Duru

“Reading in English was so much easier and more fun, and yet I felt dissatisfied, as if I was failing to capitalize on some advantage I had from "being" Turkish-one that would compensate for the hassle of having a name and appearance that had always required explanation. It had, I realized, been a real disappointment to get to Turkey and to discover that my name and appearance still required constant explanation-maybe even more so than in America. People heard my accent, and saw what I was wearing, and doing, and it didn't make sense, or fit with my ID card.”
― Elif Batuman, Either/Or

“This drop, water from her own body, containing a trace of her DNA, was a snowflake once upon a time, or a whisp of steam. Perhaps here, or many kilometers away, repeatedly mutating from liquid to solid to vapor, and back again, yet retaining its molecular essence. It remained hidden under the fossil-filled earth for tens, if not thousands of years, climbed up to the skies, and returned to the earth in mist, fog, monsoon, or hailstorm. Perpetually displaced and relocated. Water is the consummate immigrant. Trapped in transit. Never able to settle.”
― Elif Shafak, There Are Rivers in the Sky

“Something peculiar happens then. The giant sculptures from the banks of the Tigris, though still majestic, begin to seem less intimidating. Somewhat defenseless. Almost vulnerable. The boy feels a surge of empathy for the bound stone beasts as he watches them being hauled with hemp ropes through the lofty doors of the British Museum, where they disappear into perpetual exile. Creatures of the river trying to adapt to dry land, lonely and lost in this grinding city, just as he has been all his life.”
― Elif Shafak, There Are Rivers in the Sky

“What kind of woman could capture Gus Everett’s heart?
My polar opposite. Not the kind who was always rude when she was grumpy, crying when she was happy, sad, overwhelmed. Who couldn’t help but let it all hang out.
“But I also just had this thought, like …” He hesitated. “Here’s someone I could never break. She didn’t need me. And she wasn’t gentle with me, or worried about saving me, or really letting me in enough to help her work things out either. Maybe it sounds shitty, but I’ve never trusted myself with anyone … soft.”
“Ah.” My cheeks burned and I kept my focus on his arm instead of his face.
“I saw that with my parents, you know? This black hole and this bright light he was always just trying to swallow whole.”
My gaze flickered to his face, the sharp lines etched between his brows.
“Gus. You’re not a black hole. And you’re not your father either.”
“Yeah, I know.” An unconvincing smile flitted across one corner of his mouth. “But I’m also not the bright light.”
Sure, he wasn’t a bright light, but he wasn’t the cynic I’d thought either.
He was a realist who was a little too afraid of hope to see things clearly when it came to his own life. But he was also exceptionally good at sitting with people through their shit, making them feel less alone without promises or empty platitudes. Me. Dave. Grace.
He wasn’t afraid for things to get ugly, to see someone at their weakest, and he didn’t fall over himself trying to talk me out of my own feelings. He just witnessed them, and somehow, that let them finally get out of my body after years of imprisonment.”
― Emily Henry, Beach Read