Shabnam

Regret

2021-04-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

What a horrible thing regret is, absolutely horrible. It makes you feel so helpless, powerless and filled with despair. Why? Because there is absolutely nothing you can do about the past and how you have behaved, what you have done or said, what you have not done or not said, etc. How do you deal with regret? The short answer is to acknowledge it, accept it, and move on. Really, what else can you do?

I guess it comes with age, the whole concept of looking back at your life, analyzing it to death, dwelling over every single decision you've ever made and picking at every road you have chosen and all the ones not chosen at the crossroads of your life.

I myself acknowledge the right decisions and feel grateful for the correct roads that I've taken, but the dwelling and obsessing is mainly over the wrong decisions and the wrong roads taken. Why do we do that to ourselves? The regret over the bad overweighs the gratitude over the good. Too many points are taken away for the wrong doings and not enough given for the jobs done right.

Regret is the worst feeling because it comes with blame, blame of oneself. That's why it eats at you and eats at you until you are drained and all that is left is self doubt and perhaps even self hate.

Sometimes its as simple as I should have ordered the hamburger instead of the pizza or I should not have worn these shoes to this event or why did I just waste my time on this shit movie. Sometimes its a bit heavier like I should not have let her treat me that way or why didn't I speak up when I should have or I wish I hadn't taken that time for granted. Then it becomes heavier and heavier like I should have been a better daughter or I should have choses a different career or I should have should have should have should have. Should have, could have, would have, the past is gone, that chance is gone, all that's left is regret.

You may not get a chance now to speak up when you should have many years back or go back and not take that time for granted, but on the other hand now you know to order the pizza instead of the hamburger, wear different shoes next time, or even become a better daughter if you still have a chance. I guess what comes out of this is that perhaps regret gives way to learning and adjusting and changing where and when possible.

Perhaps most of our regrets are from early on in our life because we were inexperienced and didn't know any better (I mean how could you know? Listen to your elders? oh please!) As time goes by new regrets over big things become less and less because we have learned and adjusted and even grown. Therefore we make less mistakes. We end up actually making the right decisions more and more. Yes, the daily low level regrets still exist such as I should have eased up on the botox a bit or maybe I should not have watched nine episodes of Outlander in one day (sometimes we just never learn). But regret over major decisions and just bad behavior or which road to take become less and less. This is due to wisdom and experience.

So if it makes you feel any better, know that you have already made your biggest mistakes and have already gone down the wrong roads a long time ago. It's less likely that you'd repeat it or find yourself picking the wrong roads to go down on again. Your new mistakes will probably be too small to make you filled with regret and dwell and obsess over it later. As for me, I plead young age and ignorance for all of my early mistakes and the regrets that come from it. However, as for my new mistakes I can only pledge insanity because as we all know, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

What's in a name

2021-04-28T10:28:00.002-07:00

When I told him my name I didn't see any reaction in his face, not one which I was used to anyway. No look of confusion or struggle or annoyance. His reaction was of a matter of fact as he had heard my name a thousand times before. He simply and happily repeated my name with ease and did so exactly how it was meant to sound. The feeling that those ten seconds of interaction gave me was so overwhelming that it brought tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart, which later gave way to sadness and longing. He was just an old jeweler at a small store taking my name down for an order I was putting in. He wrote down my name without asking me how to spell it, without a hint of trouble, he just knew. What a pleasant feeling I had at that moment, what a sense of comfort, a sense of... belonging. I had said my name to him and he did not ask me any questions about it. He knew it, he knew where it was from, he knew how to say it, he knew it's meaning, he knew how to spell it. And I did not have to explain any of that to him, other than what my name was! I felt so connected to him at that moment that I forgot he was a stranger to me and I a stranger to him.

Ever since I was twelve years old I dreaded the moment when someone asked me what my name was. From teachers who found it a nuisance to have to pronounce it to office receptionists to sales clerks to baristas who butchered it without caring. The back and forth that followed, how I had to repeat it a few times, say it slowly and not exactly how it was meant to sound, how I had to spell it slowly and multiple times. How I had to answer a series of questions about it to the curious ones. Where was it from? What did it mean? And the one that I hated the most, Do I have a nickname that they could use instead? or even worse, can they give me a nickname? Some people would just not even bother and call me by my last name instead, and without even a prefix in front of it.

I guess I could have changed my name or given myself that highly demanded nickname everyone was desperately asking for and make everyone's life easier. Sure, I gave in and became "Sherri" or "Jackie" at times but that was mostly when I was interacting with someone who I'd never see again like when picking up my coffee or ordering Chinese food. Neither myself or the busy delivery guy had time for the dull and annoying name dance. But when I met someone who would be using my name more than once to address me I tortured them with the real one. Why did I always refuse to make the change? Was is pride? Stubbornness? Was it to keep the only connection I had to my origins? Maybe it was because my name was who I was. It was what my mom and dad called me from day one of my life, it was what my first friends called me. It was one of the first things I learned how to write which I wrote on top of every drawing I did as a little girl and every assignment I completed in elementary school. It was on all my hard earned degrees! Calling myself anything else would have made me an imposter. I guess I preferred to deal with the struggles of keeping it rather than changing it to a something else which would make me a stranger to myself.

The struggle with my name became a norm to me. It wasn't until I was in my native land for a visit and came across people who I had never met that could pronounce my name perfectly and had no questions about it. I was surprised at myself by the way I reacted to it with such intense emotions. It was then that I thought about how even those who had known me for years and called me by my name never really said it right, never said it with ease. I was faced with some questions of my own, could I ever feel close, really close, to someone who can't say my name right, the way it was meant to be said? That's not fair to those who try so hard to understand and pronounce it. Do I really feel closer to this man in the jewelry store taking my name down for an order than to a colleague of many years who I've shared so much with just because he knows of my name and pronounces it right? Could this be the reason why all the people who I have chosen to be friends with are native to my name? Would this be why I never even imagined marrying a man who was not native to my name? To think, being married to someone who doesn't say your name exactly the way your parents intended for it to be said!

This could be called "the diary of an immigrant"as I'm sure it isn't specific to just me. It's an identity crisis, the feeling of loss and longing and belonging. The struggle of fighting to keep a shred of who you are. The man in the jewelry store could say my name perfectly and beautifully. He knew what it meant and it didn't make him think twice about the kind of person I was. It wasn't odd or exotic to him, it didn't bother him nor did it have him make assumptions about me. He made me feel at home, yet not a home that I had known for decades, not a home which would ever really be home to me.

The Survey

2017-02-03T11:47:00.000-08:00

The graduate school professors would distribute two performance surveys per class, one in the middle of the course and another at the end. The questionnaires' purpose was to determine the professors' performance and the students' take on the quality of the class. The common practice was for the professors to take the surveys and review it on their own and with their superiors, taking praise or adjusting their work accordingly.

As I took the survey, I poured all of my frustrations on paper, stating that the professor takes her shoes off in class, exposing her Timberland socks, and puts her feet on the desk as she lectures. I wrote that she eats, be it her lunch or a snack, while she is speaking during class. I stated that she treats the classroom like her own private and personal living room and that she has no respect for the teaching environment. I wrote that her behavior is distracting and unprofessional and disrespectful. It felt good to be able to release all of the frustrations that had been building up in my chest throughout the duration of this particular class. I was happy that finally someone will tell this professor to be professional and stand up in front of class and talk instead of almost laying down on her back and talking like we are at a slumber party.

I so desperately wanted to suggest for her to get a new haircut, point out the dire need for her to dye her gray hair and to update her wardrobe from 1965. Even though these issues were distracting and frankly disturbing for me personally, I had to remind myself that this is not a fashion survey. I figured that not only it could not be argued that these fashion disasters affected her teaching or the class, but also it was very unlikely that the extremely liberal graduate school in Psychology in Washington State would give a hoot about these things, most likely finding them not only insignificant but insulting. And I surely did not want to be insulting!

The next day in class I learned that this particular teacher's procedure is to read all of the surveys out loud in class and discuss the feedback with the students. As she was reading my comments with a smirk, her tone was mocking. All of the other students in class mimicked her response with a high and mighty air. They all defended the teacher and every single person in the classroom knew who the writer of those comments was. As I sat there quietly and wishing for a giant hole in the ground to suck me down, I was in disbelief and utter shock that I was the only person there who was bothered by this professor's style.

I finished that class in misery.

An immigrant in first grade

2017-01-31T15:47:00.003-08:00

When I was seven years old, my parents decided that my mom and I would go to America and visit my sister and brother who where living there. The three of us could not visit America together because an entire family would not be granted a visa due to risk of never returning home. This way we would surely return since we could not leave my dad behind for good. So we went on our trip which ended up lasting one year!
As I was school aged, I was enrolled in first grade in America. Even though I had gone through first grade in Iran, my family decided that it was best for me to start fresh in America (a decision that set me back one year in my life). I did not speak any English, I had no background in the American school culture. At that time in America, immigration and children who did not speak English were not common so schools did not have any programs such as ESL. Also, teachers were not trained in working with such kids if any came across their classes. I was enrolled and attended school just like any other American child with no special assistance or consideration for my situation. I went through the motions in school every day not understanding the lessons, the instructions, the homework and basically what anybody was saying.
I remember my classroom, I remember my cubby, the stationary that I was given such as brand new shiny number two pencils. I remember the outside grass area and the playground, the bars that I did gymnastic moves on. I remember having no friends. But there are two things that I remember most vividly.
First of the two vivid memories is of two girls, friends who were always together, a blond with straight hair and a brunette with wavy hair. Every so often the two of them would approach me, the blond would stand inches away facing me, looking down into my eyes (she was a few inches taller than me) and aggressively moving her index finger in and out of my face, intensely saying things loudly. I did not understand what she was saying but I knew that they were mean words. The brunette would stand behind or next to her friend and watch.
Second of the two vivid memories is of a day that I had not completed an assignment that the teacher had given. One day I came to school in the morning that noticed that each student had brought in a large house made of cardboard. Apparently this was an assignment that I had missed because I did not speak the language that the teacher was speaking. There was a lot of excitement between the kids regarding their houses and the prize they were going to receive for completing it. My feelings however were shame and fear for not completing the assignment. Each student who made a cardboard house (all of the students in class) received a large red gummy cinnamon candy shaped like a bear. Naturally I did not receive one. Later in the day I saw one of those candies lying on the ground and thought about picking it up, but pride stopped me from doing it.

