying connected to French makes sense. Unlike Turkish, which is primarily useful only within Turkey, French is spoken around the world. Of course, since I am married to a Turk, Turkish is equally essential. How else would I gossip with my mother-in-law? (Just kidding—love you, teddy bear.) Actually, I usually talk about him right in front of her and then ask him to translate what I said, lol.

As I close this week’s post, I would love to hear from you. Have any of you tried juggling more than one language at a time? What tactics do you use to keep both fresh in your mind? Drop me a line or two below. I would love to know how you manage to stay loyal to one language while still keeping the other alive—because, truthfully, I feel like I am on the verge of a linguistic divorce every other day.

Until next time mes amies,
Stay young, stay curious & stay true
–Je suis JaTon

Lonely in Paradise

Published on by jesuisjaton2 Comments

By: JaTon Kılınç

Almost one year ago, I sat in the bedroom of the condo I share with my husband and made a list — the pros and cons of living in Turkey versus the Netherlands. I was restless, tired of putting my dreams on hold, yearning to finally experience life outside the United States.

I was weary of waking up each day to a job that no longer fulfilled me. Though I enjoyed the people I worked with and the industry I worked for, I wanted my life to mean more.

When the opportunity finally presented itself, we left.

Now, nearly a year later, I find myself writing another list — this time armed with the real-life experience of living abroad. And this time, the pros lean more heavily toward the Dutch.

I’m learning that ancient ruins and breathtaking sunsets over the Aegean Sea can’t entirely fill a void. I feel the same restlessness that once haunted me back in the States — except now, I can’t blame it on the monotony of work. I have freedom. I have time. And yet, something is still missing.

Maybe I can blame it on the lack of a car to drive down the steep cliffs I live on. Maybe it’s the absence of English speakers to chat with. Or maybe it’s the simple truth that one can’t visit ancient ruins every day. Even Indiana Jones didn’t spend every day on an expedition. Life, after all, happens in the spaces between adventures.

I do love the people of Turkey. Their warmth and hospitality are both refreshing and endearing — especially after a lifetime in the States, where acts of kindness are often met with suspicion.

But there’s a loneliness that comes with relocating, especially for chatty extroverts like myself.

The occasional balcony chat with my elderly neighbor — who swears I speak fluent Turkish — doesn’t quite count. I still speak with my daughter and my husband, who is back home selling our condo now that we’ve decided to build a life abroad. But even with those connections, I’ve realized something profound:

You can change your location, but everywhere you go, you still end up with you.

So, mes amies, I can tell you truthfully — you can indeed be lonely in paradise.

Beautiful sunsets, warm smiles, and ancient ruins can only fill so much of the heart.

