A Day of Reflection

The most vivid thing that has remained in my mind from today now almost over is the sound of the podcast I was listening to at three in the afternoon.

Have you ever watched yourself from above? As if you were watching a film in which you are the main character? In that state, your connection with places and people seems to disappear. Imagine standing beneath a tree the same one you planted around this time last summer, when the trees were green, their shade was pleasant, and everything was beautiful. Yet none of that beauty creates any feeling in you. You cannot even describe it.

If, like me, you have a habit of writing moments in your mind, this becomes difficult. You run out of words to describe that state, and you suffer because of it. This is my experience but how can it be understood?

I was encouraged to think more deeply about this condition while listening to a podcast and encountering concepts such as derealization and the distortion of truth. I wondered: what if the emotional shocks I have endured eventually lead to dementia? I thought about this question for a long time. All discussions of psychology are interesting and worth reading to me; yet they are equally full of questions and doubt. I was holding a psychoanalytic therapy session with myself, as I had done before.

After that, I worked on my homework, analyzing and commenting on Descartes’ theory of identity. It was fascinating. I began to think about identity like a child as if I had never thought about it before, or had no prior assumptions about the word at all.

I thought it was closely connected to an idea Hakan Menguç discusses in his book The Appointed Time: the masks and titles we take on in different places can eventually lead to alienation from ourselves, until we ask, “Who am I?”

The rest of the day passed with these small and large thoughts, doubts, uncertainties, and endless questions.

Then, at nine in the evening, I joined my philosophy class as always, with a little fear, a little uncertainty, and a great deal of anxiety. As I looked at my phone screen, my heart beat like a drum. My finger could barely press the microphone button. Experience told me that this feeling would not last, and that gave me the courage to begin.

We were continuing the previous course, but this time we were supposed to lead it ourselves. Yet, as I expected, things did not go in the direction they should have. In the discussion, some of us were only listeners, and the shared goal we had envisioned the participation of all members faced a problem. This situation upset the four of us who had been left out of the discussion. Then our teacher joined as one of the members, and our complaints began.

As always, our teacher handled the situation in a way that truly suited their name: they put things back in order.

They described the situation as natural. Blaming one another and silently becoming angry behind our phone screens, they said, is the easiest thing to do.

Silence filled the room. We all listened quietly as our teacher spoke about the subject in a calm, skillful tone. At times, I smiled with satisfaction and silently agreed with their words, grateful for the new perspective I had gained. I thought to myself that there was truly so much to learn from this experience without attacking each other or searching for someone to blame.

What exactly is my responsibility? When I feel that the group I belong to is pushing me to the margins, what should I do?

And why, when I am not included in the conversation, do I not say, “Wait”? Why do I not say, “Stop”?

I extended this sense of responsibility toward myself and the group to my writing class as well. What is truly my responsibility toward the group and toward myself?

I decided to be more responsible toward myself and others. From now on, I will pay closer attention to my experiences. Instead of labeling an experience as the worst or the best, I should ask what can be learned from it and how I can organize myself better in the future.

It would be unfair not to be grateful for the people who teach us to learn rather than search for someone to blame. Most importantly, they do so in a way that leaves neither resentment in our hearts nor anger toward ourselves or others.

Only curiosity and learning.

So I thank God, who, alongside all this pain, doubt, and fear, also gives meaning.

Until another day and a whole world of experiences.