uofia
01–22–25
unconscious on the floor of the istanbul airport
but not numb.
Dear Jacob,
I'm standing on the banks of the Bosphorus Strait as an ‘award winning entrepreneur’ (sponsored by Red Bull what). There's a lot of pressure not to fail, and it's terrifying. But anyways, Istanbul is great, I wish you could've seen it. Really I wish you could have seen anything more than you did. The world is bigger than Dover, Delaware you know. I know you went through a lot in those last days. I know it was hard and it hurt all the time. But I just wish you would have said something. I would have taken you with me you know. All across the world. We could have done some really incredible things. But now you're just a memory. God this place is really incredible, and the people here are even better. I miss you a lot. I think I've gone into the fifth stage but it's hard to admit. I don't really want to accept that you're gone forever though I think I have.
I'm standing on the banks of the Bosphorus Strait as an ‘award winning entrepreneur’ (sponsored by Red Bull what). There's a lot of pressure not to fail, and it's terrifying. But anyways, Istanbul is great, I wish you could've seen it. Really I wish you could have seen anything more than you did. The world is bigger than Dover, Delaware you know. I know you went through a lot in those last days. I know it was hard and it hurt all the time. But I just wish you would have said something. I would have taken you with me you know. All across the world. We could have done some really incredible things. But now you're just a memory. God this place is really incredible, and the people here are even better. I miss you a lot. I think I've gone into the fifth stage but it's hard to admit. I don't really want to accept that you're gone forever though I think I have.
May 28, 2022
As the plane finally crested over land, shaking hands in goodbye with the 20-hour journey at sea, there were literal tears of joy brimming my eyes. I first left my country when I was 18 years old, and there's probably nothing I had dreamed of more leading up to that moment.
I watched in awe as we glided over the outskirts of Istanbul's suburbs, marveling at the fact that I was now looking at an entirely new continent. I had not seen this land before. This land did not know me.
Turkey is kind of a wild first-country for an American small-town mouse, but definitely a great choice. One of the oldest cities in the world, Istanbul is a must-see for any human being. It is endlessly unique; spreading across two different continents, hosting a wide conglomerate of religions, cultures, and ideologies. Istanbul is a marvelous foreign world to step into for the very first time.
My first case of culture shock was the infamous squatty-potty. After de-boarding our flight, I was desperate to find a restroom, but when I stepped into the only available stall, I was surprised to be greeted by a ceramic hole in the ground.
"what the fuck lol"
I said out loud before awkwardly trying to position myself above it. Probably not the most appropriate reaction considering this was a Muslim country - and though I was determined to be culturally sensitive as so many of my favorite travel influencers preached - I admittedly had not done much research about Turkey. For hundreds of hours leading up to this moment, I had been preparing for something else.
"what the fuck lol"
I said out loud before awkwardly trying to position myself above it. Probably not the most appropriate reaction considering this was a Muslim country - and though I was determined to be culturally sensitive as so many of my favorite travel influencers preached - I admittedly had not done much research about Turkey. For hundreds of hours leading up to this moment, I had been preparing for something else.
***
Red Bull Basement is a "global pitch competition" for student innovators. I found an online ad for it and brought it to my mentor Mark, the director of ASU's Luminosity Lab (birthplace of robot space spiders and other crazy, moonshot tech ideas). When I suggested it might be good for the more experienced lab members, he simply replied,
"Why don't you do it?"
So I did - I enlisted my roommate Sylvia, and together, we pitched jotted: a generative tool for creating flashcards from text (this was 8 months before the days of chatgpt, so it was a relatively groundbreaking idea back then lol.) After three rounds of conceptual interviews, we somehow won out of a pool of 400 teams?? Red Bull USA wanted us to represent the United States at the global competition in Turkey.
We were obviously excited, but also, completely fucking terrified that we would be massive flops. Both of us were drowning in our first semester of college - Sylvia struggling with a notorious math class while I tried to turn papers about "Bidirectional Encoder Representations from Transformers" into a tangible product. Feeding into our anxieties was another covid flare that postponed the event, gifting us 3 more months to stress about the product and overthink the dangers of international travel.
But despite these months of worries, homework, and restless prototyping... I finally made it there, hovering over a ceramic hole in the ground.
***
Following my unsuccessful bathroom encounter, it was time to line up in customs to get my passport stamped and finally be released into the waiting arms of adventure.
