Please note that this post was originally written in 2016, and reflects a specific time in Istanbul’s history. Istanbul is a city that hasn’t encountered a situation like this since around this time, and is a place that, although I no longer live there, I would happily travel back to anytime. In fact, I recently wrote a guide on Istanbul travel tips to help people explore my former home.

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It's interesting, all day I've been desperate to find a moment to write something down - to begin to process what has occured this weekend in Istanbul. I didn't know what I had to say, and, frankly, I still don't, but writing has always been my way of deconstructing that which may, on the surface, seem like a rope far too tangled to ever again be useful. What I do know is that despite the fact that this was not the first bombing, or even the first "near miss" for me, this was different.

Istanbul is not a war zone, despite what the media might depict, but I'm also struggling to honestly say that you can live here now without incurring a certain amount of risk. I know that I love living here, but I also know that I would tell my family and friends not to visit at this time. Certainly, the large explosion outside of the Beşiktaş stadium is not emblematic of any sort of everyday experience here, but I'm also not necessarily shocked this occured. And that's painful to admit. Since the tumultuous times of the summer, I was relieved to see that violence and hostility hadn't yet made its way back into Istanbul, but I, like many others, was waiting with my eyes closed and fingers crossed. With yesterday's blast, I feel like I was jolted awake just shortly after I felt as if I could let my guard down. I was confronted head on with my own naivety.

I didn't just hear the bombs or feel the tremble in the concrete, I saw the blast from a vantage point which gave me an opportunity to see exactly what had happened, and made me wish I hadn't seen it at all. Let's be clear, this isn't a "woe is me" story. That would be selfish and ridiculous. I was, at the time, at an engagement party surrounded by 20 or so friends I've been blessed to meet. We were together, we were able to debrief what had happened, and we were safe...when many people weren't so fortunate. So, when writing this, it's not pity I want, and, when I think about it, I don't think it's pity that Istanbul needs. I suppose, in a sense, writing this is trying to figure out what it is that both Istanbul and I do actually need, and the acceptance that I may not have the answer to either question, nor the power to solve any problems if I did.

The flash of the bomb reached the 20th floor of the Marmara Hotel in Taksim like a devilish crack of lightning. The dim room was illuminated, and time seemed to stop as all of us tried to think of ways we could justify what we had just seen. With all our attention looking towards Beşiktaş, we saw another explosion (which I'm to understand was a suicide bomber) in Maçka Park, just to the left of the stadium. I took my phone out, took a picture of the stadium, and did what I could to warn people to steer clear. And, It also sunk in that the explosion I saw had just cost countless people their lives, and I was so close I could nearly smell the smoke.