I’ve Just Learned the Meaning of the Word "Seclusion"
I’ve Just Learned the Meaning of the Word Seclusion
Inner Pages: Letters From Ali Baran Y.
April 16, 2025
A Page from This Week
First and foremost, a thank you and, perhaps, an apology.
After my last letter, many of you wrote to me. You shared your thoughts, feelings, and the silences in between. It was incredible to read them, to feel seen like that.
I didn’t quite know what I was doing when I sent that letter out. Maybe I still don’t. But I fear it might have broken a few hearts. I found myself in long email-writing sessions to explain, half-confessions and emotional spills I didn’t expect. Talking about those conflicts was good. One of my dearest friends from Valladolid, Arancha, told me something that stayed with me: it wasn’t just about care, she said — it was also about communication. And she’s right. I am aware of what I wrote in my last letter. Yes, I wrote Even the most open conversations can’t fix them. And I still believe there are situations without solutions. But even so, even then talking matters. So thank you, Arancha, for reminding me of that. For reminding me that care without communication might not be care at all.
I’ve just learned the meaning of the word seclusion in English. I already knew what it meant in Turkish, but I’d never really needed to know it in English. Which I found a bit strange, because I’m actually quite a fan of the whole idea: selling everything you own, moving to a quiet rural place of your choice, letting go of the values and anxieties tied to money and material things. Just breathing. Living for yourself.
I’ve always found the idea of seclusion romantic and, to be honest, a little privileged. Time is the most precious resource we have. If you have time for seclusion, it means you have enough power to pause life for yourself. That’s a kind of strength. When I was reading My Year of Rest and Relaxation, I caught myself thinking how lucky she was. Of course, her life is tragic, and the book itself is not exactly a pleasant experience to read (don’t get me wrong — it’s an incredible book), but still, it’s just a melancholic story. A bit of an emotional roller coaster. And yet… to me, she seemed lucky. Powerful, even. She could quit — and shit on — her job, literally. She didn’t need to worry about rent or work. She could afford therapy, medication, and endless time. No bills. No rush.
She had the power to sleep for a year. That, to me, was admirable.
Sadly, I don’t have a house in the countryside. I don’t have the money not to think about money. I have to pay rent. I have to work as much as I can. I have to buy food for Toby. There are bills.
And yet, from time to time, I just want to try it. I want to rent a little house in the middle of nowhere and go there with almost nothing. Just books, notebooks, clothes, and Toby too, of course. Move there with my tote bag. No phone. No laptop.
Write my newsletters from the public library’s computer.
It’s something I’d like to try one day.
Right now, it doesn’t seem possible at all, but maybe I can begin with smaller steps.
Who knows?
One of the most compelling and interesting things I read this week was a piece about someone who chose seclusion — not as an escape, but as a stance. A life away from technology, or at least the attempt. What struck me most was the quiet contradiction: making a living through social media, trying to meet the demands of book agents, all while advocating for disconnection.
It was a strange, tender kind of rebellion.
My Year of Tech and Relaxation by August Lamm
An essay about one woman's attempt to promote her anti-tech message, only to get sucked deeper into a world of tech hell...
Notes to Self
Many places have been closed due to Semana Santa, and I’ve taken a short break from my tutoring classes. Because of that, I haven’t wanted to focus on too many things during this quiet stretch. Instead, I’ve been spending time working on Desponia’s story.
Last week, I mentioned the English speaking club and we actually held our first session. It went really well, and I truly enjoyed it. I hope to organize more of these gatherings in the future, maybe even try out a few online, in different formats. If you’d ever like to join, feel free to write to me. Maybe we can even shape something together.
Would you choose a life without the internet?
That’s it for this week — thank you for spending a little time with Inner Pages. It means the world that you’re here, reading these words. If something in this letter resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts — just hit reply.
If you enjoyed this, consider forwarding it to a friend who might like it too. Sharing keeps this little space alive and growing. And if you’d like to support my work in other ways, you can buy me a coffee or simply keep reading — that’s more than enough.
Until next time, keep wandering.
Ali Baran Y.