The Beginning
I can’t imagine anything more terrifying than opening up my heart to the world. And yet, I can’t imagine anything more freeing than doing just that. If you’re reading this right now, it means I’ve faced my fears and taken the long-overdue, yet deeply awaited step of sharing what’s closest to my heart: the transformative journey of my soul.
It’s by taking that first step—no matter how small—toward our dreams that we begin to walk the path that is uniquely ours, leading us to the most fulfilling life we’re meant to live. In honor of this first step, my first blog post on my first website, I’d like to share with you the first chapter of my first book.
The Beginning
Life, to me, is as strange as it is magical. The sheer reality of our existence—being here on this earth, able to do anything, become anyone, or experience endless wonders—fills my heart with joy and ignites my spirit. I wake up each morning thrilled to discover what the day will bring, savoring each small privilege life offers while I’m here. Whether it’s the warmth of sunlight on my face, the beauty of good music, or an unexpected, heartfelt conversation with a stranger, every moment holds something precious. The simple act of being alive in this extraordinary universe feels almost like a miracle. I think this intense love for life comes from a deep transformation I experienced the past couple of years. I’d discovered the beauty in simply existing and, for the first time, had found within myself the power to consciously create a life that brings happiness and fulfillment to my soul. I no longer let insecurities, fear, or lack guide my choices. Instead, I lead with self-awareness, faith, and love.
This hasn’t always been the case for me. I’ve also known the opposite, times of deep depression when I felt completely lost, disconnected from myself and life. I think that's why I can so fully appreciate the energy I’m in now. Life is defined by contrasts—only through darkness do we truly understand light. This reminds me of a poem by Rumi, my favorite poet and a profound spiritual guide:
"God created pain and sorrow
so that happiness might reveal itself by contrast.
Hidden things become clear
through their opposites:
since God has no opposite, He remains hidden (Al-Batin)."
— Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi, Mathnawi
A few years ago, I was living on autopilot, just going through the motions—studying, working, navigating relationships—doing everything I thought was expected. I wasn’t truly mindful of what I was thinking, saying, or doing. It felt like sleepwalking: I was physically present but in a deep slumber emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. This routine was manageable for a while, until around age 23, when a feeling of dissatisfaction crept in. I continued with my same routine, yet what used to bring happiness didn’t feel the same anymore. The disconnect grew daily; outwardly, I was “doing everything right,” but inwardly, I felt lost. Despite appearances, I was deeply unhappy with myself and the life I was creating. I ignored my soul’s cries for attention until it began to take a toll on me, and I became unwell on every level. Looking back, I see that time as one of the darkest periods of my life. I felt completely disconnected, like I was drifting in space while everyone around me seemed anchored to Earth. They had purpose, direction, and a sense of belonging. They had dreams and certainty. I had none of that. All I knew about myself was that I existed, but even that felt empty. I had no idea how to begin building a life that would bring me happiness. Professionally, I felt lost. I’d recently quit my studies after realizing I saw no future in that field. I tried different jobs, drifting from one to the next until I ended up at home, burned out. My love life was also unraveling; I was in a toxic relationship that brought more pain than joy. My entire world seemed to be falling apart, and I couldn’t understand why.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go from here. What kind of life am I supposed to build for myself?” I broke down, the tears flowing freely. My father looked at me, calm and unwavering. “You don’t know where to go because you don’t know who you are,” he said. “And you don’t know who you are because you don’t know where you came from.” Those words marked the beginning of the most transformative journey of my life. When my father told me I didn’t know myself, I nearly laughed. “What do you mean I don’t know who I am? Of course, I know myself,” I replied, defensive. Calmly, he looked at me and said, “Alright, then tell me who you are.” So I rattled off my name, job, city, and hobbies.
He listened, then replied, “I didn’t ask for your name or your profession. I asked who you are.”
And he was right. I didn’t know. The traits I thought defined me—my job, name, hobbies—were just superficial labels that countless others could share. They were shallow, easily interchangeable. I didn’t know who I was beyond those surface descriptors; I had no real grasp of what I wanted, what truly mattered to me, or what I was capable of.
For a while, I continued drifting, barely aware of myself, until the toxic relationship I clung to finally ended. Though it had caused me more pain than joy, its end shattered me. That was my breaking point. In the weeks that followed, the pain was overwhelming—I spent days consumed by grief. Where I once felt like I was floating in space, I now felt as if I’d been pulled into a black hole, with nothing left of who I thought I was. Amidst the darkness, I made a promise to myself: “I will never feel like this again.” I realized that I hadn’t simply fallen into this black hole—I had chosen the path that led me there. And though I didn’t know how, I vowed that my happiness would no longer depend on things outside myself.
Losing what I believed defined me exposed the emptiness inside, revealing how incomplete I had been without truly knowing myself. It was in that moment of realization that my father’s words from a few months prior resurfaced: I had no idea who I was as an individual. Now, facing the reality of my disconnection, my lack of self-awareness became painfully clear. I knew I never wanted to feel as lost as I did then, but I couldn’t understand how I had arrived at this point. What part of me had allowed this to happen? Which choices had brought me here? How do I make sure I never end up here again?
"Aylin," my father had said, "you don’t know where to go because you don’t know who you are. And you don’t know who you are because you don’t know where you came from."
At the time, I hadn’t grasped the full weight of his words, but now their depth was clearer. So, I embarked on a journey. Determined to uncover the experiences that had shaped me, I spent the following years deepening my connection with my own history, in order to find my path to a fulfilling future.
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