Flowing through place and memory

I stepped on the soil of Dersim a few weeks ago. But it isn’t calm or gentle there. It rebels. Slopes slipping, rivers roaring with wild joy. Rocks tumbling down the mountains, weighed down by time itself, each stone hurling a piece of the past into the valley below.

Dersim is naturally reserved. But it’s not a closing off; it’s a depth. A silent sea that pulls you in the deeper you go. Like Ahmet Kaya sings:
"Dersim, inside four mountains,
The rose inside a glass."

There, I met the Munzur River. Water cold as ice… But a heart warm enough to forgive everything, remembering nothing wrong. It flows like a wise elder, steady on its path, never straying.

It was Nevrouz time. Around the fire, people danced the halay. Their feet striking the ground, awakening hope. Prayers to Hızır on Black Wednesday had blanketed Dersim in snow. And stubborn spring flowers pushed through, hope blossoming again, from cracked earth.

Then I moved to Bursa. My hometown. To the Nilüfer River, that old friend… Flowing past my mother’s house. I still carry its scent;
wet earth… fresh grass… I wandered by Setbaşı Creek, among the statues and sculptures. Both rivers hold a deep tenderness. The waters that come down from Uludağ mountain carry themselves calmly, without rush.

After that, I met the sea in Mudanya. Waves crashing like life turned into a song. Zeki Müren’s voice echoed inside me: Is it harder to leave, or harder to stay?

Bursa grows... And as it grows, some things inside us shrink. But the hearts remain the same, a plate of nuts, a glass of tea, an old story told once again...

And now Brussels. Here too, rivers flow; some shy, some hidden. Like the Senne Creek, it runs through the city, yet remains mostly unseen. A secret vein, much like the hearts of the people living here, quiet, deep… but always flowing.

There’s also the Brussels Canal. Cold and geometric on the surface. But water is water. If it’s connected to the sea, love follows. Maybe it sends a greeting as it passes, to the sea buses that travel from Mudanya to Istanbul... Carrying a memory mixed with the morning mist of Armutlu, another time, another season.

Water sliding from the rocky Munzur, Nilüfer descending from Uludağ, the sea stretching from Mudanya to Istanbul, and now the cloudy waters of Brussels... They all touch one another, maybe without noticing, but never breaking from their essence. Flowing through place and memory

As I wander among them, a river is born inside me too: nameless, carrying all their stories. Wherever it flows, it brings a bit of itself along.

With love, always.