But the passport line was looooooong. I was fascinated though, to look around at all the people. Some of them were wearing traditional Muslim clothing that I'd never actually seen in real life before. I felt a pang of shame at my uncontrollable fascination that everything looked so "foreign"; I was reminded of the small-town mouse that I was, and my eagerness to embrace a new persona as a world traveller grew.
But as the line dragged on, that eagerness melted away into a melancholic anxiety; there was a growing pain in my lower stomach. It was simply annoying at first, and then a bit intrusive, but it was now reaching levels of inhibiting. I began to sweat. Eventually stripping off my coat to dab at the glint streaking across my forehead.
"Is it hot in here?" I asked Sylvia.
"Mmm kind of I guess…" she replied with uncertainty, scrunching up her nose in slight concern.
But I was not hot 'I guess', I was very, very hot. And the dull pain in my stomach had condensed and sharpened into a needle, threatening to break its way through my intestines. I was barely hanging on by the time I reached the front of the line, but still trying to play it cool.
The last thing I remember was the man with the passport stamp turning his eyes away from the current customer, to me, preparing to call me forward.
Then everything was dark.
But as the line dragged on, that eagerness melted away into a melancholic anxiety; there was a growing pain in my lower stomach. It was simply annoying at first, and then a bit intrusive, but it was now reaching levels of inhibiting. I began to sweat. Eventually stripping off my coat to dab at the glint streaking across my forehead.
"Is it hot in here?" I asked Sylvia.
"Mmm kind of I guess…" she replied with uncertainty, scrunching up her nose in slight concern.
But I was not hot 'I guess', I was very, very hot. And the dull pain in my stomach had condensed and sharpened into a needle, threatening to break its way through my intestines. I was barely hanging on by the time I reached the front of the line, but still trying to play it cool.
The last thing I remember was the man with the passport stamp turning his eyes away from the current customer, to me, preparing to call me forward.
Then everything was dark.
***
In the next instant, I was blearily opening my eyes on the floor of the airport with a crowd of people standing over me. Before I could process what happened - WHOOSHHHH. I shot straight up, mouth wide open, every inch of my skin was consumed by a tingling sensation, reacting to the massive amount of freezing water that had just been aggressively dumped on me.
I locked eyes with the culprit: a random woman who had walked straight up to me from her place in line, giant hydro-flask in hand. Then suddenly - BAP BAP BAP BAP. This woman is slapping me back and forth across the face. The water most definitely would have sufficed, but I suppose she wanted to be sure. When she stopped, I stared back at her, flabbergasted. And then she just walked away. I never saw her again, nor had I uttered a single word of thanks to her.
The passport officer stared back at me with nothing more than slight annoyance. Not sure what else I could do, I stood up on shaky legs and walked toward the desk. Without a word, he just stamped the passport I had pitifully offered up to him, and proceeded to take the worst photo of me that probably exists: pale, soaked from head-to-toe, half a light behind my eyes.
I locked eyes with the culprit: a random woman who had walked straight up to me from her place in line, giant hydro-flask in hand. Then suddenly - BAP BAP BAP BAP. This woman is slapping me back and forth across the face. The water most definitely would have sufficed, but I suppose she wanted to be sure. When she stopped, I stared back at her, flabbergasted. And then she just walked away. I never saw her again, nor had I uttered a single word of thanks to her.
The passport officer stared back at me with nothing more than slight annoyance. Not sure what else I could do, I stood up on shaky legs and walked toward the desk. Without a word, he just stamped the passport I had pitifully offered up to him, and proceeded to take the worst photo of me that probably exists: pale, soaked from head-to-toe, half a light behind my eyes.
My stomach persisted in antagonizing me with one of the most extreme pains I’d had up to that point in my life, so much so that I had to pause and double over my suitcase around 20 times before Sylvia and I reached the doors of the airport. Red Bull had designated a meeting corridor so that a van could pick us up and take us to the hotel, but we were debating whether or not to ask them to take us to the hospital instead.
But when we finally reached the car, our Red Bull escorts introduced us to our van-mates: team Aussie. Two handsome, tall, curly-headed 19-year-old boys with twinkling eyes that seemed to say “wow isn’t this so great!”
But when we finally reached the car, our Red Bull escorts introduced us to our van-mates: team Aussie. Two handsome, tall, curly-headed 19-year-old boys with twinkling eyes that seemed to say “wow isn’t this so great!”
