Retirement in Turkey used to be described like this: You work for years. Then you take your morning tea and sit in front of the window.
You read the newspaper slowly.
You watch the street.
When the grandson comes home from school, you open the door.
In the evening, you can set up a café or work on the flowers on the balcony.
Time takes its time. Neither do you.
Retirement is about slowing down a bit.
It is a bit of remembering.
It's a little bit like saying I don't have to catch up anymore.
Then one day the system tells you, "Good luck. You have retired. Now try to make a living.
Today the picture is different.
You work for years. Then you start calculating the end of the month.
The difference seems small. But it is not.
Turkey is getting older. The population over 65 is no longer a statistical footnote. It is the very center of life. There is a retiree in every apartment, in every family, in every neighborhood.
And for many, old age is no longer a time of rest. It is a time of resistance.
The hunger limit is over thirty thousand liras. The lowest pension is around twenty thousand liras. This is not a theory. It is a simple subtraction.
Rent expense.
The invoice goes away.
The medicine goes away.
What remains is administration.
He used to give pocket money to his retired granddaughter.
Now, grandchildren download mobile banking, remind their grandparents of their e-Government password and make hospital appointments.
I watched an uncle stand in front of a shelf in a supermarket. He picked up the product, looked at the price, put it back. He looked for a cheaper version of the same product.
This was not a transaction.
This was a strategy to hold out until the end of the month.
In Turkey, old age is no longer about walking slowly. It means living carefully.
It's not a vacation plan. It's a billing plan.
Not a hobby. It's an account.
The most striking thing is this;
nobody shouts.
Our elders don't make dramatic statements. He buys half a kilo from the market. He takes one less sugar in his tea. But for the guest, he puts full. He cuts himself.
And here's the irony;
The quietest generation carries the heaviest burden.
The issue is no longer just how the pensioner manages, but what kind of life the state allows its pensioners to lead.
Because the conscience of a country lies in the standard of living of its quietest generation.
My wish is this;
Let old age in this country mean rest again.
Let retirement be a period of peace, not a struggle to make ends meet.