From Far Away, Experiencing The Boston Marathon Bombing

The Boston skyline from the Longfellow Bridge

In the months leading up to my departure to Istanbul, my mother worried constantly about how close I would be to Syria. But Istanbul is about as far as you can get from Syria and still be in Turkey. I told her not to worry.

The week I arrived in Istanbul, a bomb went off at the American Embassy in Ankara. But Ankara is in the center of the country—it is not near Istanbul. It was disconcerting, but I didn’t worry.

I was being brave.

But last night, as I watched in shock and horror Al Jazeera’s coverage of the Boston Marathon bombing, all I could do was worry.

This isn’t right. Boston is supposed to be safe.

City Hall, Government Center

I have too many thoughts to put into words.

It’s hard to explain to the people around me here what the Boston Marathon and Patriots’ Day means to the city of Boston– how can I describe the joy of the first springtime long weekend, the barbecues optimistically planned even if the weather is gray, the day drinking, the camaraderie of Marathon Monday? You don’t need to go to the finish line to be a part of it– or to be affected by what has happened. It’s a day that is not really about patriotism, but more about Boston being Boston—uniting neighborhoods, students, sports, families, and overachievers.

The Zakim Bridge, viewed from North Station

Today I can’t stop thinking about Boston. Today my brain is full of the moments that have made Boston special for me. The times we become a community. Today in my mind, I’m watching the fireworks in the rain on Memorial Drive on the Fourth of July. I’m dancing down the streets and through the parks and into the Somerville theater during Honk Fest in Davis Square. I’m playing hooky to watch the Red Sox World Series parade… twice. I’m sitting on the sunny banks of the river for the Head of the Charles Regatta– another race Boston takes seriously as a time for picnics and families and cheering on everybody.

The Head of the Charles Regatta

I’m walking the streets on the morning of Hurricane Sandy and sharing knowing looks with all the other people who are crazy enough to leave their apartments on the cusp of a storm. I see flash mob pillow fights in Harvard Square and brass bands leading parades through Government Center for Occupy Boston and I’m being welcomed into strangers’ houses for Cambridge and Somerville open studios. It’s a summer evening and I’m in The North End for a saint’s festival, while there is some sport event going on at the Boston Garden, while Haymarket is still in full Saturday swing, and I’m loving how seemingly every age and nationality that calls Boston home can be seen from the lawn of the Rose F Kennedy Greenway.

A flash mob pillow fight in Harvard Square

There are so many more, too many more. These moments where Boston comes together and celebrates, these moments that show Boston at its best.

You see, even though Boston people can seem cold initially, really we’re a community and we care about each other. Just because I complain about the BU students on the B line on a Saturday night doesn’t mean I don’t think with horror that college students inevitably got wounded at the finish line yesterday. I think of my friends fleeing the Back Bay and severed limbs in Copley Square and my heart hurts.

Copley Square

We are not supposed to worry about IEDs in Boston. We’re supposed to worry about midterms and snow plows and getting home after the T shuts down.

I’ve been teaching lessons today, but my mind is not in Istanbul. I am so connected to Boston. Everything feels utterly surreal. I find myself zoning out in my classes. I couldn’t sleep last night. I’ve been on the verge of tears all day.

I can’t help but feel that I should be back in Boston today, back with my friends and my community.

The Holocaust Memorial in downtown Boston

A friend of mine who currently lives in New York City sent me a Facebook message last night that spoke to my thoughts exactly:

“No amount of meditation or beer can scare away the thoughts. I just wanted you to know that some of us are right there with you – confused, anxious, bizarrely detached and furious.”

I just feel very far away today.