Musings on culture, technology, media, politics and the intersections between them


Read Next

A test for would-be #WarriorPrincesses: Which of the following are Hemingway quotes and which are Prince quotes?

Betcha can't get 8 out of 15.

1. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name

2. Too much freedom can lead to the soul's decay.

3. Broaden your ass if not your mind

The New Constantinople

On Imported Blog

After four tireless, sometimes unbearable years of journalism school, I didn’t think I would be the millennial who couldn’t find work. The current unemployment rate in the United States is roughly seven percent, 14% for young people.

I’m an impatient girl. It’s natural for me to lose sleep or disregard advice from elders when I feel that I’m deserving of merit. This summer wasn’t easy, particularly. I left my comfortable three-bedroom apartment in New York City for the spellbinding lifestyle of a foreign correspondent in Istanbul, the cultural capital of Turkey. My arrival came at a turning point for the inhabitants of Turkey. On May 31st, a civil revolt ensued.

Three weeks prior to the protests across Turkey’s largest cities, the government signed a bill to allow the demolition of nearly 600 trees and installation of 19th century army barracks at Gezi Park – the hub of Taksim Square. The square (no relation to Times Square) was a two-bus ride away from my dormitory. But the pressure from polis to allay foot traffic at Taksim made the commute a nightmare. My translator and I would board a bus that drove past the construction site of Istanbul’s Besiktas futbol stadium and footed the remaining dusty, crooked sidewalk.

Feeling like I was melting each time, there was a subtle right turn that signified I arrived. Standing across the street from Gezi Park and ogling at the draping of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk – leader of the Turkish War of Independence who modernized several reforms for the nation including women’s suffrage – this would be home for the next month.

My place of solace was in Besiktas – a young area with Western undertones. Before I give you the skinny, here’s a briefing of how I got there. I first learned of the internship abroad program in a mass e-mail sent by the internship coordinator at Stony Brook’s School of Journalism in Long Island, NY. I forwarded the message to my father (essentially, giving him a nudge) and promised myself that I would end up in one of the program’s following destinations.

Rendering New Theme...