By the end of that year I understood and spoke English fluently as if I had been raised in America. When we went back to Iran I was enrolled in and attended second grade. My second grade teacher in Iran asked for a meeting with my parents in which she asked them to stop speaking to me in English at home (for practice), because my Farsi had developed an accent and she was afraid that the other children may make fun of me.

Golden Age Thinking

2016-03-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

Have you seen Woody Allen's movie called "Midnight in Paris"? Well if you have, then you know me well, because I am Gil… Gil is me. Just like Gil, I also want to live in the past, I too do not like the present and wish that I was born at a different time. At a time in the past, long long ago, before cell phones, before computers, maybe even before airplanes and cars. I wish that I lived during simpler times when life was easier and well perhaps happier. A time when things moved slower, much much slower… slower and simpler. My logic is complicated.

I always considered myself a progressive and independent woman, one who broke glass ceilings. I seeked and completed a higher education, have independently made bold decisions, have held high and low level jobs, have traveled to many countries, have educated myself on multiple topics such as history, politics, sociology, etc. And finally, in my life, I have confidently and without regret broken many of my culture's expectations and rules for women.

After years of being a woman of today, for reasons unknown to myself I have come to a place in my life where I crave simplicity, tradition and culture. I slowly came to wish that I lived in a time when people's roles were pre determined and choices were limited. I wish that I did not know better and my knowledge was limited. The simple time when women were expected to get married young, be protected by their men and have a family. The time when women were not involved in the worlds of politics, finances and employment. I realize that this confession will rise fierce anger and judgment against me from the feminists and progressive friends, but all I ask is to be heard and not judged.

I feel that if I did not know about politics, I would not be so angry. If I did not know about art and culture and cinema, I did not feel the urgency to see and learn it all. If I did not have the option for a career, I would not be judged for not having one. I feel that life would be simple, no decisions to make, no glass ceiling to break. I feel that if my world and my mind consisted of housework and child rearing, my life would be simple and slow, no decisions to make, no choices to ponder, no ambition to be concerned about … and yet more content?

At the end of Allen's movie, Gil realizes that he has been wrong about living in the past because the past does not have Novocain or Antibiotics and he realizes that life in the past would eventually become difficult and dull for him just as the present. And as for me, I think what if I did live in the past but did not have the ignorance that I wish for? What if I am in the past with the current knowledge and thirst to learn and experience and explore? In the past, with no freedom and independence for women, an active and bright mind would live a hellish life in prison.

Who knows?…

A magical night in Venice

2015-03-26T20:58:00.000-07:00

It had been a full day of exploring the sights, eating calzones, taking photographs of picturesque corners, taking a boat ride through the Grand Canal and buying classic masquerade masks. I was tired and my feet hurt and my face was no longer fit to be in photographs after being in the warm sun for so long. We were at a fairly quiet street corner where I found some steps to sit on and take a moment to rest. As I got up to continue my walk through this fabulously gorgeous town, I came across a modest church. It's small door was open and there sat a small table outside which held flayers for a show tonight, it was an Opera. This was unexpected! The two young people sitting at the table spoke English and were able to answer my questions: Is this a formal event? No. Are there seats left? Of course! Price? Inexpensive! When does it start? In about half a hour. Wow! I never thought going to an Opera in Venice, Italy could be this simple! Two tickets please!

As we entered the church, I noticed a difference between this church and the other ones that I and all the other travelers toured and took pictures of. This church did not have elaborate golden altars or sculptures made by Michelangelo or seven story ceilings. This church was a simple one, it felt cozy and comfortable and friendly with plain walls and wide stair cases. It did not show off any collectibles or fancy memorabilia. We casually made a line inside the entrance to wait for the hall doors to open, there were no seat numbers, this Opera show seemed to be very low key. I could see through the doors that the sun was slowly setting and the day was turning in to dusk. The doors opened and we entered a large simple hall. It had a high ceiling with large old wooden windows and painted glass. The walls were white and bare and the wood floors creaked. There was no platform or stage for the performance; folding chairs were set up facing the front of the hall, wedding style. I'm not sure if it was the causal air of the arena or the type of people who chose to go to this event, but whatever it was, it had made the audience highly friendly and kind to one another. There was a very heavy civilized, smiley, courteous air all around and everyone was happy with the seats they received.

The Opera was performed on the floor, at the same level of the audience in the front of the hall and at times in the middle of the row between audiences. The actors/singers were in full costume but minimal make up, it was mostly singing and less acting. It felt like we were a very large family having an entertaining evening together. Although I could not understand the Italian language, I could feel all the different emotions portrayed by the performers; maybe it was their close proximity to me, or their great talent but it truly was one of the most enjoyable Operas I have ever been to.

The large wooden windows were open and the fresh night air made it's way into the building, as well as the sound of the narrow street outside and a few passerbys; this made the show even more alluring and romantic. This casual and down to earth show was shocking to my expectation of a fancy, elaborate and dressed up Italian Operas!

Then something amazing happened: it started raining! It was one of, if not the first rain fall of the beginning of autumn. The wonderful smell of earth was raised from the cobble stone streets by the falling rain drops and made it's way into the church hall and into our little show. The beautiful sound of falling rain was mixed in with the wonderful sound of the music, making it seem like it was coming from heaven. The smell, the sounds and the feelings at that very moment in time, in that very spot, in that old simple church, amongst those friendly strangers was pure Magic!

When the Opera ended and we left the church, the rain had stopped and we were left with the fresh smell of fall's first rain and the sparkle of Venice's narrow alleys. It was back to being a beautiful moonlit night.

That night, unexpectedly, I had a little taste of magic at a small Opera performance in a simple old church in Venice.

My guide for the first time traveler to Paris

2014-07-13T08:45:00.000-07:00

So you have decided to go to Paris! Good for you :)

Here is a list of some things you need to know

Pre-Planning

Make sure you have a valid and current passport (it could take up to 6 months to get one).

Make sure to do diligent research on when it is the best time to go. You do not want to hit any holidays where things are closed or it is too crowded. Also check to see how the weather is because that is important. I like to travel in September because school is open so there are less tourists (less lines) and the weather is usually perfect.

Do as much research as possible before going or making any reservations (sights to see, weather, money, language, etc.). Good sites are lonelyplanet.com, Travelocity.com. I always buy travel books (i.e. Rick Steves, Lonely Planet, etc.) and read before I go and take them with me. They have good information.

I recommend 5 days for Paris, which includes going to the Palace of Versaille (which is out of town).

Flight

Check tickets on the cheap sights (i.e. cheaptickets.com, expedia.com, etc.), but go and compare prices with the actual airline site. If it is the same, buy from the airline. Try not to have any stops (they are a pain), but if there is a layover, make sure that you have enough time between flights. I usually get my tickets from Expedia.com and I prefer to arrive at my destination in the morning.

Hotel

I have had great experiences booking my hotels through expedia.com. First, chose your area, how many stars you want the hotel to have and price range, then search. Read all the reviews from other people, they are usually right on! I usually chose 4 star hotels (Europe’s standards are a bit lower than the US) and the area is my most important category. Rooms will be very small so do not be shocked. They are very simple hotels, but clean and nice. I recommend staying in the area around the Louvre museum, it is very centralized and walking distance to a lot of sights.

Before you go

Call your credit card company and bank and let them know where you are going and when you will be there. They will make a note of it and when they see you spending $ there, they will not put a hold on anything due to suspicious activity. I recommend taking your debit card and one credit card. The money exchange stations are usually a rip off. I recommend taking cash out of cash machines when you get there. Use credit card when possible because the rates are usually the best.

Call your cell phone company and let them know you will be traveling. If you’d like to use your cell phone there, then ask them about the different international packages they have. If you do not want to use your phone, I recommend not shutting everything off and still having it with you in case of emergency. But I usually tell them to shut off the ability to receive or send text (it is very expensive and you can’t control other people texting you) as well as data.

You do not want to have any concerns about your comfort when you are sightseeing. So take comfortable shoes and comfortable clothes (you will need layers for September in Paris). Take a comfortable and light bag or back pack (I like small ones that go across the shoulder) for everyday use. Take one or two nice outfits for a couple night outs too ;). Do not over pack.

Take a good camera for pictures. Paris is the most beautiful city in the world so you will want to capture many moments. Make sure that you have extra batteries, chargers, room in the memory card, etc. The last thing you want is problems with your camera while you are faced with a breathtaking image. I care about the quality of my pictures so I lug around a large and heavy camera, but if you’d like to stay comfortable, take a light small one.

Take an electric converter (you can buy them at Best Buy) with you in order to be able to use the European outlets to charge your electronics (and use your flat iron!). If you do not have one, they may have some extra ones at your hotel, ask the front desk.