Flirting With Languages

Published on by jesuisjaton14 Comments

Since this is my first entry here, I should probably introduce myself, but there will be plenty of time for that. On the other hand, I think this article will give you a small glimpse of who I am. It might even explain why I currently find myself in Turkey exploring and learning about what I consider a land of many wonders. I’ll begin by saying I’ve dibbled and dabbed in a lot of languages over the course of 27 years; all having some sort of significance as to why. I don’t speak any of them fluently but enough to sound cool and basic enough to put elementary proficiency on resumes and to fumble my way through foreign lands as I did when I visited Portugal and Italy and as I find myself now doing in Turkey. Let’s start with Portuguese shall we. When I was eighteen my mom moved the entire family to Atlanta, Georgia and to my mom’s horror or shall I say dislike I ended up becoming quite good friends with our Brazilian neighbors whom were about 13 years my senior. Mind you there was a nephew or cousin living there around my age who also attended school with me but I never spoke to him—he was boring. Before I knew it, I was engulfed in all things Portuguese. This eventually led me with an urge to be able to converse with the growing Brazilian population. So, I ended up studying the language at the university level off and on for the next 4-6 years. Toward the latter years of my twenties while I was wrapping up college (don’t judge me I had a late start) I started studying Italian because of my long term Italian friend that lives in a valley near Milan. This was purely by chance because I was looking for a dance partner and he was on the website. Fast forward to my thirties I messed around with Chinese and even learned how to pronounce the different sounds because I thought it would be cool to teach English in China. Of course, I never moved to China and soon lost interest in the language altogether. Then, just around the time when I laid Chinese to rest, in my mid-thirties I put all languages on hold while I was engaged to a Greek American to learn Greek. I was tired of attending real life “My Big Fat Greek” events where I was not just the only chocolate drop but the only person that couldn’t understand the Greek jokes at the dinner table. But…I’m getting ahead of myself. A couple years before I met “Prince Charming” I studied Romanian while I was writing a book that took place in Romania during the 16th century and fell even more in-love with the language during a summer fling with a real-life descendant of Vlad Tepes aka Dracula (just kidding). He WAS however a Romanian from Moldova. Then I bought a Persian dictionary because of yet another book I wrote (check out “Flight America”) that takes place in Afghanistan but couldn’t understand the script so it just collects dust on my bookshelf. Let’s pause here while I catch my breath because I’m sure by now you’re thinking this chick really has an obsession with languages. Well, you’re right and I admit it. They say the first stage to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Well…I am a language addict, and I don’t want to recover, and it probably has a lot more to do with books than just languages themselves. But moving along and revisiting the past yet again before I zip you back to the present. I dabbled with Spanish in my early twenties maybe a year after I gave birth to the most beautiful little girl that ever-stepped foot on planet Earth—and before you interject, she truly is. I even took a semester of Spanish because, one its super easy and second because my daughter’s father is from Puerto Rico. Of course, that didn’t last and neither did my relationship to Mr. Boricua; we officially called it quits when my daughter was four. But who has time to sulk when their life is as colorful as mine. I learned how to say “hello” in Japanese and only because of curiosity and its geographical proximity to China. I’m not entirely sure but I think I was researching Japanese culture at the same time that I wanted to teach English in China. I’m very easily distracted as you can probably see by now. Currently, I am learning Turkish so I can speak to my Turkish mother-in-law. I know what you’re thinking, “what happened to Prince Charming?” Well, that was the title my daughter gave him partially as a joke and partially because he did propose and included her in the process. But let’s stay focused on the guy I actually married not the one I was engaged to for two years. Speaking of my husband and his family that reminds me of the Dutch. At one time we fancied the idea of moving back to his home in the Netherlands but eventually decided that Turkey would be a cooler place to live so now all of my Dutch culture and language books are now collecting dust as well right alongside the Persian dictionary. But that’s not all. I spent three years working alongside Russians right after high school as an AutoCAD drafter so of course this led me to be fascinated by the Russian language, culture and people so I did what I know how to do best. I bought even more language books. I probably should have mentioned this first but since this isn’t in any sort of chronological order and I’m mostly just rambling let’s talk about honesty. If I’m honest the real reason I purchased the Russian book was because of a dear Russian friend who is also my dental hygienist and sort of adopted mother. I say this because after all those years I spent working around Russians; laughing with them, complaining about our shitty work schedules and discussing life, not once did I buy a Russian language book until my dear friend Irina. But wait–there’s more. My favorite uncle on my father’s side moved to Germany and never moved back when I was about six. So, from that moment on I was curious about this strange country of tall men that spoke rough and guttural. If you look on my bookshelf, you’ll find at least three books about the German language that I use every so often to converse with my German pen pal who can also speak Portuguese. Yet, after everything the language that truly stole my heart is none of the fore mentioned ones. My first love of languages the one I keep going back to…is French. I even get a little warm and fuzzy inside just thinking about it. Some might say it was a coincidence or even destiny the way the two of us collided. But growing up in South Florida where more than half of the population speaks Spanish, I just wasn’t excited or even thrilled to learn Spanish when fifteen-year-old me was given the choice. Plus, at that time two of my best friends already spoke Spanish and the third was from Vietnam with family in French Canada so it was a no brainer. We would all take French and speak to each other for practice. So that “Mes Amies” is how it all began. No matter how many times I stray or cheat on my French lover I always find my way back to Francais. Sometimes I’m knee deep involved with Italian, and I’ll hear a French commercial. Other times I’ll pass a French restaurant and smell fresh croissants or French onion soup and the longing would take me back to my teenage years and I’ll quickly remember how badly I still want to master the language. But as quickly as I come back, I often swiftly leave over simple frustrations like not being able to find cool French music but instead preferring the beats of Spanish tunes so, like a pissed off lover I’ll go rendezvousing with salsa. However, Spanish can never hold my attention longer than it takes for a quick spin on the dance floor because inevitably I’ll find my French language lover standing in the dark, waiting just where I last left him, luring me back in and of course I follow. But it’s not just the romantic words. I enjoy French culture and French people. The French makes me laugh the way no other culture can do with their over-the-top nationalism, peculiar facial expressions, obsession over flour and even their own love for their mother tongue. I can enjoy their frankness and if I’m being honest yet again, they’re quite bougie and I like it. Maybe I am too. Maybe deep down inside there is a lot of French in me. I always said maybe in another lifetime I was French—to be exact a tall regal Senegalese lady living amongst the French in all her glory.