“Dilara? What are you doing?”
Even though my mother hadn’t spoken very loudly, I was easily able to pick up on the disbelief in her voice, because it was quite obvious that I was packing, and it didn’t take a genius to know that packing automatically tied in with leaving. She was asking me the question out of courtesy, out of her expectation that I would speak to her and tell her what was going on. But even as I acknowledged her presence, even as I heard her question, I knew that this wasn’t going to be easy, knew that this wasn’t going to be some walk in the park.
“I’m packing.”
I found that it was much easier for me to state the obvious, much easier for me to tell her something that she was capable of see herself, something that she had already know