Make sure you have the address for your hotel printed with you to give to the cab driver at the airport.

When you get there

Jet lag is a big bummer. Adjust your time to the local time as soon as you get on the plane. For example, if it is night time in Paris at the time, sleep on the plane or if it is day time in Paris, stay up on the plane. What works for me is a couple hours of nap in the afternoon on the first day (sometimes for the first couple days). Make sure you get enough sleep at nights to have energy to sight see during the days.

Make friends with your hotel concierge (you will have a good one if you have a 4 star hotel), they can be a very useful resource to have. You can ask them for maps, suggestions, ideas, information, etc. They can even book tickets for you.

Take little snacks (i.e. bars) with you when you go sightseeing. You do not want any annoying distractions such as hunger to dampen your time.

Some Sights

I recommend using the Double Decker Hop on Hop off Tour bus for sightseeing. It takes you to all the major sights and they tell you interesting information about what you are seeing (either a live guide person or through headphones). The bus stops at each site where you can hop off, go see the sight for as long as you want and come back to the stop and catch another bus which goes through the same rout. Usually a bus comes through every 20 minutes. Even though they may be different buses, but the rout and the explanations are exactly the same. Buy tickets (you can buy them at the hotel) for two or three days so you don’t feel rushed and can hop off at any stop you want any time. My husband likes to sit in the bus for the entire rout once and see all the sights first and then decide which one we’d hop off next time. Usually an entire rout is about 2 hours.

The Louvre is very large, you could spend days in there if you want to see everything. Study the guide before and decide which parts you want to see and go straight to those, depending on how much time (or energy) you have. Note: If you are there on a Sunday, know that most things are closed except for the Louvre.

The Eiffel Tower is located next to a grassy field where you can lounge around and take in the sight. If you like to go to the top, be prepared for a long line and wind. I prefer to see the city from above from the Basilica of Sacre-Coeur where it is prettier and free and no lines.

Basilica de Sacre-Coeur is a beautiful gothic style church sitting on top of a hill in Paris. You climb up on stairs and you get to the basilica and turn around and you will see the city of Paris before you. The basilica is located in the Montmarte area in Paris which is the area of the artists. You will find lots of little shops and cafes and many many tourists in that area. Go behind the church and take a walk around the old neighborhood, less tourists find their way there and you will feel like you are in an old French movie.

The Opera house in Paris is beautiful. If you are a fan of Opera or even “Phantom of the Opera” it is worth checking it out (there really was a body of water under the building!). September is off season for Opera but you can always get a tour of the historic building and see the famous chandelier!

If you are interested to see where the French kings were crowned or if you have read the book “Hunch back of Notre Dame”, then you can go see the Notre Dame. It is a beautiful gothic style church.

I definitely recommend spending one evening at the Moulon Rouge! You can make reservations and buy tickets through your concierge. It is a two hour fantastic dance show accompanied by dinner (one of the best dinners I have ever had in my life!). Don’t be taken back by the topless dancers, that is how it has been done for years, it’s art :) The place gets packed so you will be sharing your table with strangers. Be friendly and make friends :)

Palace of Versaille is a must see. It is located just outside of town and there are some tours that will charge you a bundle to take you there. But you can also take the public train on your own, it’s super easy, just ask your concierge. I recommend scheduling at least ½ a day for it. I also recommend reading up on the history of the place before going, it makes it more enjoyable.

Recommended walk

Start from the grand arch outside of the Louvre and go through the beautiful and romantic Jardin de Tuileries park all the way until it ends (stop and marvel at the sculptures throughout the park). You will then be at the most magnificent and historic intersection (consult your travel guide to know about the history). Continue down on Chaps-Elisees Boulevard through the famous shops and restaurants. At the end of the boulevard you will come to Arc de Triomph. Stand under the arch and not only will you be in the center of the largest roundabout in the world, but you will be on top of a hill with a gorgeous view of the city around you.

Food

Paris has some of the best food in the world. Make sure to ask your concierge or use your guidebook to find good restaurants to eat at. I recommend having a good breakfast (in Paris it is always French bread with butter and jam, croissant, orange juice and coffee). Have a light lunch at a casual café or the street food stands between sightseeing and then have a great dinner at a nice restaurant at night. I usually like to come back to my hotel room after sightseeing, shower and change and go out to dinner. Remember that eating is a process for the French, they sit and enjoy many courses for hours while drinking and smoking and talking and laughing. Try to get out of your rush rush American mentality and join the relaxed Parisians in this experience.

Try snails, they are not that bad!

The French drink Cafes, which is like espresso. If you would like a latte, then you have to ask for a café latte. If you just say Latte, they will bring you milk.

French Onion Soup is just called “Onion Soup” in France! :)

Other hints

Customer service is very different everywhere outside of America, so bring down your expectations. The waiters will not be checking on you every 5 minutes with a fake smile on their face. Call them over to your table if you need them.

Consult your guide book about tipping in restaurants and cabs.

Most people in the service business speak fluent English and all menus and guides have English translations. So you probably will not need a dictionary to be able to communicate with others, but take a small one if it makes you feel safer :)

American tourists are known to be loud and obnoxious. Let’s help end that stereotype!

The Euro’s value is much higher than the Dollar so shopping will be expensive, but I recommend buying at least one nice thing to keep as a momentum of Paris. High end designer items will be less expensive in Europe than in the US because you do not pay taxes. Also it is good to know that they are from the latest collection and have not made it to the US yet!

Final thought

Lastly but definitely not least (and my favorite part of Paris), the best sight in Paris is her streets, buildings, cafes, people, etc. Just walk around the city through her narrow coble stone alleys and you never know what will come your way (a small antique shop, a cute boutique, a local bakery, etc.). Just look up and enjoy the elegant balconies on all the buildings and the lamps in the streets. Sit at a café and people watch! The people of Paris are cool and elegant and you can watch them for hours. Just accept that there will be cigarette smoke everywhere you go, so don’t let it bother you. Maybe even join in and have a cigarette with your wine or café! Why not? You are in Paris!

I hope that this guide is helpful to you. Enjoy your time in the city of lights! ~ Shabnam ~

My Street

2014-03-07T17:08:00.001-08:00

When I was a little girl I did not have any siblings to play with at home, the household consisted of me, my mom & my dad. Most of my cousins were a few years older than me and the contact we had with the ones who were closer to my age was infrequent. So I had to entertain myself throughout the days that I did not have school, especially since TV at that time consisted of 2 channels, and the kids’ program was one hour per day.
So I played house with my dolls where I (the mom) would hold my doll’s (the daughter) hand and go shopping throughout the house. I played with my Barbies where I would build a house for them (with pens & pencils on the floor of my room) and go through a day in their life with them. I would spend hours drawing and coloring, creating houses, villages and people on paper. These activities took a large amount of my time, but during the three months of summer with no school and no planned activities I was still left with time to spare. I was also left with the need and desire to socialize with other children my own age. To fill that void I turned to the neighborhood girls who were my age.
We lived on a quiet, small, dead end street where everybody knew their neighbors, so playing in the street was as safe as playing in your own back yard. Therefore, every summer day we would plan to meet in the street to play, talk, scheme, laugh and have a blast together. The neighborhood girls and I became playmates and friends throughout many many summers, as some of us (including me) had been living in our homes since our birth!
Going out to the street to play was the high light of my summer days and I looked forward to it all day. We were allowed to go play in the street mostly in the evenings after the heat had subsided. Because our parents did not like us to play in the hot Iranian sun or to disturb the neighbors’ afternoon naps! Even though at times we were able to get away and go play during the day, our usual meeting time was around 5:00 in the evening. We would meet in the street and it would take only a couple of us to start talking and playing for the rest to hear the sound of fun and join.
We had a blast in the street where we played all kinds of games, you name it, we played it: Active games like hide & seek, hop skoch and tag; sports like dodge ball, volleyball and badminton; word games (using chalk to write on the ground). We rode bicycles and played with ropes, we used a water hose to cool ourselves down, we would snack on our favorite dried fruit. We had phases of favorite games that we would become obsessed with. At some point we were even very much into calling the other world to talk to ghosts. We even did mischievous activities such as ringing people’s door bells and running away or writing on the walls of people's homes with chalk.
When we became tired and wanted to take a break or at the end of the night we would sit on the hoods of parked cars or the corners of the street and just talk, talk, talk and talk. We would talk about everything and anything and laugh and laugh. The thought of going home did not even occur to us until our moms had to call our names multiple times to go home around 9:00 or 10:00 at night. There was something about sitting under the stars in the hot summer night with the street lights flickering and sharing secrets and laughing that was intoxicating. Sometimes when the moms came out to call us in, they would start talking to each other and that would buy us more time with one another.
We knew every detail and corner of that street, every tree, every dent in the wall and every bump in the ground. That street was our second home and we were not only each other’s friends, but we were each other’s family. The street and the neighborhood girls were a big part of our lives at that time.
We spent many summers in the street with one other, we played all the games ever invented out there, we even invented some of our own. We talked about everything under the sky and had the best time any kid could have. But mostly, we grew up together, we learned about life, we learned about friendship, loyalty, tolerance, kindness and compromise; we even hit puberty and learned about boys together.
My last year of living in that house and going to the street was less about playing and more about talking about the neighborhood boys. It was less about jumping up and down and more about dressing cute and walking around. We used to hang out at the end of our dead end street, but we had moved to mostly hanging out in the front of the street in order to see the neighborhood boys walk by. Times were changing and it was exciting.
One day I had to leave my comfortable, fun and recently exciting environment and move away, never to go back there to play again. It was hard to say good bye to my house, my street and my friends. A big part of my life was suddenly over and I was not ready to say goodbye.
The first time I went back to our street, after four years of being away, we still had and stayed in our old house. Some of the neighborhood girls still lived there and I saw them, but they did not play or hang out in the street any more. The last time I went back to visit our street, after twenty three years, none of the neighbors lived in the street any longer and our house was not ours any more. The street seemed much smaller than I had remembered it and I felt like a stranger in it. Strangers were living in all of the old familiar homes and the cars that were parked in the street were too new and shiny to even think about sitting on their hoods. There were also no children around and no one was playing in the street, there was no sound of laughter or screaming to be heard. All the homes had bars in front of the windows and balconies which made them look like prisons. Had the safety of the neighborhood left with us too? It looked like that street was never again used for fun and play after we had left.
Standing there and looking at our street, at my street, brought back many memories from my childhood. It made me very grateful for those fun times and those great friends that I had. It also made me realize that it was a special bond we, the neighborhood girls, had which was not very common. I may have grown up with no siblings to play with but I never felt alone, thanks to those girls in my old street.

