2005 · Elazığ
I Was Born in a Small City in Eastern Turkey
On May 31, 2005, I was born in Elazığ, a city in eastern Turkey that I have always carried with me in my heart. In Turkey, people often associate Elazığ with the “Gakgoşlar,” and even the number 23 on a license plate is enough to remind people of the city.
I grew up in an ordinary middle-class family. My father was a businessman, my mother was a homemaker, and I had an older brother and a younger sister. From the outside, my childhood probably looked like the childhood of many other kids: going to school, coming home, playing with friends, spending time with family, and enjoying the simple things that children enjoy.
But from a very young age, I slowly became familiar with another side of life.
Work.
When I was around ten years old, I started helping my father at his workplace after school and on weekends. At that age, I didn't think I was learning anything important. I certainly didn't imagine that those small experiences would shape the person I would become.
I simply thought that if my father was working, maybe I should help him too.
Little by little, I began to understand what it meant to earn money, what it meant to deal with customers, what it meant to provide a service, and most importantly, how much responsibility can exist behind even the smallest business.
Then, around the age of twelve or thirteen, I stepped outside for the first time and started selling simit, a traditional Turkish sesame-covered bread.
I would push my little cart through the streets and sell simit to people passing by. I could make around ten to twenty Turkish lira a day.
Today, that amount may sound insignificant.
But to me, it meant something completely different.
It was money I had earned with my own hands.
For the first time, I understood that I could work for something, earn something, buy something for myself, and take a small amount of responsibility for my own life.
Of course, not everyone understood why such a young child was working.
Some people supported me. Others asked, “Why does a child this young need to work? Is his family poor?”
Even some relatives said things that stayed in my memory for years because they were worried that seeing me pushing my little cart in front of their businesses might somehow affect the family’s reputation.
At the time, I was hurt.
I felt misunderstood.
But years later, when I look back, I realize that those experiences introduced me to society much earlier than most people my age.
They taught me something very important:
Not everyone will understand your choices.
Not everyone will believe in your dreams.
And sometimes, the most important thing you can learn is how to keep walking even when the people around you don't understand why you are walking in the first place.
