I’m always humbled by displays of religious devotion. Whether it’s pious Muslims standing, kneeling and bowing in unison to the song-like prayer of the imam or heartbroken Catholics weeping at the tomb of Pope John Paul II, I am moved by their faith. I’m highly spiritual, but far from churchgoing, and observing others worship is the closest to religion I come. Yet, sometimes, I’m envious of believers’ unwavering devotion, of their ability to communicate with a higher power that assuages all fears and fortifies all weakness. Sometimes I wish I knew how to pray. I offer devotions everyday, but my supplications are surrendered to the wind and I can only hope that they reach their target. It would be nice, every once and a while, to get proof of delivery. On the island of Büyükada in
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