The Office

2014-02-26T15:13:00.001-08:00

My Team

There is a woman who sits right outside of my office who has the need to verbalize everything that she does or thinks, either by words or by sound effects. When she is being very productive and her energy is high, she lists the names of the clients that she is working on, the minutes she is keeping track of and the order of the tasks she is working on (out loud). She has different sound effects that she makes for surprise, concerned, confused, etc. (out loud). Recently she has started vocalizing sentences; she recites her notes simultaneously as she types them. The audience is meant to be herself, however since she sits amongst others, does not have a door or an office, the audience end up being the staff sitting around her and I.

There is another woman who sits right outside of my office where her desk is adjacent to my front wall. This allows her to just roll her chair back one steps and place herself in my doorway. She does not have to get up; just roll back one step and turn and become face to face with me. To her this is such a beautiful convenience where as soon as a hint of a question or a concern or even a wild wonder comes to her mind, she rolls back one step, turns and asks Shabnam. She seems to believe that my job is to sit in my office and wait for her to roll back a step and turn to answer all of her questions, concerns, wonders and sometimes even listen to the expression of her feelings.

There is a guy in my team who is not capable of ending his conversations. He stands in the doorway of my office and gives me information about a case which could have been communicated clearly in no more than three sentences. However, his version goes something like this: " So & so threw a desk in class and was suspended. so, yeah, he got suspended from school. Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that he was suspended. I thought you might want to know, so. So, yeah. Ok, then. Figured I tell you, so you'd know about the suspension". I find myself desperately searching for additional words that are similar and synonymous to "ok", "alright", "sounds good", "FINE!".

There is a man in my team who is a heavy smoker and there are obviously some problems with his mouth/teeth when he speaks. When he comes to supervision in my office, other than the smell of cigarette smoke, I notice that he does not swallow his saliva as regularly as needed when he talks. I find myself swallowing my own saliva twice as much as I need to. I dread any moment that he laughs because drops of the gathered saliva spits out from his mouth. I make sure to remove any food or drinks I may have on my desk away from the guest seats in my office and roll my chair back as far as possible. At the end of those meetings I find my mouth extremely dry.

The Chart Room

There is a list of alphabets written on the drawers that hold the clients' alphabetically ordered charts, because one of the administrative assistants does not know her alphabets.

There is a girl in the office who checks her mailbox in the chart room and leaves everything that she does not need at that exact moment on the table in front of the boxes and leaves to never come back. We are left with mostly her papers, but sometimes we are left with her empty cup or her cell phone!

The Lunch Room

There is about 20 signs in the small office lunch room asking people to clean up after themselves. Yet, I still find myself having to wipe down the table and throw away used cups and forks before I sit to eat.

Our office has gone through 10-12 policies regarding cleaning the refrigerator. The current policy is that Fridays at 4:30, everything left in the fridge is tossed.

Cabinet doors are left open in the lunch room, half used hot cocoa bags are left on the counter, used sugar packets are on the floor, etc.

The Conference Room

It is hard to fit 35 staff into a conference room with tables in there, so the tables are removed during meetings and chairs are placed classroom style. People reserve their seats by placing a post it with their names on each chair. When they arrive at the meeting to sit, they do not remove the post it. When they leave the meeting, they do not remove the post it. Post its with people's names on them are always floating around on the conference room chairs, floor, tables, etc.

After staff or team meetings end and people leave the conference room, you can always find empty cups, water bottles, scrap papers and scrunched up tissue on the floor.

To Share or Not to Share

2013-11-23T13:12:00.002-08:00

Some may call me racist (you know who you are), some may call me a right winged conservative, some may even call me a Republican! I do not let it bother me and I will not apologize for my beliefs because that is all they are, beliefs. I do not tend to ever act on my beliefs (I do not call the authorities to report an illegal immigrant), so it does not hurt a single sole (except when I vote maybe). Yet, I am entitled to have beliefs and opinions and from time to time I may feel like sharing them with a few trusted others, no one can sue me for that.
The question is though, how far can you go with sharing your beliefs and risk being judged or even worse, losing the respect of the ones who you shared with? If two people are good friends, one should feel secure to tell the other about, for example, her negative feelings about the Dream Act even though the other is 100% for it, right?
Believe me, I know who to share my beliefs with and who not to share with. If I have determined that a conversation buddy is not open to hearing an idea that is against theirs, I will gladly talk about the latest episode of Shah's of Sunset with them instead of how I think Obama is not a friend of Capitalism.
Yes, I admit, it is true that sometimes I like to provoke people, especially those who I know have strong feelings toward a belief. I may even at some point exaggerate my feelings against theirs for the mere purpose of entertainment. Where is the fun in a conversation if passionate feelings and looks of shock are not being thrown around? But this can only be done with two groups of people: the very close friends who are past the point of judging you OR the people who's opinions mean absolutely nothing to you.
What is the point of all this rambling you ask? Not a whole lot. I have a great friend who was visiting me from Northern California last month and who happens to be very much left winged and a hard core liberal. I had a wonderful time giving her my political opinions that clearly went against hers (obviously I embellished and exaggerated a bit to make it more juicy) and we had a hoot of a time disagreeing. I appreciated her for hearing my beliefs! It is not like I asked her to vote for me!
One does not have to accept, like or respect another's beliefs, one can even hate them, one just has to hear the beliefs and not let it cloud the way they feel about the other's personally.
Yes, I have beliefs that may anger some (most in my circle of friends & family), but to share or not to share really IS the question. Because it is my responsibility to judge who can "take it" and who can not.

Book Review

2013-01-17T15:49:00.000-08:00

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.

The love between Heathcliff and Cathrine was a tragic one that destroyed many lives, not just their own. They were children together and grew up playing, exploring and learning and finally falling in love with one another. All they had and cared about was each other; they were happy together and cherished each other as a confidant and a friend, truly the love of each other's lives. Heathcliff and Cathrine were two bodies with one soul and lived one life, as the latter said herself, "I am Heathcliff".
Heathcliff had no standing in the society in which he lived in as he was a bastard with no family or income, secluding him from 19th century England standards of being a gentleman. This did not alter how Heahtcliff and Cathrine felt about one another, however it had a heavy impact on the fact that they could not be together. Cathrine, being the daughter of a gentleman and having a place in the distinguished society could not marry a bastard.
When Heathcliff overheard Cathrine telling a trusted friend that she will accept another man's marriage proposal, his heart was shattered into pieces; he left then and there without one word to a soul. He left so quickly and with such pain in his soul that he did not hear Cathrine continuing on with the declaration that she will never love another the way and as deep as she loves Heathcliff and the fact that she is marrying another in order to help Heathcliff climb the ladder of society.
Heathcliff returned as a wealthy gentleman years after running away with his crumbled heart in his chest and found the married Cathrine still as much in love with him as he was with her. Not being able to get the love of his life back, he focused his attention on ruining the lives of all who contributed to his misery as a child and as an adult. With knowledge and power, Healthcliff was able to drive those lives down the dark path of doomed fate while continuing to only think about and care about one thing in life, Cathrine. And Cathrine, not being able to bear the life without her friend and true love by her side became severely ill and died. This fueled Heathcliff's fire and increased his rage to unimaginable heights.
Heathcliff spent the rest of his life focused on continuing to get revenge from those who had a hand in the way his and Cathrine's life turned out. His emotions, rage and anger were so deep that his plots even ruined the next generation including his own and Cathrine's children. All through it all, Heathcliff's heart was throbbing for Cathrine and remained devoted to their love, feeling her presence with himself nightly.
When Heathcliff finally leaves this earth, it is from a broken heart and it is to reunite with his true love, Cathrine, and it is after altering the fate of all who surrounded them. Heathcliff and Cathrine's spirits are known to have lingered on together at Wuthering Heights.
A heart wrenching story about love, loss, hate, revenge, innocence and betrayal, Wuthering Heights has many significant details and even more complex characters. More than one pair of characters share names and some have last names as first names, some do not even have last names. The story extends over two generations from childhood until adulthood and takes us through marriages, births and deaths without overwhelming the readers.
I can not help but wonder about Heathcliff's love for Cathrine; does such extreme love truly exist in a real life human heart? A love that one would go through a lifetime of misery to overcome. Many of us fall in love, but eventually we either fall out of love or move on or get up, dust off the dirt from the fall and start walking again. Has anybody kept that passionate, throbbing, crazy, out of this world love in their heart just as it was there on the first day? I think the key word here is crazy, maybe you have to be crazy to fall in love that hard and stay down where you had fallen forever. Heathcliff committed acts that only a crazy person would do... for love. One time he dug Cathrine's grave and laid next to her corps just to be close to her. Is that romantic love or crazy lunatic behavior? There seems to be a fine line between crazy and in love.
But the talent of a writer is to make you feel a character's pain and suffering and relate to him and last but not least to have empathy, root for him, want him to succeed... even if it is to ruin all the lives around him. Emily Bronte did that with Heathcliff.

