Seviye Beliz Urkmez

Seviye

WORDS Beliz Urkmez ILLUSTRATION Peter Yang

My grandmother reminds me of Turkish böreks. The smell of pastry and spinach tickles my nose when I walk into the apartment ornate with white-laced covers. On the wall, the black and white portraits of her serious-looking parents remind me that her past not only is rooted in Turkey, but also in Silistre, Romania, her birthplace. The dining table is squished between the antique wooden cupboard where the vintage TV stands and the enclosed balcony door. Beyond the door is a colder climate for storing fresh produce, grains and the occasional oat biscuits for when I come over for tea. The most captivating part of the apartment though is the collection of photographs of her grandchildren, her source of pride. She made it her duty to inspire and guide us, with her kindness and emphasis on education – something that was held from her.

Many women in the past have faced the same 20th century mentality that Seviye faced – that women are to root themselves in the home and not to extend themselves towards education or a career. While men grew into bearers of ideas and progress, unequal opportunities limited women into the only suitable role: motherhood. Just as a tree starved of direct sunlight grows in new directions to stay alive, these women, starved of a life of their own design, extended their branches and roots out so that a little life could bud from the darkness. It is from this place that the seeds of community germinate, the roots of culture extend, and a nation’s identity blossoms, finally gathering the strength to grow gracefully in any direction it needs to thrive. These women create the fabric of a country because it is built upon their wisdom, sacrifice and sense of culture and community.

When my grandmother’s family emigrated from Romania to Turkey, the country was only spreading its seeds. In 1920, after the Turkish Independence War and the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the new Turkish Republic was founded. The blood on the flag still wet, the first President of the Republic Mustafa Kemal Atatürk took the first steps to make Turkey a modern, secular state. His reforms included equality of the sexes in education, political and social life. In need of a bigger population, the government called every Turk living in the Balkans to emigrate to Turkey for a new life in a new country, far from the political turbulences caused by the First World War in Eastern Europe. This exchange of citizens reunited many Turkish people with their original land, promised to them with ready homes and jobs. The nation was young and free, the people shedding many years of oppression from their backs, ambitious to build a country of their own. A novel and patriotic atmosphere greeted my grandmother when she set foot in the country. Seviye, only six years old and as optimistic as Turkey’s people, yearned for the prospect of a life of opportunities. The same longing a tree gets when it patiently waits for the sunlight, for that bit of water, to bloom limitlessly. She would start school soon and also blossom, just like the nation growing under her feet.

Her first years in Turkey were spent in the rural city of Tekirdağ where agriculture and produce dominated labor and lifestyle. Witnessing Turkish industrialism in the countryside, she absorbed an organic way of life through her parents and a community of farmers. She would always meticulously tell me how her mother would raise chickens in their farm and use the grease left from the chicken in her soups, how she never even touched a bottle of sunflower oil—the greatest import of Tekirdag at the time—because it was processed. Even now she keeps her prepared tomato sauces for the winter on her balcony and gets her dolmas from her neighbor down the hall who wraps them herself. Her virtues lie deep within personal interactions and sharing with others: a warm, elegant way of connecting with people. Today, my fondest memories of my grandparents are of us sitting around the table, drinking

tea, sharing homemade pastries, talking endlessly and laughing tirelessly. A welcoming summon home. These gatherings over food make up Turkish culture. Every plate on the table made by caring hands, bringing together a sense of character and bonding. She carried that culture from Tekirdağ to Istanbul and I hold it close to my heart here in Los Angeles, when I’m cooking dinner for my friends on a Friday night. Seven thousand miles away and she still brings me back to my home, my country and my culture.

Around when she was 10 years old, her father—a strict, disciplined man—decided that they would move to Istanbul, the big city. She continued and finished her primary education in the friendly neighborhood of Erenköy where she also met my grandfather Recep. Having lived a quite comfortable life until then, her awareness to the country’s lack of teachers invoked in her a greater purpose. She desired nothing more than to teach the next generation, as a thank you to this country who had been so generous to her. Despite her father’s disapproval, she managed to enroll in typewriter courses after finishing middle school, where she became top of her class. Eventually, her father did not let her continue studying, asserting that she already had enough education. She was already twenty years old and it was time for her to get married and build a family. This came as a crushing heart ache to Seyive, a burgeoning idealist. That the path she originally envisioned had to come to a halt was the hardest thing she ever had to stomach. She was sprouting and blossoming, only to find out a tree cannot march forward. When she talks about it now, a sense of fatalism escapes from her bittersweet smile and soft tone. It was what it is and she could not prevent it. I feel indignant that a woman as brilliant as her could not follow her trail because a man told her so. She seems reconciled to her past, but never a day passes where she does not utter that this was her biggest regret. I wonder if her chest still aches.

She still has a glow in her eyes when she talks about how her teachers admired her hard-working character; how they were ready to support her education in every way so she could become a teacher, which was still hard to achieve at that time. Women had a right to education and could participate in political and social life, but in a society dominated by men, realizing this proved difficult. Fathers still had the last word over their daughters’ lives and most women could not even go to primary school. Yet in the face of a blocked path, she was able to grow her branches to reach over the barriers. Seviye listened to her father and knowingly sacrificed her dreams because she saw a bigger purpose in raising us. As a mother of four, she realized that being a teacher and a parent were not mutually exclusive. If she raised her children by her own values, they would still grow up to do wonderful things not just for themselves but for their communities and country as well. Those moments in the garden or precious time in the classroom, witnessing a country rise to its feet and growing up with it, being stripped of her dream, all of these experiences became her teaching credentials. She grew up knowing what limitations meant and she wanted her children to know that they could do anything that they set their minds to, especially my mom Gül, her only daughter. Seviye developed a vision for what her future might be even though it wasn’t what she originally wanted. She chose to sacrifice her own so that she could prepare not just her children, but us, her grandchildren, for their own future. When I tell her about college, my academic life and my future aspirations, I see that same glow and know that her biggest struggle was not in vain. Focused on the big picture, she always puts others before herself. When we were celebrating her birthday last year, she held my hand and said, “I couldn’t do it but you should do something good for the people, Beliz. You have to give back to your country.” Though not aware, she did more than she imagines. She

gave me hope, a sense of responsibility not just to accomplish whatever I want to in life, but also to look after the people around me. Giving back means getting back because there will always be people by your side. Her manners, her compassion, her existence inspire me everyday to be good, because she is the best person I have ever known – a delicate soul that wants to nurture a better life for everyone. Her story is woven deep within the fabric of Turkey and mine is woven to hers.

A tree may not move, but it is the pièce de résistance of the forest. The forest then becomes the symbol of sagacity, custom, value, tradition, community and sacrifice for the nation. We, the grandkids, reap what they flower and keep that with us forever, wherever we are. My grandmother is my nation, and my nation is my grandmother and I cannot think of anywhere else than that humble apartment in Erenköy when I think of home.