It was not a gentle awakening; it was a splash of cold water in the face for the public and the government alike. It woke me up to the latent political frustrations of the Turkish people, in the most unexpected and humbling way. Living in the midst of what felt like a revolution, it was difficult not to be affected by the emotions of tens of thousands of people demonstrating in the streets just outside. More tangibly, it was impossible not to be affected by the daily clouds of tear gas. Living through the Gezi protests was like teetering on the edge of a constant cliffhanger; no one knew what was going to happen next, and that was strangely thrilling. It was a period of intense uncertainty, but it made me much more certain about my feelings as a Turk because I was living through a dramatic period of change along with everyone else. It was a time of solidarity, when people communicated, collaborated and marched together for political change, with all the humour and courage and determination I should have expected from my years of observing Turks from the sidelines.The movement had a strong communal mentality, a hivelike sense of purpose that kept it alive for much longer than anyone anticipated.
