May 5, 2010
Take 7: On this day in 2009...
I hadn't been that happy all year long.
Delightedly gliding my hungry eyes over the stark nakedness of my room, I called a friend to let him know I was ready. Ready to take flight; ready for nights full of warmth and laughter, music and dancing, friends and family, tears and passion, glances and stares; ready for nights which started late and ended too late; ready to sleep in my own bed again, surrounded by my red walls, books I've cherished as uncovered hidden treasures, overt yet subtle hints of friendships and acquaintances sliding in and out between the memorabilia covering every inch of the dark rick cherry-colored wood...
I was ready to go home.
I still remember the cropped pants and boots; the long argyle socks I'd made sure to pack somewhere easily accessible, to cover with the few inches of flesh peeking out from between the two; the blue shawl and gray shirt tucked away to be taken out before boarding for Tehran; the frilly smock that I planned to substitute for a manteau; the caramel macchiatos and blueberry muffins; the unbearable humidity which had brought with it the warmer weather I had longed for, yet been denied since the moment I stepped out of O'Hare on 9/3/08. It was May, the 5th, 2009, and I had a million pieces of luggage and not enough hands, my travel backpack that was dangerously close to dragging on the ground, and a return ticket to the arms of my dearests, to a city I love.
The flight to Istanbul was pure magic: A gorgeous and kind flight attendant who taught me to say "teşekkürler," switched my meal with a vegetarian one without complaining about my negligence in requesting one when making my reservation, and tried to make conversation despite his broken English during the 12-hour, nearly empty flight. I was so well-rested by the time I stepped out into Ataturk Airport that I merely smiled when I was told of the increase in my layover time. I found a small cafe, bought me some caffeine, and sat down to, well -um- homework. Pathetic, but I'd been in such a rush to get out of Northwest Indiana, and to make it in time to work at the Int'l Book Fair that I left well before the semester was over. Luckily, I realized that I hadn't packed my notes, couldn't write the paper, and started a random conversation with the stranger sitting next to me (a move I later paid back for with the single A- that ruined my 4.00 - yes, I'm a geek).
The book fair just started today in Tehran. Tehran, one of my two city, the one which I found myself crying rivers for, in anticipation of it's gripping embrace.The same city that I couldn't even walk around in when I was first forced to move there, despite my continuous bickering... An over-populated, highly-polluted metropolitan sprawl with no clear architectural planning in its design... An ugly city... home to 15 million people every day. The same city whose trees I'd fallen in love with once I lowered my guards and moved past my knee-jerk reaction of dislike for the non-pretty.
The plane's descent was accompanied by my inexplicable, dizzy tears, chocked back and silenced. I pulled my shawl up to my head, using its soft tassels to cushion my tears' suicidal falls... A billion shimmering lights twinkling in the valleys and mountains down below, the buildings seemingly stretching on infinitely... The faint smell of smog evading my soul once again...
I was home.
But, this year, there is no home. There are phone calls from home, talks with all the usual suspects. My dad who told me it's just this one year, and promised they'd come visit me instead. My mom who still insists I shouldn't worry about money, that they'll pay for everything, and that financial independence is overrated anyway.
My sister who spoke to me of her first day at this year's Book Fair, and of all my former coworkers: Davoud, the philosopher, who had added a beard to the mustache I absolutely loved on him, and will maybe one day decide to marry; Elham, my beautiful, dainty partner in crime with whom we sold the classics and the poetry; Javad and Sadra who'd been joined this year by their brother Reza; Mahya who was working alone in Saba's absence this year; and Momeni, aka Meimoon Derakhtiye khodemoon, who is still as annoying as, and this year more protective of her than ever.
I wonder if he'll be back. The boy who I sold Camus' "The Stranger" and Constant's "Confidence for Confidence" to, along with a copy of Homer's "Iliad and Odyssey" for his cousin. The one who came back the following night and bought a second copy of Homer's masterpiece, then held up a book for me to see, asking if I'd read it, and proceeded to leave it on the counter while walking into the crowd, telling me he'd bought it for me. I ran after him with my flip-flop-less feet, the same ones he'd commented on a few times... I asked him his name. Young and foolish, he promised me we'd meet again, that names meant nothing.
He said he'd be back this year. I wonder if he really will...
I won't be back. I'll be here, packing my things, anticipating another empty apartment, feigning permanent residence till the day I pull on my traveling backpack, denying the simple truth that I'll have to bid farewell to the people I've come to love out here...
