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How many cities can a person change? For the sake of love. How many mountains can be crossed? How far can one go to make their eyes meet? How fast can one go to arrive sooner? How many strokes can one take in the sea they know as a harbor? How many oceans can a person cross? How many days can they whiten, how many nights can they turn into mornings? How many places can a person change because they are not a tree? How many steps can they take away from their loved one, but not being loved in return? How many people can they know? How many clothes can they wear out? How many ideas can they change, how many movies can they watch to forget?

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Two years after I was born, in 1960, the country's prime minister and two ministers were executed. In the 70s, I was a middle school student. I witnessed the massacre of Mahir Çayan and his comrades in Kızıldere, as well as the executions of Deniz, Yusuf, and Hüseyin. During my high school years, my political awareness began to develop. It was a time when I dreamed of revolution every night, only to experience disappointment each morning. My school after high school was Adana Education Institute (1976-1979). The stones paving the way to the September 12 fascist coup had long been laid. I was a student between 1976 and 1979. Massacres, assassinations, deaths... it was the most tragic years of my life. It was a period when the suffering, whose reasons and purposes were incomprehensible, intensified. It was also a time when I was giving blood every night, years when my blood was running out. On September 12, 1980, following the fascist military coup, thousands of people were arrested, thrown into prisons, exiled, and massacred. Executions, disappearances, and deaths from torture became normalized; it was a time when the state officially shed blood. It was an era where informants thrived, and everyone snitched on each other. However, those years were also marked by resistances that elevated human dignity. In the early years of my teaching career, I encountered the junta. While the junta was instilling terror, I was a teacher; I was among the professions that suffered the most. These were the years when I witnessed the demise of my colleagues who fell victim to the junta's wrath. Erzurum and Van, the 1980s. They were bad years. The 1990s passed with witnessing unsolved murders and inhumane practices in prisons. We are all experiencing the years after the 2000s together these days. As I see what is happening now, I can't help but think, ""I wish I had fought for human rights instead of a revolutionary struggle.""

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