‘Are you fucking kidding me - of course bro - of course’
my teenage-girl brain lamented through the stabbing pains.
I wanted to dissolve into the leather seats of the van which were turned around facing each other - forcing me to revel in the dissonant appearance between myself and the conventionally attractive young men looking at me with slight concern. I sat in silence, grimacing out the window while Sylvia carried the conversation.
But as we drove through this strange new city, the excitement I had first felt on the plane began to re-animate me.
Holy fuck. I'm not in America right now. I'm not even on the same continent as the one I've always known. I'm so far away from everything I've ever believed, and every way I've ever felt.
I began to take stock of the fact that the pain in my stomach was slowly receding until finally, 30 minutes into the van ride, I took a deep breath in to inflate the brightest smile I could muster and turned toward the group with a laugh:
"Okay, so. I swear I'm not usually this quiet… or covered in water. Can I tell you guys the crazy thing that just happened?"
I regaled them with my story, and laughing together, we all became fast friends. By the time we reached the hotel, the pain had entirely subsided. We spent the rest of that day wandering the streets of the Besiktas; Sylvia and I clung to our scarves, eager to don them and explore the inner workings of beautiful mosques, sifting through busy streets of slightly perturbed locals. We ferried back to our hotel just as the light from the setting sun was beginning to scatter over the soft waves of Bosporus strait. My ears tuned curiously into the prayer calls reverberating from Mosques all over the city.
Back at the hotel, I noticed my heels were literally bleeding; I had bled joyfully through my socks, too enthralled by the adventure to have even noticed the way my shoes were sanding away the skin I had grown back at home. My body was confused and tired and absolutely jubilant: my journal entry that night described it as one of the 'best days of my life'. It didn't fully dawn on me in the moment how drastic the depths of my highs and lows had been.
But as we drove through this strange new city, the excitement I had first felt on the plane began to re-animate me.
Holy fuck. I'm not in America right now. I'm not even on the same continent as the one I've always known. I'm so far away from everything I've ever believed, and every way I've ever felt.
I began to take stock of the fact that the pain in my stomach was slowly receding until finally, 30 minutes into the van ride, I took a deep breath in to inflate the brightest smile I could muster and turned toward the group with a laugh:
"Okay, so. I swear I'm not usually this quiet… or covered in water. Can I tell you guys the crazy thing that just happened?"
I regaled them with my story, and laughing together, we all became fast friends. By the time we reached the hotel, the pain had entirely subsided. We spent the rest of that day wandering the streets of the Besiktas; Sylvia and I clung to our scarves, eager to don them and explore the inner workings of beautiful mosques, sifting through busy streets of slightly perturbed locals. We ferried back to our hotel just as the light from the setting sun was beginning to scatter over the soft waves of Bosporus strait. My ears tuned curiously into the prayer calls reverberating from Mosques all over the city.
Back at the hotel, I noticed my heels were literally bleeding; I had bled joyfully through my socks, too enthralled by the adventure to have even noticed the way my shoes were sanding away the skin I had grown back at home. My body was confused and tired and absolutely jubilant: my journal entry that night described it as one of the 'best days of my life'. It didn't fully dawn on me in the moment how drastic the depths of my highs and lows had been.
***
Being revived from the floor of the airport within the first hour of stepping foot into Turkey completely changed my mindset: I was no longer the straight-A technologist carrying the weighty expectation of success on her back - I was just alive. Only living. Everything else that would happen from that point forward would be (as Sylvia says) a bonus point.
Sylvia was equally relieved that I had shed my tech-czar persona, and instead, we just had fun as friends and talked to as many people as we could, spitballing a recurrent round of questions about their country and student lifestyle. Our group of 88 students from 44 countries explored bazaars, mosques, went to bars and coffee shops. I made friends and laughed. More than anything I remember the laughter.
When pitch day finally came, Sylvia and I gave the best public speaking performances of our lives. I felt so at ease and fulfilled with the experience that when I was handed the trophy, I realized I would have walked away just as happy had I been watching the ceremony from my seat on the floor instead.
From all of the stress and agony leading up to the event, to the lowest low of being physically buried in my subconscious (by what I've since identified as a cross-combo of sleep deprivation and an anxiety attack) to the peak of joy and fulfillment being named the winner and getting to dance the night away with new friends, overlooking the nighttime lights of Istanbul decorating the banks of the Bosphorus...
