An Ode to Tbilisi
Beyond my familiar connection to Georgia, I have built a distinct sentimental relationship with Tbilisi. It is more than just a city I regularly visit—it feels like a home away from the arms of my mother.
I have lived in many different cities. To give you an overview: I was born in the southeasternmost part of Turkey, near the border, and spent the first three years of my life there due to my mother’s profession. We left because of the war in the neighboring countries. After that, we stayed in Ankara for half a year before returning to my birthplace once the conflict had settled and it was no longer considered ‘dangerous.’ This was a courageous decision by my mother, who was raising three-year-old me as a single working mother in that city. Though calling it ‘that city’ might be unfair, as my mother always tells me that it was there she experienced the true Anatolian culture of helpfulness and communal living.
After two more years, we moved to Bursa in August 2005. I spent my first years there in a very conservative town, before moving to the city center, where we lived until 2011. Then we moved to Istanbul, where I spent most of my life until 2020, when I relocated to Munich.
The reason I’m sharing all this is to help you understand how nomadic my life has been. My relationships with cities have always been different, they were home to a certain extend because I was with my mother— but as I moved away I didn’t tend to form a deep emotional connections with the places I lived because I know, sooner or later, I will leave.
Tbilisi, however, has always been an exception. I always knew my father came from there. Even though I consider my family to be only my mother and my sister, there has always been a lingering sense that my roots extend to this distant land. These roots are not only about the people (blood relatives) I had never met until this year, but also about my attempt to make sense of my own existence through a sense of belonging.
When I first visited Tbilisi, I finally had a real chance to experience the idea I had created in my mind. As I met people, walked through the streets, spoke the language, watched Georgian movies, followed the news, and participated in protests, things started to make sense to me. I have many behavioral patterns that I have learned and adopted from my mother, which I believe are mostly learned behaviors. Yet, there are things about me that I do not fully understand. My mother often says that these traits are things I have inherited from my father, whom I lost when I was 3 years old, so I cannot talk about learned behavior in these cases. For example, my temper and my ability to say no, where I tend to say it without hesitation—no softening, no pity for anything (if I say no, it is a solid and indestructible decision). Also, my selective interest in things, people, and places, which my mother explains as unwavering dedication and an ability to never lose interest—but, on the contrary, if I lose interest once, there is also no going back. The way I always walk with my head up, which people often mistake for arrogance, also started to make sense as I connected with my roots.
Georgians are proud, well-educated, very decisive, and dedicated (maybe even a bit stubborn) when it comes to things they believe in, whether it’s their freedom, their education, or their future. The more I spent time in Georgia, the pieces started to fall into place. I could finally make sense of my past and the legacy I inherited from my rather unknown father.
Coming back to today, my latest visit went beyond just being a retrospective; it was as if I had reached a new level of connection with this city and its people. I finally had the courage to share it with my best friend, Zeynep. It was more than just a trip; it was a journey in which I felt that I had finally made sense of my existence within this context, and I could proudly share that with her. It was like a child wanting to show you their favorite toy or a drawing they’ve made. I wanted her to see a part of me that I had unlocked and was proud to share.
As we were walking in the same streets I have walked with my mother with Zeynep, and the same streets that my father has walked, everything felt complete - like a full circle moment. I had the relaxation to let it go, time was not only flying but also flowing. I could cry, laugh, sing and talk like I have never done before.