life journey

sometimes a trip begins long before you take off

not at the airport, not when you last check your luggage, not even when you walk out the door. it begins in a quiet decision you make without fully noticin’ its weight. a simple “yes”, somewhere between classes on campus, turnin’ into a departure you did not yet recognise as one. my trip to Athens started exactly like that.

i did not leave with a clear head. i left tired. rushin’ for clothes, lookin’ for Turkish pide that was already gone, runnin’ to Vatan for lahmacun, pickin’ up a package for my dad, tryin’ to keep the morning together. nothing about it felt like the start of a story. and still, it became one. when someone messaged me on the way to the airport, sayin’ my words pushed him to travel alone, something shifted. courage sometimes finds its way back to you like that, without askin’.

lettin' the city open you

Athens did not wait for me to feel ready. the city met me as i arrived. clarity did not show up at the airport. it appeared somewhere mid-air, in the seat next to a man who listened before he spoke.

that man was Stoffel. a film lecturer livin’ in Brussels, preparin’ a guest talk on experimental music. our conversation filled the flight. we talked about time, expectations, and the pressure to move through life in a straight line. the way he spoke slowed things down. some people step into your day quietly and still change its direction.

that evening we shared mezze in a neighbourhood where plates were placed in the middle and time stretched on its own. dishes passed hands, stories moved back and forth, pauses were allowed. it felt like Athens opened its first door for me there.

the comfort of strangers

the days that followed showed how easily connection happens when curiosity leads. in a small record shop, the seller switched to Turkish the moment he heard my voice. he spoke about music, about nights, about places where songs still carry people through the dark. we had just met, yet the conversation found its rhythm quickly.

later, outside the hostel, i met Kai. two cameras and one simple question: “wanna have a walk together?. and the afternoon unfolded on its own. near the Acropolis, another traveller took a photo of us while i was takin’ one of Kai. the city moved around us as if this was normal. we walked, ate, talked, stayed quiet when words were not needed. sometimes that is enough.

then there was Keenan. someone i met briefly, who joined me the next morning for the ceremonial changing of the guards. no long history, no plans. just standin’ there together, watchin’.

"you never really travel alone unless you choose to."

sound, light and unexpected nights

through Stoffel i ended up in rooms filled with experimental music. basements lit in red, people listenin’ without tryin’ to explain what they heard. i stayed two nights. sounds moved at their own pace. nobody asked for understanding, only attention. sometimes belonging starts there.

cities speak through people

Athens spoke through the priest explainin’ layers of Constantinople’s history, through a woman at the cathedral talkin’ about language, through families standin’ together in the morning sun. later that same day, it spoke through crowds fillin’ the streets in protest. bein’ there meant standin’ inside that contrast, without distance.

the moment that almost slipped away

the football match stayed just out of reach all afternoon. the ticket system refused again and again. kiosks shook their heads. everything pointed to the same answer.

then Katia appeared. she and her friend were workin’ on a documentary about Greek football. our paths crossed without effort. they had a contact. he had access. doors that stayed closed all day opened the moment she said, “he is with us, he is our cameraman.”

inside the stadium, sound moved through the stands in waves. a six-year-old next to me cheered without stopping. the match ended in a draw. still, the moment stayed: not because of the result, but because of how it came together.

closin' the chapter

my last morning in Athens was quiet. i returned to the same bakery where i had bought bread each day. the woman recognised me. she smiled. nothing more was needed.

i flew home tired and sick, surprised by how full the trip still felt. not because i had seen everything, but because of how the days had unfolded..

trips are not always about seein’ places, but about moments that notice you while you’re passin’ through. because those are the stories that stay, and slowly shape the way we move forward.

bozlak is one of the oldest forms of Turkish folk music.

the word bozlak comes from bozulamak (verb), which means to cry out or to express pain through sound. it is not about complainin’, but about expressin’ grief, hardship, and resistance.

bozlak developed among Yörük, Türkmen, and Avşar communities in Central and Southern Anatolia. these communities lived a nomadic life and stayed close to nature. their pain and life experiences were not kept inside. bozlak became their language.

musically, bozlak is a free rhythm long air. it has no fixed tempo and allows space and freedom in sound. before the sung part begins, an instrumental opening can be played to introduce the melody.

on the bağlama, bozlak also refers to a tuning called abdal düzeni. in this tuning, the lower and middle strings are tuned to A (la), and the upper string to G (sol).

important figures in the bozlak tradition are Muharrem Ertaş and his son Neşet Ertaş. Neşet Ertaş once said that bozlak is cryin’ and shoutin’, lettin’ pain leave the heart. that sentence says everything.

bozlak is more than music.

it reflects life, loss, and social reality, carried through sound and tradition.

late-night warmth

story and photos follow soon :))

startin' again

sometimes it just takes one small decision to finally do something you’ve been thinkin’ about for a while. the campusrun was a moment like that. wantin’ to run again, cravin’ the routine, and finally decidin’ to start. the campusrun gave me that chance. ten kilometres through the familiar streets of Ghent, surrounded by people i mostly knew from campus. teachers, classmates, even people i usually only pass in the hallway or see in class, suddenly all runnin’ together.

the sun came out and jackets slowly disappeared. people stayed outside longer than usual. conversations kept goin’, even after classes ended. the campus felt different that evening.

givin' & runnin'

and believe me, it wasn’t really about the time or the result. most people weren’t checkin’ their pace or lookin’ at their watch. it was about bein’ part of something shared: how study, work, music, and everyday life can all meet in something as simple as runnin’ side by side.

“sometimes it’s enough to just keep movin’ and enjoy bein’ part of it.”

blood donation

that same week another kind of participation took place at our university: the blood donation. i had wanted to do it for a long time, and this time it finally happened. it’s strange how something small like that changes the way you feel. you notice your limits more, but you also feel lighter somehow, knowin’ you’ve given something that might help someone else.

in a way, it connects to runnin’. not doin’ something just for yourself, but because you can contribute to something bigger, to be together, or to take care of each other.

i did the donation together with Katrijn, my blood donation partner. we even got free cinema tickets from the Red Cross afterwards because it was my first time donatin’ blood, which was a funny little bonus. the donation stayed with me that week, not just in thought but in how my body felt.

runnin’ day

a few days later came the run itself, and i could feel it. my body was gettin’ tired, my steps slower than usual, and at some point i just started gettin’ mad at myself. how was it possible for me to run this slow? i had trained and practised during the previous weeks. of course i was tired: they had warned me to take it easy after donatin’ blood. but still, i went runnin’ anyway.

somewhere during the run, that connection between both moments made sense. givin’ and runnin’, both about showin’ up, both about doin’ something together. sometimes it’s enough to just keep movin’ and enjoy bein’ part of it.

afterwards

after the run a few of us went to eat. tired, hungry, and sittin’ together at the table. the food arrived, plates slowly emptied, and conversations kept goin’. i remember thinkin’ about not goin’, because we could’ve chosen a cheaper place. it wasn’t cheap, but nobody rushed to leave.

sometimes it’s not about the money. it’s about sittin’ there, laughin’, restin’, and realisin’ the moment is worth stayin’ for.

the campusrun reminded me of that. that growth doesn’t always come from big plans or perfect results, but from small acts, intentions, little plans, and shared moments where people move and show up together. because sometimes those two worlds can simply merge.

story and photos follow soon :))