There's nothing sweet about parting. There's just something very sorrowful to those sweet moments of reunion.
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On this day in 2010, I finally changed the timestamps, so they'd reflect GMT -06:00 instead of GMT +03:30... I'm now living on the wrong side of the equation.
Labels: nostalgia, Tehran, yada yada
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May 4, 2010
Take 6: Purposefully Intended Distraction
Breathe in... a flash of freshly cut grass.
Breathe out... flip-flops kicked aside.
Breathe in... dewy green tickling in between my toes.
Breathe out... wet yoga pants for an hour.
Breathe in... let go of all your mental blocks.
Breathe out... focus on your intent.
Breathe in... so which are you?
Breathe out... who's blocking who?
Breathe in... what's your purpose for being here?
Breathe out... remember, purpose; not goal.
Breathe in... you're merely a distraction.
Breathe out... you're invading my world.
Breathe in... I entertain thoughts of clouds.
Breathe out... flying on dandelions made of cotton candy.
Breathe in... I block me on my way to you.
Breathe out... you stare and stare and stare.
Breathe in... flowers embrace the morning's song.
Breahte out... feathers catch on my breath.
Breathe in... you break past my walls.
Breathe out... the light shyly shines through.
Breathe in... the music fades out.
Breathe out... Namaste.
Labels: NWI
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May 3, 2010
Take 5: Kizmet
We finally got the coffee together.
We've talked a lot in the past, and I didn't quite see what role the coffee would play -why it was given one at all.
For some strange reason though, it made all the difference... she said words I'll always carry with me in my blue backpack. The one that's adorned with the MBKs my sister designed; the same one that has latched on to a conspicuous green ribbon I hope it will one day be able to let go it's grip on... one day soon...
I think for once I listened more than I spoke -never an easy task. I was relieved to hear the words I've only ever dared think flow from someone else. Someone who I have the utmost respect for... the same someone who told me some day very soon I'd have to choose a method of writing, and reassured me that I have what it takes to do so in a creative fashion. Close enough to graduation to not really care anymore, I disclosed to her how I had rarely read the texts I was assigned to throughout my studies... I shared with her how I would only read a few pages and then conjure up the rest in my head; and then I braced myself for criticism -which astonishingly never came. She said it's to be expected, she said I have my own world, one which parallels the real one, one in which I imagine things as they should be, not as they are...
She read me, she made sense of me in a way that I have never been able to make sense of anyone, and she left me with thoughts of me on my bicycle, dancing up and down a bridge, swimming around my head. She said I had to find a way to move back and forth between the creative end and the rational end; that the best of them can only settle somewhere in the middle and compromise between the two. She spoke of its difficulties, she spoke of the many times she'd ran out of breath and wanted to simply settle down at one extreme, but the most important part, she left unsaid. She needn't have uttered a word for me to understand what it was that made it all worth it... she herself embodied all that can be achieved by taking this tortuous route.
As I thanked her for the coffee, I felt her not passing on a torch, but allowing me to light mine in her presence. I 'm desperately tired; yet so ready.
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- I miss writing. Schoolwork doesn't count.
- I miss writing about anything and everything, even senseless blabber that I need to empty from my mind. Even confuzzling abstract stories like Take 4 which revolve around a central character I probably wholly despise and consider worth nothing, especially not the time spent writing/reading about them.
- I miss my aimless wandering which allowed me to walk in the real world and think in my imaginary one - hopefully that will be remedied in a few weeks.
- I miss the pre-Facebook days, for its mere existence has led me to distrust those who beg for attention via cryptic messages (and more painfully, via blatant ones as well) and therefore I have inadvertently stopped using them. I nearly cried not being able to post the status I wanted to on Fb today, the only place you might read it, after... I need an output.
- I miss being younger and thinking the world revolved around me and my friends. It doesn't, evidently. So please, stop coinciding things. I'm too exhausted for mind games. Talk.
- I miss him, but that's over and I know it. I just have to remind myself to care enough to care enough about someone again.
- I miss having all the details to look back on. I wrote every little thing when I first started out at college, and have hilarious tales which light up my face with a mere review. I have written nothing about my experience as a graduate student. Thankfully, I'm being given a second chance to make-up for it.
- I miss being home. There's no way to get around that.
- I miss you.
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