Het winnend essay van Turkije voor "My Different View"-wedstrijd

Integrale Engelse tekst van het Essay voor Turkije ingediend voor de "My Different View" Essay Competition van AFS International.

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A Foreigner"s Story It all started in a small shop in Ä°stanbul, where I was waiting together with many friends of mine to be taken away. It was around seven o"clock or so, and the shop was going to be closed quite soon.

Just then, a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes came in. He seemed to be in a hurry. I waited excitedly, hoping he would see me. Then, among all the notebooks and agendas, his eyes locked on me. I probably enamored him with my pretty yellow cover! “How much is this one?”, he asked the clerk. I saw him take out his wallet. You couldn"t believe how excited I was at this point! I was put in a white plastic bag, which this boy then stuffed in his cavernous backpack.

We were on our way. You see, we – I mean the notebooks and diaries of this world – have one great wish in our lives: To go on a journey through a person"s life. It doesn"t really matter how we do this. What"s important is the thoughts put into us. I didn"t know my purpose yet, but I was patiently waiting to find out.

When we got home, he laid me out on his desk. From what I heard, he was getting ready to go somewhere, but I couldn"t hear exactly where it was. There were large suitcases open on his bed. It looked like it was going to be a long trip. Soon I learned that we were off to Belgium the other day. No wonder he was so flustered!

A brochure I met at their place told me that he was going on a program where students spent a whole year abroad, learning all sorts of things and going through new experiences. The possiblities this gave me was thrilling. So I spent my last night at my new home, which I had only seen for a day. The phone never stopped ringing, and there was bustle all around the house.

Finally, when all the lights were out, he too went to bed. But he didn"t manage to get any sleep. Whenever I threw a glance at him, he was muttering lightly and turning around under the sheets. He got up like an arrow in the morning; it was only six o"clock or so. His father went around preparing the car, his mother did a last check on his luggage, and by the time everything was fit to go, I was in that backpack again.

For a long while, all I could do was listen to some muffled voices. It was pretty hot in there too! I"m sad to say there"s nothing noteworthy from those two hours that I can tell you.

On the plane, I saw light crack through the zipper, and a hand reached out to me. He took me out and opened my cover for the first time, ruffling through my pages. That was how we truly met each other. I was put right back in, but I was now comfortable, knowing he wouldn"t forget me. The last glimpse I got was a whole row of excited young faces.

The next thing I knew, I was on a totally different table in a nice house. It was pouring buckets outside. This was probably somewhere in Belgium. I waited, contemplating how things would unfold. Around nine o"clock, he entered the room and sat down in front of the desk. He had a pencil in his hand!

Thus, the story began. I"ll narrate it just as he told it to me.

“Dear Diary, Today, when we landed at the airport, there was a crowd of people waiting for us. I looked around, trying to find my host mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone waving at me. I started going in that direction, and was really surprised when I saw her crying. There was a smile on her face, but tears were running down her cheeks. It really touched me to see how loving, how caring she was. I think this is going to turn out just OK.

Apart from that, I learned we were going to start school in two days. I"m a bit nervous right now... Hopefully, everything is just as good as it was today. I think that"s all for today!”

Can I felt the same happiness and anxiety coursing through me, etched out in ink. I was also proud that I would be the only solid evidence for all his wonderful memories. The next day was more about meeting the family. Hmm, let me recall what he said about that…

Oh, here"s how it goes: “Dear Diary, Today I met the rest of the family. I"m going to be living with siblings: Three sisters and a brother. This should be quite different after being used to the special treatment of a single child back home! They all seemed happy to have me there, and did all they could to keep me comfortable. There"s also four cats roaming the house. Two of them are so little! They"re unbelievably cute. I"ll write about the first day of school tomorrow.”

How can I ever forget those cats? I lived in constant fear when they came around, pawing at me and prowling like hunters around prey. Luckily, they never harmed me. Still, that was one of my major problems over there. I know you"re all wondering how school went for him now. Without further delay, here you go!

“Dear Diary, Today was one of the most colorful days of my whole life! The whole AFS crew was packed in the front yard of the school, and people were chatting with each other. Of course, we were all in the same situation and would understand how each other felt. The thing is, there were so many different nationalities there! I met someone from practically all over the world. Chinese, Mexicans, Italians and of course many more. The environment was friendly and energetic.

After all the paperwork was sorted out, we went to our classes. People were speaking this language I didn"t understand at all. Turns out it was Dutch (Flemmish?). My English was not so good, but it was the only way to communicate really. A lot wast lost in translation that day. But I think about it, and it was a totally new world for me. New people, new languages, new sights and new opportunites.