If you are interested in seeing this classic story come to life, you have many options, but I recommend that you chose the one with the very sexy Tom Hardy playing Heathcliff.

Doomed

2013-01-15T14:28:00.000-08:00

Life throws a lot of unexpected curve balls at us that we have to deal with, sometimes we hit it out of the ball park, sometimes we miss and sometimes we get fouled out. Through it all I wish that I did not know better.
I wish that I was a religious person and believed in god and heaven. I wish that when things became difficult, I would go to a religious center or to the foot of my bed and prayed for a solution or a helping hand and hope and wait for a change. I wish that when I lost loved ones I could have believed that they were going to a better place and that I would one day be reunited with them. I wish that I believed that there is a higher and stronger power looking over me and protecting me and thinking of me and loving me. I wish I was part of a community that all believed in something, had a strong bond and put our faith into it together. I wish I had faith!
Life would be peaceful and hopeful and easy if I believed. If I could put my fate in god's hands and think that whatever happened was because it was god's plan and that there was a good reason for it. To think that no matter what happens, I am being looked after and I can sit back and let him take care of things. To think that all I need to do was to pray and pray and things will change or improve. Life would not be lonely if I talked to god daily and believed that he was listening and understanding and not judging. To believe that no matter what happens in this life, there will be another life waiting for me after I leave here.
Because life is scary and lonely without all of that. To know that there is no god and no heaven and that we are in this universe alone and on our own is terrifying. To know that we have to deal with the tragedies of life without a higher power looking over us and to know that accidents are truly accidents and not an omen is horrible. To not be able to put your hope and dreams and desires into the hands of something more powerful is immortalizing. To lose a loved one and know that their spirit will not stay close to you and be with you or that you will not see them in another life is depressing.
That is why religion is a necessity for human beings to have in their life, in order to be able to survive and stay calm and be happy. Unfortunately some of us are deprived of that "blessing".

Mahin Khanume's House

2013-01-14T21:21:00.000-08:00

After a month of living in a hotel and no hope for an early departure from Ankara, my parents thought that it was time for a better and more cost effective lodging. So we moved to a room for rent in a big house owned by a lady called Mahin Khanume, which my parents probably found through our new social circle, other Iranians in the Ankara limbo.
Mahin Khanume was a single Iranian woman I believe in her late 40s (but then again, I was 12 years old then, so she may have been much younger and seemed much older to me, she could have been my age now!) who owned a large house with 4 bedrooms, taking one for herself and renting the other 3 out to others. Her pool of tenants came from Iranians in Limbo who came to Ankara with hopes of immigrating to the US or other countries and becoming stuck there, like us.
Mahin Khanume was kind and sociable who spent a lot of time with us, talking to us and trying to help us with her knowledge of the city and her history with people like us. She also seemed to have a big desire to help me in particular!
Mahin Khanume loved fortune telling and she did it by playing Solitaire with a deck of cards, so she sat with me and taught me with great patience how to play Solitaire and how to "tell fortune". Basically the way it works is one (the one whose fortune is being told) asks a question in their head (from the fortune gods) while putting their right hand on the deck of cards (with their eyes closed). After shuffling, I try to complete Solitaire and if I do, the answer to their question is Yes and if I do not, the answer is No. Mahin Khanume and I would play and practice Solitaire daily, she would tell my "fortune" and I would try to tell hers or anybody else I could find to humor me. Mahin Khanume also loved knitting and decided to pick up a project of teaching me how to knit. I had been taught the basics of knitting in my last year of school in Tehran, which could only produce a scarf (long rectangle, going straight up, no turns, no twists and no complicated maneuvers). However, Mahin Khanume was determined to teach me how to knit complicated styles of things that experts make. She bought yarn and knitting supplies for me and asked me to think about what I would like to knit. Together we brainstormed and decided to create gifts for me to take to America and present to my loved ones who I was going to meet, a sweater for my brother (who I had not seen for 4 years) and a dress for my niece who was about to be born. Mahin Khanume spent hours with me taking me through step by step of all the difficult maneuvers to make a large multi-colored (red and gray) men's sweater with designs in front of it (squares within squares!) and a multi-colored (blue and white) baby girl's dress with stripes and squares and ruffles! It took me days and a lot of energy from both of us but the finished project looked so good that both of us were so happy and proud. I could not wait to see my hand made clothes being worn by my family. The other project Mahin Khanume had taken up with me was not so much fun. The thing was that it was October and the school year had started and I was not in school. My parents, afraid for my education, had asked relatives from Iran to send us textbooks from the grade that I was supposed to be in at that time so that I could keep up with studies in case I had to go back to Iran (if America rejected us). That (the arrival of books) was a total buzz kill for me since now I had to study on my own. The person who took it upon herself to teach me and give me daily reminders about studying was Mahin Khanume. She would not give up and was pushing me harder than my own parents, so I tried my hardest to hide from her and keep my distance. One last and interesting thing about Mahin Khanume which I will never forget was this: there was a glass door in her kitchen that led to a long and narrow balcony which took the entire side of her kitchen. In this balcony she had vases and vases and pots and pots of plants and flowers, so many of them, so many different kinds, different colors, different sizes. She watered these plants and flowers with love and care every day; nothing weird about that, right? Well, when she did step out to her balcony, Mahin Khanume would start talking to her plants and flowers with such joy and excitement and had extensive conversations with them. She would say good morning to them, ask each how they were doing, she would speak to each of them with such love and call them with heart warming terms of endearment. She spent a big part of her morning with what she called "her children", talking to them, watering them, pampering them. I had never seen anything like that before in my life and that put Mahin Khanume in the category of "crazy lady" for me.
The other two rooms in Mahin Khanume's house were also rented out to people passing through Ankara. We all shared a kitchen that we used to cook and prepare our food as well as the living room where we sat together and talked and watched TV, so we got to know each other. The first room was occupied by a young man, I believe in his mid twenties, trying to leave Iran and migrate to another country. The country of his choice I have no recollection of, as a 12 year old I did not retain those big picture details of information. I also do not remember this man's name, so let's call him Single Guy (SG). SG was a happy and simple guy, from a big family from the simple parts of Iran, he seemed naive and hopeful, always talking about a bigger and better life. I remember sitting around the kitchen table talking and SG brought out his wallet and showed us pictures of girls, a number of white girls (these were professionally taken wallet pictures) whom he was "pen pals" with. He told us all of their names, where they lived and a little bit about them. He said that he had been writing letters to these girls and learning English through this "pen pal" program. He was going to go to [country] and meet those blond girls in those pictures. And one thing I never forget about SG is this: as I said, we shared a kitchen, a kitchen table, so naturally we shared a salt shaker on the table as well. I remember sitting next to him watching him talk to my parents and Mahin Khanume about his life and future plans when I suddenly noticed what he was doing. He would put his forefinger on top of the salt shaker, turn the salt shaker upside down, lick his finger, and repeat over and over again (insert shock face here)! That was when I stopped using the salt shaker in Mahin Khanume's house. If my very poor and vague memory serves me right, SG never made it to his desired country from that attempt.
The second room in Mahin Khanume's house was occupied by a family of three, a mother, father and their daughter. The daughter was a young and attractive girl with long black hair who had become engaged to an Iranian man living in America and was on her way to go to marry him, to her destiny, accompanied by her parents. I am very bad with names (honestly I am not even 100% sure if Mahin Khanme's name was Mahin!), so let's call her Mail Order Bride (MOB). Although her parents were nice, MOB had a big chip on her shoulders and had a little bit of an attitude, she did not talk much. Well, she did not talk much with us, she talked on the phone with her fiance for an hour or more each day. She would take the phone (with a cord!) into the hallway with herself and sit there and whisper and smile and blush while her parents watched her and smiled and asked questions and informed everyone that she is on the phone with her fiance in America! The fiance's calls from America was the highlight of their day. MOB was trying to get her papers in row to be on her way to her future husband and life. I did not hear about or do not remember the details of her engagement, but I do remember how nervous and excited she always seemed.
Our days in Ankara at Mahin Khanume's house passed by smoothly. We were going out more (I bought a purple sweat suite that I loved), we watched the Golden Girls in Turkish, which we were starting to understand more (I could count to 10 in Turkish) and we waited. During this time we were given the news of my niece being born in America which made us very happy. I even had a birthday in Ankara, my 13th. It was not celebrated because of "our situation" as my parents explained and I understood.
Our final visit to the American embassy was when a yellow haired young man behind the counter smiled and said we were good to go, and we went indeed.
Thinking back now, I wonder if SG ever made it to the country that he wanted to go to and if he ever met any of those golden haired ladies who's pictures he carried in his wallet. I wonder if MOB is living a happy life with her husband and family or if America and her husband turned out to be a big disappointment to her. But mostly I wonder if Mahin Khanume was happy, why was she living alone in Ankara? Where was her family? Had she always talked to plants and flowers?
Well, I was never able to knit another complicated clothing item ever again and went back to knitting simple, single colored, plain scarves. I did not have to study those text books since I never went back to school in Iran. But let me tell you this, the only game that I play on my iPhone now is Solitaire, thanks to Mahin Khanume from Ankara.

