A few days ago, I set out on a journey to Başak Village, a small but captivating place nestled on the slopes of high mountains in Malatya’s Hekimhan district. All along the way, I felt a sweet excitement inside me. It had been so long since I last visited the village, and stepping once again onto the land that held traces of my childhood filled me with a unique joy.
As soon as we reached the entrance of the village, a house caught my eye and left me in awe. It looked as if it was standing there just to carry the spirit of the past into the present. In its yard were old farming tools and historical items that reflected years of hard work. The streets were narrow, and the houses were built from adobe bricks. These mud-made structures made me forget the cold concrete of the city. In that moment, it felt like I had stepped into another time.
The air of Başak Village was unlike anywhere else. The wind flowing down from the mountains touched my soul, while the songs of birds and the serenity of nature gave me peace. But the main reason for my journey was to see my grandmother. When we finally reached her, the happiness in her eyes was worth everything. She was as joyful as a child when she saw us. She brewed tea, and we all sat together chatting. With every sip, the warmth of the village filled us as the steam of the tea rose into the sky.
At one point, I asked her about her animals. She once had cows, oxen, sheep, and goats. But as the years passed, the heavy work became too much for her. Now, only a donkey and a few chickens remain. Her words reminded me once again of the patience and effort that village life requires.
We headed to the barn to see the donkey. There it was, grazing freely among the greenery. I quickly saddled it up, and together with my friends 
What touched me most, though, was the sincerity of the people. Everyone we met greeted us with a smile and an invitation: “Come, have some tea, I’ve got cold ayran for you.” Such warmth is rare in big cities. When they asked me, “Whose grandchild are you?” I proudly replied, “I am Çavuş’s grandson.” At that moment, I realized that almost no one in the village was unfamiliar with my grandfather. He had been a livestock farmer for years, and his name was known not only in this village but also in the neighboring ones. I felt proud of him.
The view of Başak Village is something words can hardly capture. From the houses clinging to the mountainside, you can see every shade of green spread across the land. There’s one place in particular that everyone talks about: Lovers’ Hill. Legend has it that, long ago, young people of the village would meet there and declare their love. Even today, the name lives on. Standing there, gazing at the scenery, you don’t just see nature’s beauty—you can almost feel the stories of the past whispering in the wind.
That day became one of the most peaceful days of my life. The clean air, the heartfelt hospitality of the people, and the unique beauty of nature taught me a valuable lesson: happiness is actually very simple. Sometimes it’s sharing a cup of tea with your loved ones, sometimes it’s riding a donkey through village streets, or simply watching the view from a mountainside. The real secret is learning to cherish these little moments.
Başak Village didn’t just give me a beautiful day—it reminded me of my roots, my family, and my past. Perhaps the greatest journey a person can make is not to faraway lands, but back to their own origins.