This little bit of life changed me in a pretty fundamental way: I finally understood the idea that your lowest moments only give you more room to grow - more space to travel in the linear and unforgiving forward march of time. If you are content with stability, you will feel so much less than if your emotions are constantly being thrown over and under the x-axis.
I wouldn’t necessarily induce another anxiety attack or deprive myself of my physical health to have a similar epiphany, but I also don’t regret how hard I pushed myself: how much I expected of myself, how much I got done, and how much I learned to let go.
Change is always uncomfortable - if you’re not feeling uncomfortable, then you are not growing. If you’re not growing, then you’re not living.
Ultimately, life is worth living.
Sylvia was equally relieved that I had shed my tech-czar persona, and instead, we just had fun as friends and talked to as many people as we could, spitballing a recurrent round of questions about their country and student lifestyle. Our group of 88 students from 44 countries explored bazaars, mosques, went to bars and coffee shops. I made friends and laughed. More than anything I remember the laughter.
When pitch day finally came, Sylvia and I gave the best public speaking performances of our lives. I felt so at ease and fulfilled with the experience that when I was handed the trophy, I realized I would have walked away just as happy had I been watching the ceremony from my seat on the floor instead.
From all of the stress and agony leading up to the event, to the lowest low of being physically buried in my subconscious (by what I've since identified as a cross-combo of sleep deprivation and an anxiety attack) to the peak of joy and fulfillment being named the winner and getting to dance the night away with new friends, overlooking the nighttime lights of Istanbul decorating the banks of the Bosphorus...
This little bit of life changed me in a pretty fundamental way: I finally understood the idea that your lowest moments only give you more room to grow - more space to travel in the linear and unforgiving forward march of time. If you are content with stability, you will feel so much less than if your emotions are constantly being thrown over and under the x-axis.
I wouldn’t necessarily induce another anxiety attack or deprive myself of my physical health to have a similar epiphany, but I also don’t regret how hard I pushed myself: how much I expected of myself, how much I got done, and how much I learned to let go.
Change is always uncomfortable - if you’re not feeling uncomfortable, then you are not growing. If you’re not growing, then you’re not living.
Ultimately, life is worth living.
***
Dear Jacob,
Yesterday was a great day. The morning started out blissfully with a nice coffee and a call with a client. He absolutely loved the product and told me that he’s intends to write a raving review for bedrock on LinkedIn. All I had left to do was transfer ownership of the repo/db and re-deploy. I caught a working-lunch in a nice cafe with Naveed, but things started going downhill after we parted ways: I was scared of breaking something on the last step of the project. With each keystroke, I could feel anxiety taking hold of me so I took a break to go to the gym. After running off the stress, I was feeling good again. Naveed and I then went to dinner at our favorite spot, where things took another dip. We were talking about my career ambitions and I got hit by this realization that I haven’t achieved even a glimmer of what I really want: I need to write more, write better, distribute more, distribute better. We went home to finish transferring everything, and the worst happened: a bug. I spent hours debugging and couldn’t get so much as a new error message. It was beyond frustrating. After being brought to tears of frustration around midnight, I decided to just call a better dev. Within minutes, Kat realized that nothing was even broken, I had just accidentally been testing the file upload system (designed for smaller files) with a MASSIVE file lol. Relief washed over me as I realized that I was in fact done with the contract (after adding a file size warning.) It felt so good to have the culmination of a month of work be received well and actually work properly after persisting and overcoming difficulty - I sent the final payment invoice, and headed to bed.
This morning I woke up feeling great. Every day lately seems to start as a warm blanket of contentedness that is soon ripped away by the winds of chaos to reveal a new challenge - some of which are substantive enough to bring me to tears. I don’t know what that low will be today, but I’m sort of excited to find out. I think maybe that that means I’m happy here.
The world is still so much bigger than Dover, Delaware. But it will never be big enough for me to forget the way I miss you.
This morning I woke up feeling great. Every day lately seems to start as a warm blanket of contentedness that is soon ripped away by the winds of chaos to reveal a new challenge - some of which are substantive enough to bring me to tears. I don’t know what that low will be today, but I’m sort of excited to find out. I think maybe that that means I’m happy here.
The world is still so much bigger than Dover, Delaware. But it will never be big enough for me to forget the way I miss you.
January 22, 2025
***
ty for reading :]
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