A Hotel in Ankara

2013-01-14T16:30:00.000-08:00

It was September when Maman, Baba and I left our home in Tehran and arrived in beautiful Istanbul. The picture I have in my memory of Istanbul is of the glamorous sun shining down bright and super sparkly on the fast paced, metropolitan, modern, clean and beautiful city with beautiful people. It is only one snapshot of a picture because Istanbul was just a quick stop on our way to ugly Ankara, where we spent the next two months of our lives.
The original plan was to quickly get our paperwork in check while in Ankara and move on to our final destination, America, so we checked into a hotel close to the American embassy for easy access and paid for one week of stay. Things did not turn out so much as planned.
We would spend our days going to the American embassy and waiting in line outside of the building hoping to get in to see an American agent. The long lines outside, next to the short wall surrounding the embassy gardens, consisted mostly of other Iranians trying to get their paperwork in check as well. After a while we became acquainted with those in line, seeing them and waiting with them day after day. We got to know their stories, why they wanted to leave their home, where they were hoping to go and what their hopes and plans were. Most of them were parents who wanted to join their children in America that they had sent aboard years ago, or young people trying to make a better life for themselves. Whatever their story was, they did not want to go back to their country, they all wanted a better life for themselves and their family and their chance of that in their home was gone. The people in line outside of the American embassy became each other's confident and support who encouraged each other to keep hope high and spirits up, they became each other's temporary friends and family. At times we would actually end up inside the embassy building where we would meet with an American agent who would tell us something about more forms needing to be completed and more time needing to go by waiting for approvals.
The lobby of our hotel was another place of gathering for Iranians in limbo. A large rectangular room with chairs and sofas lining the walls and a small TV at the far end. A number of large dark rugs covered the floors and tables were set up in front of the seats for tea glasses and ashtrays. The lobby was filled with Turkish businessmen on one side and Iranian families on the other side. The Turkish businessmen were unattractive, drank extremely dark and strong teas in little tiny tea glasses one after another, chain smoked and glared at the Iranian families. They watched TV or talked to one another and seemed annoyed that the Iranian families were at their hotel. The Iranian families shared stories of the status of their paperwork with each other and would say things like "you will hear from them soon" or "we will leave this place in no time". In a strange country where the language was foreign and the purpose of our visit was not to see new places or have fun, we the Iranians in limbo, became a temporary supportive family to each other, outside the embassy and inside the hotel lobby. Sometimes it felt like a party at the lobby, families laughing together and sharing fruits and snacks with each other as well as stories of their lives in Iran and plans that they had for the future. This seemed to annoy the Turkish business men even more!
Others seemed to come and go but we had become a constant part of the hotel, knowing all the staff's names and shifts and continuing to pay at the front desk, extending our stay at the end of each week. I made a friend in the hotel once, a young obnoxious little boy who made me go up and down the elevator which resulted in one of the hotel employees yelling at us. I vaguely remember even having a crush on one Iranian boy in limbo staying at the hotel with his family.
Eating out every day started to hurt our pockets so we started to change things up. One day we would eat the fresh Turkish Kababs in the restaurants that my dad loved, one day we would buy a whole chicken and bring it back to the room and my mom would make yummy chicken sandwiches with fresh tomatoes, one day we would buy french bread and cold cuts and eat sandwiches with pickles at the room. Our room with two beds was our living room, bedroom and kitchen.
The window of our hotel room faced a high school which became a source of entertainment for me. I would sit at the window and look down to the school yard at the time when school let out or during breaks. I watched the girls and boys come outside and talk to one another, stand around the yard, get picked up by cars, sit and read, walk around, etc. I was fascinated by their uniforms (crisp white shirts and navy skirt for the girls and khaki or navy pants for the boys), the fact that the girls did not have to cover and had their beautiful hair waving around, the fact that both boys and girls were allowed to go to school together and to even talk to one another. I got to recognize some characters after watching them day after day and even made up some stories about them in my head, like a soap opera!
In Ankara, every morning, noon and evening the sound of prayer echoed around the city calling out to everyone to stop what they were doing at once and kneel down and pray to their god, which they obeyed. That reliable and punctual music became a constant part of our lives.
When we finally checked out of the hotel in Ankara, it was like saying another goodbye to another set of friends and family. It mostly consisted of the hotel staff who we had become accustomed to seeing every day (they actually gave us hugs and one of them shed a tear!) as well as some of the hotel guests who remained still in limbo. These goodbyes were getting tiring.
We never saw or heard from the people we met and became close to in that hotel again. Yet, looking back now, that hotel in Ankara was a world of it's own, all those who came and left with their lives being changed, the joys of a new life, the tears shed of disappointment, and the memories and hopes they shared with one another. So temporary in time, yet so permanent in mind. That hotel in Ankara was also a chapter in my life with my Maman and Baba, a short one, but definitely a memorable one!

Saying Goodbye

2013-01-09T18:10:00.001-08:00

I have a very vivid memory of being 12 years old and walking around the house and thinking "I should really appreciate and enjoy the life that I have now, because it is all going to go away soon".
Our large and beautiful home, my big and bright room with the pink walls and red window coverings filled with all of my beloved toys and belongings, and my lovely parents right there with me, just the three of us living a peaceful and happy life. I had wonderful friends in the neighborhood as well as in school, I enjoyed my school and was great at it, I was popular with the kids and the teachers loved me. I was growing up and learning new and exciting things, I was starting to venture out independently more and experience new things and have more and more fun. Everything in my life was going wonderfully and I knew that it was all going to end soon, and it did.
It was in the middle of summer when my parents started packing up our things in the home and started packing suitcases for us. It was really happening, I was being taken away from my home, my friends, my school, the only life I ever knew and loved. All of my objections and complaints did not seem to have any affect on what was happening, I felt desperate and helpless. The memory of packing is not as vivid for me, not as much as the memory of the pain I felt in my heart and the feeling of helplessness as I knew I could not stop this. It felt like I was being pushed by a strong tide and no matter how hard I tried to swim against it... no use.
The goodbyes started happening sporadically with relatives and distant friends, but it was not until the last night when our home was filled with family and close friends who were there to say goodbye to us that it became unbearable.
That night every moment was heart wrenching. I remember being so angry at my parents for doing this to me and "ruining my life", I was happy and they were taking it all away from me. I shed countless tears while saying good bye to each person who left our home at the end of that night. No one could console me.
I did not not think about the future and where I was going, I did not feel joy or excitement and did not look forward to a new life, I only thought about the wonderful life that I was leaving behind. I knew that a great chapter of my life was coming to an end and I was not ready for it. I remember feeling like I was losing a special and privileged life and no one seemed to understand or care.
I have no or very vague memories of the moment of leaving our home for the last time, the airport, the final goodbyes in the airport or even the airplane. My true last memory is the night in our home with all of our family and friends in it.
Looking back now, I was right, my life was at it's most perfect shape then, a privileged one which was never ever the same again.

Remembering my Baba

2013-01-08T18:20:00.000-08:00

He was the first born to his mother and had three younger brothers and one younger sister. From the beginning, not only was he different than all of his siblings, he was different than most others as well. He was a gentle sole, happy and one of the most unique people anyone would meet in their lifetime.
He appreciated beauty, tenderness and love in all things such as art, music, poetry, movies, scenery and people.
Although career ambition and money was not on top the list of his priorities, he was smart enough to manage to provide a comfortable life for his family. He did however have great ambition to focus on becoming a better and deeper person every single day of his life and he encouraged and educated everyone around him to do the same. He educated himself on art, literature, religion, politics, philosophy, sociology, science and history every day of his life and never seized to learn or teach. He appreciated and promoted comfort and fun in life while always choosing the right path.
He loved his wife every day of their married life and showed her so with care and tenderness. He raised his children in a home filled with jokes, laughter, fun and games. He loved them so much, that the love was visible and took a physical form to them and others.
He was so different than any other person who walked this earth that he left a mark in each and every person's heart who crossed his path. Be it either a unique joke, a special idea, a funny comment, a life-changing advice or an act of extreme kindness, he left them with a special memory of himself. Every person who met him, if it was just for a moment or if they knew him for years, loved him and never, ever forgot him.
One message that he tried to pass on which he practiced himself was to enjoy life to the fullest every day. He stopped to smell the roses, he created beautiful art, exerted love to others, touched so many lives and left a sea of memories to be cherished by those who had the privilege to have a moment or two with him.
We all miss him terribly.

