My name is Tülin. It’s the name given to the halo of light that forms around the moon.
Like that gentle glow often overlooked yet always present. I am a beam of light that illuminates the night, guiding the way. No matter how deep the darkness, I remain. Just like the women who stand tall despite the shadows surrounding them.
Despite the storms that rage within us, despite the burdens placed upon our shoulders, we never stop creating, striving, or loving.
We, as women, were born to be light. As little girls, we were a guiding light for our parents; as mothers, we became the warmth of our homes. Yet, too often, we learned to dim our own glow in order to exist. When we shined too brightly, we were told we were blinding. When we spoke too much, we were silenced. When we stood our ground, we were called too much. We buried our sorrows, smoothed out our edges, softened ourselves but still, we found ways to exist.
We were forced to be strong because the world believed power belonged to those who shouted the loudest. But we speak a different language, one of grace, patience, and wisdom. In defiance of those who try to overpower us with fists, with rage, with entitled justifications, we show that even a whisper can change the world.
For centuries, our very existence has been questioned. Yet history has been written through our silent resistance.
Every day, in our homes, in our workplaces, on the streets, we search for our own moonlight. But there’s one thing we must never forget: We are already the light itself.
Like that faint glow encircling the moon slowly, perhaps unnoticed, but certainly, we will continue to illuminate the path forward.
Today, we shine once more. For the voices that go unheard, for the stories left unfinished, for those who have given up believing in themselves. Because we do not grow stronger in silence; we grow stronger when we share our light.
As the song goes:
“On the surface of the moon, I search for my own reflection.
I lessen the sorrow.”
