Cappadocia’s Small Vessel

[Series: Things That Don’t Crumble: Türkiye] Vol.1 Cappadocia’s Small Vessel

한국어 버전을 보고 싶거나, 이야기를 계속해서 받아보길 원하시는 경우 아래 페이지로 이동해주세요.
(작가 블로그 가기)

Cappadocia. A town of caves.

My sister’s entrance exam was over. It felt a bit embarrassing to call myself a world traveler without ever having visited Turkey. I came here with my father and sister.

There was one thing I desperately wanted to keep on this trip. The Sunday online service. I had mentioned it multiple times even before we left. “As long as I can just attend the service, I’m good.” (Looking back, I wonder if I was being too rigid.)

Every time our travel schedule shifted slightly, I’d bring it up again, cautiously. “Should we do it first when we arrive in Cappadocia? Or take a break in the middle?”

I didn’t want to be the person forcing a schedule on my sister. I didn’t want to be seen as someone making a scene over religion during a holiday. Because it was a sensitive matter, I was extra careful. Every time I spoke, I could feel the tension in my very toes.

Then, the day we arrived in Cappadocia, it happened. My sister was exhausted, so we canceled the next plan and headed back to our room. The day ended three hours early. My father and I thought, “This is the perfect time for the service.”

“No, we said we’d do it tonight. I’m hungry,” my sister complained. “You two already ate something...!” Her voice was sharp with irritation.

We had been moving according to her condition the entire time. Coming back early seemed like a win-win, we could finish the service and then eat.

I spoke up carefully. “I want you to know we’ve been adjusting to you. I’m not asking for anything back; I just want you to acknowledge it.” “If these words hurt, please understand my expression is limited. If the way I said it felt wrong, I’ll change it. I’m sorry. I’m lacking.”

“Does God go anywhere? We can just do it after we eat!”

“What?”

It escalated into a full-blown argument.

My father was the first to open the door and head outside. “What are you two doing, all the way out here?”

He left to buy cigarettes—the ones he had planned to quit during this trip.

The dirt walls of the cave hotel. Particles of sand gleaming dimly on the rough, crumbling surface. Low ceilings. A dark room. The rooms were connected by cave pillars, but they felt somehow severed.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

That thought quickly turned into, ‘Why is my vessel so small?’, ‘I should have just let it go. I should have just pampered her. Then we wouldn’t have fought.’

I felt suffocated, so I walked out. I trudged through muddy paths aimlessly. I leaped over rocks. After a while, a stone road wide enough for a car appeared. The wind was strong, but since the sun was still out, it wasn’t too cold.

Beams of light pierced through the mushroom-shaped pillars. Pink hues burned behind the village. The sunset was cruelly beautiful. After walking for a long time, I looked up. To my surprise, Uchihisar Castle, the place we had driven so far of during the day, was right before my eyes. Was it really this close?

A drizzle began to fall, matching the gloom of my heart. The castle was draped in heavy clouds, looking even more desolate.

My sister. I should have just embraced her. But because my feelings were hurt, I spoke up, wanting to be acknowledged.

Despair over my own smallness and limitations reached back into my past. The fire spread rapidly, uncontrollably.

My friends. I should have just accepted them as they were, yet I felt hurt so many times. My late mother. I should have just said, “You’re right, Mom. You’re absolutely right,” and been better to her. My ex-girlfriend. I should have just embraced her like a child. I couldn’t be the person who absorbed everything like a cushion. The co-founder by my side. The slight dissatisfactions I suppressed, leaving a lingering, unknown discomfort in my heart.

Once despair had burned through my entire past, it looked around for more. It began to catch onto my future. The colleagues who would surely stress me out. The business partners I’d soon meet. Could I even run a business properly like this?

My future wife and children. Could I even build a proper family like this?

“Why am I only this much?”

The mushroom-shaped stone houses of Cappadocia, looking like something from another world, stood jagged and sharp.

“Would I die if I fell from here?”

My father wouldn’t be able to handle it. My sister would have to carry that burden for the rest of her life. My co-founder would surely be lost for a long time. Just like Watanabe in Norwegian Wood, which I read recently. Who else would mourn? Those thoughts spiraled.

When I snapped out of it, two hours had passed. I let go of those horrific thoughts. I remembered the one thing my father said as he left. “Try to work it out.”

I wiped my tears and turned back. I walked for another two hours. By the time I reached the village, it was pitch black. As the streetlights flickered on one by one, the night view of Cappadocia unfolded. Even then, I hated myself for finding the view beautiful.

I returned to the room. My sister remained silent, her anger seemingly unresolved. I was freezing. I felt like I’d get indigestion if I ate, so I told them to go ahead without me. I thought I’d just lie down for a moment, but I fell asleep. I don’t know how much time passed. I woke up to the sound of prayer. My father and sister were holding the service. I rubbed my eyes and sat awkwardly on the sofa.

This is a religion of love, yet I couldn’t even embrace this one thing.
And to think we fought over trying to keep the service!
How contradictory, how wretched! How frail is this human nature?

Tears began to stream down my cheeks.

My sister went in to sleep, and the food my father brought was on the table. Lamb, fries, salad, and a generous portion of rice in a container. My father mentioned it was my sister who specifically asked to pack the rice for me. It was cold, but it was delicious. Shoveling the lamb into my mouth, I talked with my father.

About my smallness, my weakness. The heartache. Wait, my father said something then.

“Yung, people who are just getting to know you might see you as eccentric.”

“But those who know you well? They love you. A lot.”

“I want you to know that, and I want you to love yourself too.”

I choked back tears. I had always thought of my father as an extension of myself, a source of unconditional love. Hearing him speak objectively, like a peer or a colleague, felt different. It felt strange yet profound.

The next morning, at dawn. I ate the provided breakfast for the hot air balloon tour with a reserved attitude. While eating, I could see the balloons rising cheerfully, as if they didn’t care about the state of our hearts.

We boarded the shuttle bus. Just before it pulled away, my sister spoke first. “I’m sorry. Let’s not fight. Let’s get along.” With those simple words, everything melted away. Dramatically. And almost anti-climactically. “Thank God.”

What if I had actually tumbled down that cliff yesterday?
How utterly futile that would have been.

I climbed into the balloon. No words were needed. A landscape that felt synthesized, something I’d never seen before. The sunrise. Other balloons. Mount Erciyes, standing nearly 4,000 meters tall.

The kind pilot. My father’s happy face. The crisp morning air at high altitude. A sense of liberation from conflict. Relief. Peace.

So what if my vessel is small? My father said he loves me, quirks and all. My sister specifically asked to pack rice for me. My friends keep calling back, no matter how many times I let them down.

Those hands were already there. I was the only one despairing over my own smallness—measuring the size of my vessel over and over again.

The mushroom rocks of Cappadocia fade into the distance below.
(The end.)