VOICES columnist Amy Idem, originally from Lancashire, lives with her husband and three children, in Idil, in Turkey’s southeastern province of Şırnak. She writes about her cultural and life experiences here, and on her blog:

 https://memyselfandidil.wordpress.com/

I sit on my father-in-law’s balcony at night time, I can see the whole of İdil in all its glory. It looks stunning from up here at night time. An array of coloured lights and different sized buildings. It also looks peaceful.

An outsider would have no idea what is happening beyond the tall apartment blocks and down the side streets, an outsider would believe that İdil is untroubled.

I recently had my coffee cup read by a Syrian lady: I have never been a big believer in that sort of thing  but I went along anyway, curious more than anything and everything she said rang true.

It included things that nobody but myself would know. She told me there is a man that looks out for me, that when he is around I feel safe and that I could trust with my life. That man is my father in law.

I usually feel a sense of utter calm and peace when around him, particularly at night time when we all sit on the balcony drinking tea. But this time it’s different.

I notice fireworks in the distance and the children are so excited, awed by their explosive bright colours.

I have never been a fan of fireworks, this time even less so, as I know they are not being used as part of a celebration as would be the case back in the UK. They are being used as weapons against the supposed opposition. I feel the fear rising in my chest and no matter how hard I try to quell it, it persists.

Then comes the gunshots, one after the other fired in quick succession, they are distant but I still feel myself somewhat intimidated.

I look over to my husband, who is a picture of calm, as though this is a completely normal thing to face in day to day life.

At this moment I am reminded that for him it is indeed normal, he grew up with this.

Not for the first time, I wonder to myself if we are indeed returning to darker times in İdil, like the times when my husband and his family were forced to evacuate their villages time and time again.

We continue to sit on the balcony and chat about all manner of things, when a much louder noise comes. There is no doubt in my mind that this was an explosion of some description. It is followed by a stream of red lights, seemingly being fired into the air somehow.

My husband stands up abruptly and ushers myself, his father and the children inside while explaining this is a warning that civilians should go inside to safety as things are about to step up a notch.

We decide to go home at that point, we have left windows open and it is inevitable that soon enough tear gas will engulf the town.

I marvel at how unaffected I am by all these goings on, as despite that earlier feeling of fear, I feel distinctly unconcerned at the goings on on the other side of town.

Perhaps it is because of the distance, I doubt I would be as confident if the same things happened in our neighbourhood. Perhaps it is myself becoming more and more accustomed to the ongoing fighting.

I still feel safe enough here. Currently attacks are not being carried out on civilians and I hope that will continue to be the case.

As although I do complain regularly about the shortcomings of the town I live in, I have become attached to the place I now call home and struggle to imagine having to leave everything behind and start over again in a new place.

At the moment, it is just a waiting game.