Who Is Güler Koca?

​“When the destiny’s arrow had been thrown it won’t be stopped by the shield of prudence”

For all that I have concealed but written without publishing, that hurt me but that I hid behind a smile, that angered me but that I kept inside. For all those incompatible worlds to which I belong. Miserable and pitiful for some, heroine for other but normal for who? I had to shift from quiet to sleepless nights where I was fighting to free myself from invisible bounds which were reducing me to be my own jailer. My prison walls were made of narrow-minded people who could not see beyond the disability. 

Did they know that my visual impairment was the least of my problems? 

A childhood stolen by a terrible violence which had taken possession of my intellectual and emotional world; and to have taken it to a place that no children should know about. My affective safety was ruined by parents who embodied the worth of matrimonial felicity. Torn between a violent and toxic father and an illiterate mother who as strong as the world, that I love so much. However, I was very angry at her because she was so submissive.

I was the youngest of a six sibling family. My mother and I were so close that I could not define the separation between our bodies and souls. I was only seen the world through her forty-years-old tired woman’s eye. My father should have been the third salutary piece in this ensemble, but instead of that he was destroying us, which made my mother and me even closer. 

When I was major, he came into my room in our high-rise flat, and told me that I could work in the toothpaste factory he said near our house. For him, putting caps on toothpaste tubes would be a reasonable task for a disabled person. I am not angry at him because being a rural immigrant workman he did not have the necessary resources to offer me other perspectives because my big brothers had been failing at school. However, I was upset because I realised that I was not part of a model family where everything is easy and who would accept and understand my disability and fight for me. 

When we were younger and my father would take us to the market my mother would left me in the car before going to the crowded stoles of fruits and vegetables thinking I would be a burden. I was showing her the contrary but it was tiresome. After my teenagehood I was very anxious. I was feeling like I had no oxygen and could not breathe. The Earth threatening to open up and swallow me forever. I decided to awake the one I really was before it was too late and before she was gone forever. 

I had to go through adversity. From all my nearly three decades of existence, I cannot remember any time when I did not have to move mountains to get what I desired. Life gave me much more that I expected. Realising a dream made me wanted to fulfill another far beyond my expectations.

Completing the studies of my dreams all over the world, running a Marathon, speaking the languages that I fancied for their beautifulness, learning to fly a plane, living and engaging in humanitarian projects in countries such as Fiji, Palestine, Spain, Costa Rica or Canada, and travelling to many more countries such as Kosovo, Colombia, India, and the US… I went all over the world and made uncommon encounters, while I was building my identity. All that before reaching a quarter of a century. 

I jumped from country to country as other people jump from relationship to relationship, doing more than flirting with my destinations. I gave myself completely without shame or pruderies revealing unknown parts of my personality. Back with the most beautiful present life could have given me: I have all the tools to realise my dream, become a writer.

From Caribbean’s to North America, from South Asia to pacific Ocean, people with all shades of skin colour, from all origins, from every social classes and every ages inspired me this project as if they needed it as much as me. Solitary and smiling, I was enjoying life as much as I could. However, I only did what a normal human being could do. 

I am not Zidane, Spielberg, or Mandela. 

Thus, it seemed obvious to me to tell my story not to satisfy people curiosity but as a gift or a rallying point. Just before my thirtieth birthday I have already so many things to share so why should I wait? Through my story, I would like to encourage people to make their life as they wish; to go beyond the boundaries that society set for them before their were born; to cure their anxiety by fulfilling their dreams; to get rid of their burden which sticks to them; to break free; to get better in the serenity of a starry sky. 

If we only focus on having an ideal life we forget to live the life as we want it. 

An ideal life does not mean to have a sumptuous house, a good wage, a quiet job and beautiful children playing in the back seat of a 4x4. Happiness is when you realise your dreams and in the quality of the relations you weave with other people and of the importance of our values in everything we are doing, and above all, the transformation of obstacles into added values to our happiness. 

If the night veil did not recover us there would be no day; Sun is rising because there has been a night. It is the sublime balance of our lives. 

The equal chances are only a fugitive joke. In this society where we judge a fish to its ability to fly, a cow to its ability to climb a tree, and a bird to its ability to crawl. In the system some of the people are bound to fail. The only thing you have to do is watching people fighting with their knowledge on TV shows. 

«Every one live, fattened, enjoy himself with the misery of someone poorer than himself. The scene changes, the background transforms, you go through different social classes and unfriendly ones, but passions stay the same, the same appetite stays on. In the bourgeoisie narrow flat as well as in the luxurious hostel of the banker, you find the same dirt and you bump against the inexorable. At the end …poor people are the soil on which grew the life harvest, the joys harvest that rich people enjoy and that they misuse so badly against us.» (A maid’s diary, Octave Mirabeau).

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Translation : Charlène Karlinski

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