One a recent evening I stood on a curb in Levent, awaiting the right bus to arrive and transport me home. I was taking frequent deep sighs and inducing shallow yawns. Although I’ve never before had asthma, managing asthmatic symptoms–shallowness of breath, the oxygen seemingly caught in my throat–is becoming a daily chore. In terms of air pollution, Istanbul is one of the most polluted cities in the world, and it has been getting to me. Recently spending the better part of a week in Tehran, an even more polluted place than Istanbul, might not have helped matters.
While I tried to regain my breath, I pondered the sunsetty sky. It was purple gradating cleanly and indecipherably into pinkish hues.
“The same dirty air that is sabotaging my lungs,” I thought, “is creating the beautiful colors of the sunset.”
How many things in life are like this–creating suffering and beauty at the same time?