In 2025 I learned that reconciliation is less about a grand apology than a shift in perspective
F
orgiveness isn’t a destination. It’s a journey. Mine began on an escalator at Berlin Brandenburg airport. It was a Sunday afternoon. I was heading up to the check-in counters for my return flight to Istanbul, where I’ve lived for the past few years. On the other side, people were heading down – fresh off flights into Berlin. I was daydreaming, my eyes drifting across bags and figures, when I paused at a brown leather bag and a light linen suit. Charming travel outfit, I thought. Relaxed. Timeless. Someone must’ve had a lovely weekend, maybe somewhere on the Mediterranean. I only saw the man’s face as he passed me – and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
I knew him. He was my father.
Had he seen me, too? Unlikely. Who expects to run into their estranged daughter, whom they haven’t seen in years, on an airport escalator? For a moment, I thought about turning around, going back down, catching up with him and simply saying hello. But there was too much between us for a casual hello. And somehow, I liked the almost cinematic quality of the scene. We had, unknowingly, shared a moment – one that was tender, peaceful.
