A Revolution of Moving

In my dreams, I repeatedly see the guest room of our old house, the huge buffet in there, and the closed cupboards underneath where I kept my personal belongings—dolls, toys, a piano that played music when wound up, books, and miscellaneous items.

Back then, I was just a tiny child. I spent most of my time in that cold guest room, occupied with my books and my little toy cupboard.

I was just reading an article in Science about someone who left their PhD unfinished. They said, "My interest in science was an escape from the uncontrollable chaos of my family life as a child." The moment I read that sentence, my mind was flooded with memories of that room, my cupboard, and the recurring dreams I’ve been having recently. I hadn’t thought much about those dreams after having them, but now, for a moment, I felt as if I had been transported back to that reality.

How painful it is that time moves so fast. I am no longer that version of myself. I am someone completely different now. How magnificent it would be to travel back in time and talk to my past self. I desperately wish I could do that.

I also miss our old house very much. I started primary school there, finished high school there, and even got accepted into university while living in that house. But unfortunately, we moved before I could graduate, and with that move, a radical revolution ignited in our family history.. Yes, a radical revolution.

For one, when we moved, I threw away my Atari, which was as old as I was and too outdated for our television to support anymore. Looking back now, it feels like a sign that nothing would ever be the same again. How emotionless I was. Even my mother—yes, even my mother—was unsettled by my Atari being thrown away. When I left it by the garbage, I later found it back in my bedroom. I asked my mom why, and, surprised—now I see, maybe even a little sad—she simply asked, "Are you really going to throw away your Atari?" I replied, "Yes, I am." And without hesitation, I picked it up and threw it away again.

There are moments in life when people are given second chances to reconsider their decisions. But stubborn and short-sighted people fail to recognize those reopened doors. And after that, certain disconnections follow—unpredictable, unforeseeable shifts take place.

After we moved out of that house, it was as if my mother, Canan, Sefa, and I—maybe even my father, I don’t know—changed. One by one, transformations began. Our personalities shifted, the way we perceived each other changed, the closeness between us faded. It was as if we had stepped into a parallel universe.

In 2011, during the time I was in remedial school, I spent most of my time lying in bed in what used to be the guest room—later turned into Canan’s and my bedroom. In the dark. One evening, Canan and Sefa fell asleep on my lap in that room. My parents were in the adjacent living room. That kind of closeness no longer exists. I can’t recall a moment like that after we moved.

So many battles were fought in that house, so many victories were won, and so many losses were suffered. That house was the embodiment of our family history.

Will we ever return to it one day?

That is what hope is. A longing for the past. Despite all the losses.

In the film Parasite, a friend gave the children a stone, symbolizing their true place in the world, or in a wild capitalist society, and throughout the film, this stone served as a symbol. Moving the stone, displacing it from where it belonged, was a disaster in itself. And in the end, the same fate befell the family who possessed it. As they tried to live a life they didn’t belong to in a place that wasn’t theirs, they came to realize that the truest harmony lies in things remaining where they are meant to be. But by then, it was too late—that realization was their downfall. By the time they returned the stone to its place in the streambed, they had already lost the battle of life.

We, too, changed skins as a family after moving out of that house. I don’t know if we will ever return to where we belong, and even if we do, I don’t know if we will still be the same people.

But I hope we can return to the beginning before we lose more, before we break apart any further.

The beginning—the point where everything is at its purest.

And in the end, one always returns to their essence.