Screens

2013-01-07T15:54:00.000-08:00

I open the door to my usual morning coffee shop and enter to get my morning cup of Joe. I stand in line as it is during the morning rush and like me, many others are also in need of their dose of caffeine. Suddenly I look up and notice that I am the only one with my head and eyes straight up. Every single person who is standing in line has their head bent down and focusing 100% on a little device cradled between their two hands. I look over to the counter where others are waiting for their coffee and breakfast and I see more people with their heads bent all the way down, staring at their little devices, holding it so tightly and with care. They are holding it with such tenderness that I can feel the love between it and the person. They all look like they are taking care of very important business that cannot wait another hour or having a very deep or crucial conversation with someone, something that must and needs to be taken care of right there and then. As my curiosity heightens, I maneuver my body and head in certain ways to discreetly take a look to some of the screens. Of course, all the screens that I get a glimpse of are of facebook feeds, pictures, texts and games. This makes me sad.
What have we become? Robots? Anti-socials, hermits? Dysfunctional? Rude? Sad? The saddest part is that I am one of a very few people in the coffee shop who may have that mind set, the others are completely oblivious to this change in the human race. I am in the minority. It makes me sad.
I think about all the things these people are missing in their lives. It could be looking at another person and smiling, may it be a stranger, and getting that energy you get from a stranger’s smile, looking out the window and seeing the sun shining on the side walk and making last night’s rain sparkle, seeing a mother play with her baby which makes almost everyone smile, and so much more. It makes me sad.
But apparently these people prefer looking at pictures of someone who they went to high school with 20 years ago and have not seen since, or texting a friend who they never make time to talk to on the phone or in person, or read an article about last night’s football game, or just pass the time by playing a game of solitaire. They do not care to look up to see how the little boy eating his muffin is enjoying his breakfast so much with his daddy, or see how impeccably a business woman is dressed or, or, or… it makes me sad.
How long until we do not see each other anymore? How long until all we see are screens? Screens of conversation, screens of smiles, screens of messages, screens of friends, screens of coffee perhaps? It makes me sad.
It is sad to see strangers completely detached and isolated from other real people, but it is devastating to see friends, family and loved ones who are distracted by screens and prefer to look at a picture posted by someone they knew 15 years ago than to look at and talk to you. THAT makes me scared.

Philosophy

2011-12-06T20:31:00.001-08:00

As a member of the Lost Generation and a fellow Confused, I often wonder about where the fuck I actually belong. But then I move on and seek comfort in the fact that I actually have the Lost Generation and the Confused category to go back to. It is common knowledge that thou are not able to change the past, so I seek comfort in the idea of constant.

The philosophical side of me some times wonders about who I am? What the fuck am I doing here? How the hell I got here and where the crap I am going to? I feel like different episodes of my life have been played by different people under the same name and identity. The Shabnam who was a little girl living in Iran, the Shabnam who assimilated to the culture of a new country, the Shabnam who had fun with her friends, the Shabnam who fell in love, the Shabnam who survived disasters, the Shabnam who got married, the Shabnam who started a new life and the Shabnam that exists now. They all seem like such different people to me, maybe they were, they probably are. Who knows? No, really, who knows? I want to sit down with that person and have a heart to heart. Is this really it? This is life? Really? Why go through all this trouble for nothing? It is too much trouble for zilch at the end. This might be a joke that is being played on us, so smile for the camera at least. Whatever, I think I am going to play it until the end just to see what the hell happens!

Strawberry Fields

2011-04-16T10:11:00.000-07:00

As I was walking down the empty street, deep in my own thoughts, the wonderful smell hit me, the glorious smell of strawberries. My mind climbed up from the windy maze of my thoughts and I raised my head to see one of the most beautiful scenes right there in the middle of my walk. I was passing by a strawberry field, rows and rows of green patches decorated with little tiny almost red berries. The field was empty and was taking advantage of the last hour of sunshine for the day. The sun was packing up to leave for the day and very low in the sky, she looked gorgeous. Although the sky had patches of white clouds, it was mostly reflecting a radiant blue shade that almost looked fake. It was like a beautiful painting, but what made it real and topped it all was the aroma of sweet strawberries; it made this view and experience enchanting. Instead of a quick acknowledgement and continuing with my path (as I usually do), I decided to slow down my steps and take it in. I took deep breaths and took in the smell of the strawberries, looked at the peaceful and proud field and paid my respects to the sun while appreciating the blue sky. It was a good moment.
As I continued on my walk passed the strawberry field I climbed back down into my thoughts, this time taking a different path. I thought about the fact that this may be one the last (if not only) times that I may find myself in such a scenery. In a world where efficiency, practicality, saving time and saving money are priorities, real strawberry fields and real strawberries are at risk of extinction. In a world where buildings in shapes of shopping centers, town homes or office buildings are in fast reproduction mode, fields of fruits are the ones being sacrificed. In a world where the scent of strawberry comes in forms of powder, liquid or even paper, when we come across the real thing it seems foreign and "exotic" to us.
The next time I was strolling down the ails of my local grocery store and came across strawberries, I picked one up and looked at it. It was very red, shiny, the size of the palm of my hand and did not have the slightest scent. I bet if I had bit into it there would be no taste as well. This is what our fruits are coming to, man made, hormoned and fake; they might as well be plastic!
In Seattle, there was a strawberry field where we, the civilians, could go to and pick our own strawberries. We would get a box and fill it with the fruit while munching on them in the warm field and taking our sweet time. At the end we paid for our full box and took the fresh strawberries home. They were tiny little dark red strawberries that smelled and tasted divine, real strawberries. Last year when we went back for our strawberry picking session they informed us that the field was permanently closed. They may be replacing it with condominiums.
I will go back to the street with the strawberry field more often now and I will stop to smell the strawberries and gaze at the field because it may not be there next year.

Paris

2011-03-05T15:11:00.000-08:00

The weather was not warm due to the clouds and a bit of a breeze, which is why it made that Paris afternoon so much more enchanting and romantic. We started our walk form the formal 28-hectare park, Jardin des Tuileries, across the famous Louvre museum. A historic and grand golden decorated archway marked the park's beginning which led us into a long and wide pathway lined with evenly spaced white sculptures on both sides. The wide walkway was paved with gravel and sandwiched with grass, trees and flowers. Park benches provided resting areas for tourists and locals. A modest pool stood in the heart of the park making the pathway larger and rounder and it housed a more modest fountain in the center of it. Colorful chairs were placed around the pool, I imagine that they would be more in demand on a warmer day. As we walked down the gravel pathway we looked up at the white sculptures that depicted warriors, religious figures, common men and women and wild animals. The clouds and patches of blue sky in the background made the art figures even more memorizing to look at. These ancient art pieces had not made it to the grand museum across the way because of their cheaper material, unlike their marble counterparts. We came to the end of the long walk across the park where we met the park's exit and found ourselves in The square with Concord Obelisk.
The square was very large, wide and grand, just like the Louvre and the park. In the middle of the square stood a tall and slim monument which is an allegory of Law. On each side of the square sat two grand, gaudy, highly decorated and majestic fountains that shot up gallons of water into the sky. The square was lit with beautiful tall lamps that surrounded the street edges. Then came the most wonderful surprise that left us in awe as we looked up to the left and gazed at the top of the Eiffel Tower peaking it's head out from behind the buildings and trees. History says that after the French Revolution (which marked the end of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette), this square was where hundreds of men and women were beheaded. The blood on the ground was so much and the stench in the air was so strong that herds of sheep refused to walk close to this area. Today, it looks beautiful as we crossed it and started walking down Aveue des Champs-Elysees.
Long and wide, this boulevard was the center of many shops, restaurants, cafes and street vendors. It was crowded with cars and pedestrians bustling on by, some tourists and mostly locals, The French! or should I say The Parisians! Shopping, eating, soliciting, walking, smooching, the Parisians were out on the Chaps-Elysees with their great, cool, chic casual style. All the Parisians (men and women) wore scarves, long scarves, short scarves, checkered scarves, plain scarves, striped scarves, tied scarves, wrapped scarves, loos scarves, tight scarves. Scarves here, scarves there, scarves every where, the French like scarves. The shops around the boulevard were not very high end as we walked by Gap, H&M and Zara, so I was surprised to come across a multiple story large Louis Vuiton. I guess that is just another regular store for the fashionable French!
This boulevard was long and we were tired and hungry, it was time for rest and fuel. As much as a French cafe or bistro would fit this scenario perfectly, we decided to dine at a casual Italian restaurant that had side walk seating. We watched with envy the glamorous and cool French walk by as we enjoyed our delicious Italian meal with a side of vino.
My brand new expensive walking shoes bought from Nordstrom specifically for this trip was not being very nice to me and I was not going to let it put a damper on my evening by cutting into the heel of my foot. Therefore a 6 Euro pair of socks was purchased from the little crowded souvenir store in the corner. I made sure that it was engraved with the word "Paris" as it was my first purchase in this glamorous city!
At the end of the Champs-Elysees was what we could see from all the way at the beginning of our walk where we started. The famous monument had been growing bigger and bigger as we had been taking steps toward it. We were at Arc de Triomphe.
Napoleon wanted to create a place where his military victories would be celebrated and displayed, so he chose this hilltop to build a grand Arc. The Arc was built successfully but Napoleon never made it to walk through it (at least alive). Now this grand monument sits proudly on one of the largest roundabouts in the world (the center connects 12 boulevards and streets) and it is the resting place of an unknown soldier. Fresh flowers are always present on the soldier's grave and a fire constantly burns in the center pit. As we stood next to this great archway, we not only marveled at the history that stood behind it, but we also were at awe of the beauty of this memorizing city surrounding us. The narrow brick and stone streets, the elegant balconies on the fancy buildings and the careless and cool feel of it made the city even more special. The wind was becoming faster and stronger and we were on top of a hill so we moved on, we walked back down Champs-Elysees.
As we walked back dusk turned into dark, the clouds started getting heavier and the street lamps were turned on. We passed by cafes and restaurants filled with people dining, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes. We passed by Musee D'Orsay, we passed by a quiet and small park as well as almost empty side walks. And finally, we would not be true Iranians if we did not stop at the famous Iran Air on the Champs-Elysees to pay our respect!
Now we were back in Place de la Concorde square and that was when the night became truly enchanting and romantic. It was night time and dark, the stars were shining through the clouds and there were less cars going by. The square and the surrounding streets were lit by the elegant and fancy lamps that stood tall. The center monument as well as the two fountains were also lit up, yet what was truly shining glorious light on the area was the beautifully lit up Eiffel Tower that not only shined itself, but also displayed a soft light on it's peak which made circles and gazed around the city. It was at that point that the clouds gave in and started drizzling, a beautiful, wonderful, cool, slow and misty rain that made this night unforgettable and truly lovely. We stood in the middle of the square silently, watching the lights, admiring the bright iconic tower, listening to the water splash out of the fountains, looking up at the dark sky, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the smooth drops of rain on our faces. At that point in time we were connected to the far away history and to the present beauty of this lovely city at the same time. It was a magical magical evening in the lovely city of Paris.

