good

Many sounds, words, and sentences in my tongue are not understood by many. One particular would be the meaning of “iyi ki doğdun”¹. I am here to explain it to those who speak other languages, or rather, make an honest effort, for the phrase holds importance. It is, in its most basic form, a general expression of gratitude. The phrase tends to come up on the birth anniversaries of friends, people who matter. Yet, since the phrase’s meaning is in no way coupled with the temporal or positional context, it is appropriate any time, for any setting. However, it cannot be said without regard to the recipient. The recipient must be worthy of it. Only then the words will echo in the air without a hint of doubt.

An intricate examination of the phrase entails a deeper meaning. It does not say “varsın”², implying that person’s mere existence is not the focus, rather, possibly the time of their birth that allowed them to be alive in the same time frame. A precious exchange must have occured that allowed the two people to form a deep connection, through which good feelings, experiences, and things have emerged. Hidden beneath many layers, birth, in my tongue, is bound to pain. In our first exposure to the outside world, we take our first breath. The fire we breathe in burns our lungs, the light, so bright, penetrates our closed eyelids to sting our eyes with a magical dagger, noises clash in our ears, alien sounds of joyous celebration turn into muffled cries. Its concentrated unfamilarity solidifies into a bullet and digs into the brain through the eardrums, and we proceed. With this first impression to the world, a new episode begins, and we endure, we endure for a lifetime. I mention this horrible act in this beautiful sentence to appeal to the contrast it produces, which reminds me of the existence of the unlikely beauty in this hideous life.

The conjugation of the word “doğdun” also carries a hint of agency. It is not “doğmuşsun”, which would—not through grammar but through cultural formation of this conjugation—take away the decisive agency from the action. I would, in a way, be thanking luck, a collection of coincidences. Then, fate would be valued, not the person. But I care not for fate, for I do not believe³ in it. I believe in choices, intentions, actions. I believe in people who make the choices, have the intentions, carry out the actions. There are none but a handful who are special to me for these qualities. Everyone would have to be special if fate were to be the destination of my appreciation. So far, I have not seen that. So far, only some have found a home in my heart.

Lastly, it is simply “iyi”⁴. Good is the most fundamental concept a person could ever form. It may hold nuances situationally, but its essence remains, and it remains for good, as should the person. This fundamental concept is bound to the person since their birth through life. Yes, there are situational nuances, but “good” will always be a valid description of the person, which cannot be said for many that roam the Earth and beyond, and I hope my gratitude finds my good people while they roam with me.

From time to time, I like to take breaks to reminisce about my past, people I have come to know, and reflect upon my story. Most of the time, other people set the stage for me, people with whom my audience have grown quite accustommed to with their exploits. They are the central characters to the story I claim to own. To these heroes I pledge my sincere love, and present my heartfelt appreciation. I hope they feel it too.