Born Among the Alevis

In fact, everyone’s experiences have value unique to them. If you are born in a house engulfed in flames, you believe the entire world is burning. But that is not true. Deep down, you find that the world is not burning. Yet it has taken such root in your mind that you cannot believe the world is not on fire. The world does not burn only for you; it burns for everyone. The world burns at everyone’s weakest point. Just when everything seems to be going well, your life can suddenly collapse. You ask yourself, “Will I never be happy again?” There is something you have forgotten: were you truly happy before your life fell apart? When was the last time you genuinely laughed? You scattered around insincere smiles, feigning cheerfulness so people would not misunderstand you.

Everyone thought you were happy. You wanted to believe in this charade, and for a while, you did. Then one night, the truth struck you like a bolt: you realized you had not laughed at all. Why do we never call crying falsely “fake crying”? Because a person cannot force themselves to cry. You hear a song, read a book, or think about something—and suddenly your eyes fill with tears. None of our tears were meaningless. When I look back at the days I cried, I am glad I did. Because if I had not cried, I could never have understood how far I had come. Something that made you cry last year may seem absurd this year. But it was not absurd last year; it mattered to you. Isn’t that true of friendships too? You and a friend say, “We will never part. We will always be friends,” for days, even weeks.

Perhaps three months later, you see the person you have known for years transformed into someone entirely different. They do to you what they once refused to do—and resent others for doing. Your trust is shattered now. Because people change—even the ones you trusted most. After experiencing this, you too have become someone entirely different. From the outside, it seems as if your pain cannot be felt, your tears cannot be seen. Yet the opposite is true: you have become even more sensitive. Only your outward persona must remain good. You do not want people to feel sorry for you. For example, you laugh a lot, and when you suddenly say, “That’s enough!” people look at you strangely. Because you are always happy, they assume you have no time to be sad, that you have no problems at all. You want to retreat into a corner. But the world is round; no one can truly retreat into a corner. You cannot spend hours alone with yourself without crying without reason. You cannot pour out what is inside you—and sometimes you cry a great deal. To those around you, this may seem absurd. Others always intervene: “Stop crying, why are you crying?” Sometimes you cannot answer, because you cannot even explain to yourself why you cried. In that moment, you only want to cry—and people do not understand. They never understood, and they never will. This is how the world is; you must learn to accept it.