Stuck, not silent
I haven’t been able to write for a while. Yes — it’s not that I’m not writing, it’s that I can’t write. When I look back at my old pieces, it feels like someone else wrote them. How did I find that strength, that inspiration, that will to write back then?
Usually I wrote when I was at my lowest. Writing was what pulled me out of the pit; when I felt down, it distracted me. Now, though, I feel like I’ve never written at all. This piece is more like thinking out loud — contentless, meaningless, scattered.
Growing up in a certain psychology
My life wasn’t spent in big battles, but it grew under the psychology of a developing Turkey. Working was always important. I never wanted more than necessary, but people around me always wanted more. Fortunately, I didn’t grow up as a consumer. I didn’t grow with a love of material things; I grew with a reverence for knowledge.
I never cared about being top of the class. I didn’t see life as a competition, yet I was always trying to prove something to myself. When I didn’t understand something, I kept at it until I did. I couldn’t rest until I understood. That’s how I threw myself into university. There, learning was more important than just passing courses. Years later I realized I had built a solid foundation, though by society’s metrics I wasn’t necessarily “successful.” Why do we equate success with numbers?
Engineering and drift
I wanted to study electronic engineering since childhood. But once I started, I had no idea what I wanted to do. School ended and I drifted. Working life never fit me. So somehow I arranged a master’s and came to Germany.
It was here that I started to focus more on writing, because when I arrived I fell into a big void. The question that kept circling in my head was: So, now what?
A master’s felt like a rescue; living in Europe was my dream. I came — and then what? So, now what?
Silence after the noise
In Istanbul life was a rush. Everything moved fast, constant content flowed from the environment. There was a lot of noise — like an old radio where most of what you hear is useless static. When I moved to Germany that stopped. Content — and silence. That silence pushed me into a deep emptiness. For a long time I wondered what to do with that silence, how to cope with myself. I kept making a goal: finish school and then enjoy life. School ended — and again there was a void.
How do people work and feel satisfied? How do they settle into family life and be content? I never understood. Life feels so meaningless that I can’t explain it. The goals I made up were what kept me alive, yet I never reached them.
Pandemic and numbness
Then the pandemic happened. I realized how much my long solitude and my fight with silence had strengthened me. I had already lived through similar quietness before; the pandemic’s isolation felt almost like a holiday. Still, the sense of meaninglessness didn’t go away.
Around that time I had a traffic accident. The car was wrecked; I remember getting out. It felt like nothing had happened. I felt no sadness, no pain, no shock. Later I saw a psychologist — they said I was very rational, that I somehow reined my emotions in. They gave exercises, but nothing worked. I couldn’t feel. The only feeling I had was indifference: the thought of whether to throw myself in front of a train or not. I had nothing to lose, but causing pain to those left behind felt like the worst selfishness. That thought kept me alive.
Later, I narrowly escaped death again. I’d never felt so close to dying. That day I realized I loved life. The urge to throw myself in front of a train disappeared. In the void of meaning, I began to feel that the struggle itself gave me strength. I started to feel again.
Work, research, and the elusive technical path
Work has always mattered to me. In my ideal scenario I’d be working in a niche tech area — a research-focused role. Reality was different: I didn’t stay at the university and I didn’t get close to high-tech, except for my master’s thesis. The thesis period was the most productive, fun, and mentally relaxed time of my life. For that reason I was certain that’s what I wanted.
Years passed. I changed jobs three times. I drifted to different fields. I hardly worked as an engineer in the way I wanted; I was a project manager. In my first job I secretly designed electronic circuits and reduced costs — but I was eventually fired. In my second job the field was at least related; I tried to make the most of project management, learned a lot, and I wasn’t bad at it — yet it didn’t satisfy me.
When I decided I could do that job in any case, I also found the energy to chase my real wishes. Last year I spent all my vacations learning: online courses, practice, personal projects. My single aim was to change my job and get a technical role. I couldn’t even define precisely what “technical job” meant — I only knew it had to relate to what I did in my master’s. In that pursuit I became a kind of hobby generalist — a little bit of everything, but nothing completely. After more planning, I finally focused on one or two things and committed.
Hard year and family struggles
The second half of 2024 was rough. We lost someone in the family. My father faced serious health issues. I spent a month in Turkey to support them. Luckily, the worst didn’t happen. But during that period I felt many things: how close death can be, how meaningless desires can seem, how simultaneously distant and close I feel to my family, and the difficulty of being caught between two places.
That sense of being in-between — maybe that’s what I feel most. Between traditions, habits, identity, dreams, profession, culture, and knowledge. That in-betweenness causes a powerful sense of meaninglessness.
A new job and a rediscovery
When I returned from Turkey I was lucky to find a job. They took a chance on me as a software developer. I resigned from my previous position, took one month off — again learning and practicing — and started on April 1. When I began, I realized how irrelevant the previous job had been to me and how much it had drained me. I also appreciated my management experience: my ideas were good, my empathy high, and I wasn’t a bad manager. At the same time, I noticed how poor some of my managers had been.
A new job brought new excitement. Since April 1 I’ve been working intensely. I’m a full nerd: the workplace is a factory, and I’ve turned some of the home projects and the things I learned in my free time into parts of my job. But one thing is certain: I’m not an industrial person. When I reach a certain level and feel I’ve filled the technical gaps of the last five years, I will look for an exit again. That’s why I now spend my free time focused more on research topics. I feel I’m much closer to the goal.
The recurring indifference
Despite all this dedication, the same indifference returns from time to time. I face again that feeling I had when I first came to Germany: So, now what?
In the week I joined the company, I visited every department. One worker asked a good question: What do you expect from life?
I couldn’t answer. Money? Definitely not. Fame? Not that either. Family and a stable life? No. A stable life feels like death to me. More population? No. Loneliness? Even if I preferred it, no. Success? Not that — and actually I don’t even know what success means.
I thought for a long time. In the end we constantly invent goals to survive; we chase them. Most are empty dreams. When you look closely, they make no sense.
Sometimes I envy people who are content with life, who don’t overthink, who go to work and fill their free time with material pleasures. But I know I can’t live like that.
A cloud of meaninglessness
Everything for me is a cloud of meaninglessness. Joys, sorrows, good memories, bad memories — I am indifferent to them. My inability to write comes from this. I didn’t fully live the do this, achieve that phase of life; I passed through without properly feeling it. Now I live the what now phase. I have no desires, no expectations. I have lost interest in both past and future.
bahadirhancicek 
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