All the kids seem very nice, in fact we"ve already planned a small get-together for next week. Everything else seems to be going fine here. That"s all for now!” After that day, he started attempting writing his entries in English for a while. It was quite funny, seeing the mistakes and struggles he went through trying to write “simple” sentences. Needless to say, he reverted to Turkish. The way I got to meet his friends was when they all wrote something in me for him to remember.

I don"t think many diaries can boast six languages! It was very nice, though, getting to know what kind of people they were from what they drew and wrote, and getting small hints of their lifestyles. My prediction was right: This was going to be a very fruitful voyage. All those cultures, I mean.

Time passed by, and as he started learning Dutch, he showed it off to me. In three months, he was fluently writing his entries in Dutch. He was now fully accustomed to life here, and living it to its full. Hanging out with friends, attending all kinds of activities and going on trips whenever possible. When the new year rolled around, he truly overdid it a bit.

That night, I expected him to come back and tell me his thoughts on this new year. No! He didn"t come back the whole night! Next day around noon, he opened up the first page of the new year. He didn"t say sorry, but hey, I was ready to forgive him for once. He had been very nice to me, never keeping me out of his adventures.

Apparently this is what he did: “Dear Diary, Last night was wild! We danced and sung and watched the fireworks. It was so awesome that none of us even thought of sleep. There was music everywhere, people having fun. I just can"t explain it, you had to be there. Now I feel like I could sleep for three days on end though. Please, nobody wake me up!”

I said he went on trips, right? That wasn"t limited to just Belgium. He went to Paris and Barcelona. They were so driven to go to Paris that they undauntedly went into organizing an AFS party to make the money to get there. There were more than two hundred people there! I still don"t know how he did that…

The other trip, Barcelona: A few small but nice events come to mind. There was this bus we were travelling in, and it was full to capacity. With a stroke of luck, he got a seat in front of the toilet, which gave him a little space for his legs. That day, I was not only his friend he told everything to, but his pillow too! It was a good nap he got there. And, sorry if I sound pompous, but I am very comfortable.

One last thing from Barcelona, because I think you"re starting to get bored. Let"s hear it from him: “Dear Diary, I took part in this cross-country race; 3.5 kilometres. The night before, I was quite confident. I thought I was really in shape and fit. My result? 55 out of 70 participants. So much for that… “

The problem is, he wrote this just after the race ended! He was all sweaty and smelly, and because of that, I"m not too fond of opening those pages. They stil smell bad! Such an event shouldn"t be reminded too often anyway. But the best thing he did there, I"ve left for last. I won"t interfere at all.

“Dear Diary, Today we went to a big park to have a day with disabled children. We were going to try and make them have a good time. As heart-wrenching as it was to see those children, it felt so good to see them smile. We sang songs with them, played games, and had a barbecue. The innocence of it all was overwhelming. This is the first time I"ve felt so satisfied with what I"ve done, and the first time I"ve felt so close to heaven.”

If I were human, I would definitely have cried as he told this all to me. I do remember feeling goosebumps on his arm. The days dwindled down. He was now almost a local. The friendships had become unbreakable. But like every good thing, it had to end. Exams, parties, trips, games, concerts, plays. He had done them all there. Still, the time had come to say goodbye.

“Dear Diary, You know I told you I promised I wouldn"t cry. But I just couldn"t help it. At the goodbye party, everywhere I looked, people were hugging and weeping. I just surrendered to my emotions. We exchanged our last wishes, last goodbyes and gifts. Then we made a promise I"m sure I won"t break. We all vowed to keep in touch. For we had become brothers and sisters here. Our hosts were like real family to us. I tell you, it wasn"t easy.”

Those were the last sentences written in my pages, with a slightly shaking hand. I had seen his frantic scribble, his lazy scrawl, his steady writing. For the first time, I saw his letters shaky and hesitant. Then my yellow cover was closed, and my tired back was left to rest. Now I sit in comfort on a shelf in his room, enjoying my retirement. I"m always there to talk about the good old days. To cherish the days of sharing, happiness, success and pride. To keep this year alive. I never told you my “price”, did I?

Well, I was bought for five liras. Now, I can"t be measured in any currency. For what I"ve been filled with is not anything to be bought. Thank you AFS, thank you Can, for letting this diary live his dream. I hope I did my best in aiding you throughout it!

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