“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinions start to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there -- fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge; they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.”

The 2003 Romantic comedy movie “Love Actually” opens with a scene in Heathrow Airport, with those words told by Hugh Grant, playing Britain’s prime minister in the movie. As shown in the opening scene, people hug each other and show their affection to their loved ones who they have been waiting for so long. The same scene takes place every day, every hour at JFK, De Gaulle, Tokyo International -- basically at every airport around the world.

But a very different scene took place at Istanbul Atatürk Airport on the night of June 28th. Instead of waiting for planes to land, hundreds of people waited for ambulances to arrive. Instead of tearing up out of relief for finally getting back together, hundreds teared up out of despair while waiting to hear from loved ones, alive or dead.

For almost a year, whenever I go out my parents always warn me, “Don’t go to marches, don’t go to political events, don’t go to crowded places, don’t go to Taksim Square, don’t travel with public transportation, stay away from tourist groups, stay away from police cars (because they have been targeted by the terrorist group PKK)…” Maybe I have a choice not to go to these places, but airports are different. Especially as an international student studying in United States, I have to be at the airport at least four times a year. Airports are different because no matter where you hang out or live in İstanbul, what job you do or which social class you are a part of, nationality, religion, or political group you belong to, you travel. Everyone wants to exercise their freedom to travel. Everyone goes to the airport.

Airports have one more differentiating aspect from all these places I have mentioned earlier. Although they are public spaces where all people from different backgrounds are present, they are supposed to be one of the most highly secured places in the world. However, feeling safe at the airport is an emotion I don’t feel anymore.

“My mum was there four hours ago, my plane landed two hours later, I was going to be there today, if my plane hadn’t been delayed, I would be…” All these possibilities -- ifs and woulds -- show how he, she, you, me are all alive by coincidence. It shows how death is so close, so sudden and easy.

I don’t want to talk about Turkey’s internal and external enemies emerging as a result of erroneous policies. I don’t want to talk about the dysfunctionality of the Turkish intelligence service. I don’t want to talk about the hypocrisy of people and media on how differently they treat attacks in the West versus attacks in the East. I don’t have anything else to add on what already had been said about all these topics. I just want to talk about the feeling of despair.

Of course, death can always be unpredictable. You can die while driving home safely because of a car accident. You can die while happily dining with your loved ones because of a heart attack. You can die sitting in your house because of a sudden earthquake. But is it really “living” when you live with the fear of dying, constantly occupying your mind?

Since July of last year, a deadly terrorist attack has been happening nearly every month in two of the most populous cities of Turkey -- one being the capital, and the other the city I live. This fear is very real when I’m in Turkey, but it doesn’t go away when I fly back to United States. There came a time when I was afraid to wake up. I was afraid to wake up to more devastating news. I was afraid to wake up one day, with messages of condolences. And despair. Despair not only because you have no control on what is going on a terrorist’s mind, but also because you have no control over politics.

Because it is happening over and over again, we, the Turkish people, have memorized the sequence of events following an attack. First, a news notification comes to our phones, saying that a big explosion happened in a certain area recently. Then, other notifications follow, stating the number of deaths and wounded. We immediately go to Facebook to learn more, because it is the most reliable source nowadays unfortunately. Then we learn that a broadcasting ban has been put forward. No more information or explanation, just a ban. So we seek information on social media. Then, the government blocks the social media, too. After a couple of hours, authorities make a speech, cursing terrorism but stating the obvious fact that there hasn’t been any negligence in security or intelligence. No one resigns, apologizes, or even feels guilty. The next day an opposition party makes an offer in the parliament to thoroughly investigate the attack. But, of course, that offer is denied by the votes of the government party members. Lots of questions, no answers.

Something is going on, involving some people’s interests and other people’s lives but we, as regular citizens, can’t do anything about it. And that feeling of despair drives me crazy.

So here we are, alive by coincidence in a world where, “Love actually is all around,” remains only as a cheesy quote from a romance movie.