My Political Party

2011-02-21T20:27:00.000-08:00

I am not a Republican. I am not a Democrat. I do not belong to the Independent Party and I do not belong to the Tea Party. I do however have very strong political view points which I am passionate about. I am not a Republican because I am pro choice, I am against war, I am against funding military defense and invasion of other countries, I am against religion and I am against the right to bare arms. I am not a Democrat because I am against raising the tax on the wealthy, I am against supporting illegal immigrants, I am against free handouts such as welfare and government assistance to the poor.
I do not like not belonging to one specific political party because I do not have a category to be in or have boundaries to watch. It is merely the simplicity of stating that I am part of a group which then would pile all of my beliefs into a neat box. Then I would not have to explain what I am for or against, what I support and what I do not support. Oh well, I guess I have to be left out in the cold, without a party, if I am certain and insistent on all of my beliefs, which I am. I often wonder if there is any one else out there, like me, who is standing outside of those neat boxes that house individuals with the same beliefs on all the different issues. There has to be, because not every single person would fit perfectly in those previously wrapped boxes.
So the dilemma comes when it is voting time, which party do I vote for? Democrat? Republican? Independent? Populist? I guess I should prioritize my values in order to decide which party is more friendly to my "more important" beliefs. I would have to weigh in the importance of legal abortions vs. the freedom for all to purchase guns. Which is more important? Which effects me more? I can not decide. I need to weigh in the importance of hard working tax payer's funds paying for an uneducated woman's 6Th childbirth vs. the American military killing millions of innocent people in the Middle East. Which effects me more? I can not decide.
So unless one wholeheartedly belongs to one of the existing parties, they must give up something that they believe in. It does not seem fair, yet the alternative would mean having hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of parties just to make sure that every one has a category with a name that shares all of their view points. That can not be realistic.
The moral of the story is that one can never be fully satisfied and happy with their government as there will always be something they disagree with. However, we need to make sure that we are in touch with our core values and be willing to fight for them.
I am registered as a Democratic voter and I voted for the Democratic Presidential Candidate in 2008, but I do not want to be held to that.

Coffee Shop

2011-02-18T22:30:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time in a land not too far away there was a little coffee shop that was the center of the earth. The chairs were of aged wood and did not match one another, the tables had been around for centuries as well. The vintage rug covered the floor in front of the ancient fire place and the brown leather couch facing them looked aged. The book shelf housed eclectic books, magazines, fliers and board games that never managed to leave the shelves. The piano sat proudly in the middle of the coffee shop but was humbled and willing when approached by customers. The walls of the coffee shop was home to the work of new and up and coming artists who wished to display their talent. The pictures stayed for a week or two before giving their spots to newer paintings. The ceiling was high and displayed a large chandelier that hung in the center of it, lighting up the spacious room. Two sides of the coffee shop was covered with large windows, floor to ceiling and wall to wall, providing a fantastic view of the busy street corner. The coffee shop counter was a glass display of pastries, cookies and simple sweets. The coffee shop served a simple variety of foods, the lunch and dinner menu consisted of salads, sandwiches and soups and the breakfast menu was a fantastic collection of eggs, potatoes, bread and more. The coffee in this shop was not served in paper cups, but in white mugs or in real cups with saucers. Each cup of coffee was made with tenderness, love and care, as evidenced by the sweet foam design floating on top of the milky drink, made personally by a familiar barista. Some times the design resembled a leaf and at other times it looked like a flower, whatever the design, it was always a sweet treat for the customer to be surprised by a new picture. And finally, the soft background music in the coffee shop was slow jazz.
If you were looking for a place to get a quick bite to eat or grab a quick coffee to go, this coffee shop was not the place for you, but if you were in search of an oasis, then this was the right choice. This coffee shop was where friends met to spend quality time with each other, it was a place where students met to study next to one another, it was a place where new or old couples had dates. This coffee shop was a place where a person could come in alone, get his coffee, possibly a pastry, sit on one of the almost broken chairs and read a book or a newspaper for hours. It was a neighborhood coffee shop which guaranteed you running into one, two or more friends, or a person that knew your name, or at least a person who just knew your face while you were there. In this coffee shop you were never a stranger. The coffee shop was special because no matter how bad things were out in the real world, once inside the lit spacious room with the large windows, a sense of calm would set in as life seemed alright. Loneliness disappeared as you could always find a familiar face who smiled at you.
That coffee shop in the center of the earth was a witness to many life events of it's customers such as chance meetings, romantic encounters, acts of true friendship, graduations, heart breaking break ups, marriages, and just simply growing up or growing old. On one Valentine's eve the coffee shop watched one broken hearted woman be comforted by a friend as they talked for hours over two cups of coffee and admired a beautiful display of falling snow outside. As the snow danced to the tune of soft jazz music and the lights from the chandelier flickered, the coffee shop watched a healing of a heart. One morning the coffee shop watched and laughed as one woman blushed to the fullest when she watched through the large windows a pack of naked men running across the street outside, while meeting with a very serious and conservative man.
So this coffee shop in the center of the earth was a neighborhood oasis, a familiar reminder of friendship, fun, love and good coffee. It slowed down the lives of the people who came across it and fell in love with it, as it gave comfort to those who needed it.
Many years have passed since the days of the coffee shop and that street corner is not the home to that oasis any more. The coffee shop owner and workers are gone and so are the chairs, the rug, the couch and the piano. Some of the most dedicated and loyal customers have even moved far away, and those who are still around are left with out. It is a sad sight to see, an empty feeling in place of what used to be warmth, comfort and friendship. But the memory of the coffee shop in the center of the earth stays with each and every person who fell in love with it, as it will always have a small chapter in the book of their lives.

This post is dedicated to JJJ and friends.

Say aaaahhhh

2010-10-06T21:15:00.000-07:00

5 simple things that make me say aaaahhhh:

When I step on the car breaks and rain water flows down from the roof of the car onto the windshield.

When I go under the covers in bed and pick up my Glamour Magazine from the night stand to read.

When I use the kitchen sink garbage disposal.

When I find "The Office" while channel surfing.

When I click on "Publish Post".

Ignorant Slaves

2010-10-03T19:46:00.000-07:00

Freedom; what is the meaning of this word? According to the Webster Dictionary, it is "the quality or state of being free". Free; what is the meaning of this word? Webster Dictionary has 15 different definitions for this word, each accompanied by multiple sub definitions. It is a loaded word this one, but the general meaning is being able to chose your actions. It is a good thing to have freedom, is it not? Do you think that you have it?
Think about it, are you free to do what you want when you wake up tomorrow morning? Let's go back one more step, are you able to wake up when you want tomorrow morning? Are you free to chose to go to the beach, to the mall or on a hike? Yes, you do have the freedom to do all of those activities, however there will be consequences for those actions. You may have to use sick time or vacation time that you have occurred throughout your employment, decreasing the amount of days that your were saving for a trip. You may be terminated from your employment resulting in no income to pay your rent and car payment, therefore losing both of them. You have the freedom to chose what you do tomorrow morning, however the consequences could be severe. Is that really freedom?
In an entire year, we have merely two weeks for ourselves when we can chose to do what we want without any severe and long term consequences, two weeks! Two weeks which we have to request for in advance, two weeks which passes us by like lightning. Out of sixteen hours of the day which we are awake, more than half of it is not ours! Is that freedom? Or is that slavery?
We are all slaves. We are worst than slaves. Slaves knew that they did not have any freedom, but we, we are under the impression that we are free, yet our ability to chose could have devastating results. We are ignorant slaves.
We are ignorant slaves who are not able to have a long lunch at the beach with a glass of wine on a Tuesday because the consequences to that act will be too harsh for our lives. No one stops us from doing it, but our lives will make a downward turn if we actually commit it. We are slaves, we are ignorant slaves who can not light up a cigarette in the office or take a nap after lunch, if we would like to keep our beloved lifestyle.
I am not against rules, regulations, guidelines and policies, I am against being ignorant and stupid. I am against believing something that is not. I am against us pretending to be free and having freedom when we are not and we do not. I am a slave because I chose to do what I have to do instead of what I want to do. I am a slave, but I am not ignorant.

Hope

2010-08-10T20:34:00.000-07:00

Yareh Dabestani

Yaureh dabestaunieh man, bau man o hamrauheh mani

Choobeh alef bar sareh mau, boghzeh man o auheh mani

Hak shodeh esmeh man o to, roo taneh in takhteh siauh

Tarkeye bi daud o setam, moondeh hanoz roo taneh mau

Dashteh bi farhangieh mau, harzeh tamoomeh alafaush

Khoob ageh khoob, bad ageh bad, mordeh delauye audamaush

Dasteh man o to bauyad in pardehau ro pareh koneh

kee mitoneh joz man o to dardeh mau ro chaureh koneh?

Yareh dabestaunieh man, bau man o hamrauheh mani

Choobeh alef bar sareh mau, boghzeh man o auheh mani

Hak shodeh esmeh man o to, roo taneh in takhteh siauh

Tarkeye bi daud o setam, moondeh hanoz roo taneh mau...

We are all one.