The art of letting go
last day in Istanbul (March 10, 2026)
In my recent articles, I’ve already described what a life on the road feels like — the in-between, the new imprints, the active lifestyle, the new cultures and people.
But what happens when a chapter closes?
What happens when you have to let go of a place you fell in love with, people you shared countless moments of laughter with, a person you were dating, an experience that has shaped you?
Honestly, the shift from Istanbul to Aveiro was far more challenging than I had anticipated. Now, after almost two months back in Europe, I still feel the imprints. I still have emotional flashbacks to my time in Istanbul — when I hear certain music, see a Turkish word, or come across videos of people posting their lives.
At the same time, something has shifted. I am not in the same place emotionally as I was weeks ago. The intensity has softened at times, the thoughts have become clearer — and yet, I am not fully at peace with letting go. It’s not a clean process. It comes in waves.
.
And maybe what makes letting go so difficult is that it is not just about a place. It’s about a version of me that was finally seen as a person — with my quirkiness, my intensity, my neurodiversity — without judgment. A version of me that could feel and live her emotions, her sensuality, her relational depth.
It’s also about a person, about moments that felt real and alive, and about the quiet question of what could have been. Letting go of him is not just letting go of someone I knew — it is letting go of a version of myself that existed in that connection. Letting go of Istanbul is not just leaving a city — it is stepping away from a way of feeling, of relating, of being in the world that resonated deeply with me.
And maybe the hardest part is letting go of the possibilities that never fully unfolded, but still linger somewhere between memory and imagination — another in-between. I know I will return, but for now, I have to let go of this chapter.
Why these feelings hit so strongly is partly because of my experience in Aveiro. Even though there is a certain beauty here, most conversations and connections remain on the surface. And through that contrast, I began to understand more clearly what I actually need in order to feel alive, connected, and seen.
Today is Carnation Revolution Day — the 25th of April, a day that represents freedom and transformation in Portugal. And somehow, it feels symbolic to be here on this day, knowing that it will likely be my last time in this country for a while — more on that soon, and on the challenges I encountered within Portuguese academia.
Not because Portugal gave me nothing — but because it gave me clarity about what I have to let go of.
And maybe that’s what letting go really is — not losing something, but allowing it to take its place in your story, without forcing it into your future.
