I miss the loud streets, the quiet alleys, the crooked side walks. I miss the old buildings with history. I miss the streams of water running through the streets of town, carrying with them every piece of trash imaginable. I miss the little stores, the cranky clerks, the persuasive shoppers. I miss the different smells, the yummy tastes, the lovely chaos. I miss the orange taxis, the beat up buses, the cars that would never pass a smog test. I miss the barbecued corn dipped in salt water that one can buy on the side of the road from a young boy who will guarantee it's sanitariness. I miss the taste of the fresh pistachios, fresh nuts and dried fruit. I miss sitting on a rug covered bed eating abgoosht and smoking ghalion under the stars, while listening to traditional music. I miss walking through the parks, seeing children play on the swings, witnessing a randez vous of a girl and a boy and watching family pick nicks. I miss the lively bazars and the sound of the azan. I miss the juice stands, the ice cream shops and the violinist playing beautiful music for lunch money. I miss the trendy coffee shops, the lit up malls, the restaurants. I miss the parties that lasted until 3:00 a.m. and the unguarded and pure fun.
I miss my house on the fourth floor, my room with pink walls and the roof top where I went for solitude. I miss the sound of Masht Hassan's nightly whistle, the old "night watch" who walked around the streets holding his stick and blowing his whistle letting the neighborhood know that they are safe for he is out there (with his stick)! I miss Alavi, the little convenient store by our house with the grumpy and mean owner (Mr. Alavi) who sold spoiled milk.
I miss my kind aunts, their homes, their cooking and their love. I miss my sweet uncles, my polite cousins and my childhood friends who are all mothers now.
I miss the enormous trees that casted comforting shadows on the hot streets, the colorful flowers, the dirt. I miss playing lei lei, bala bolandi, gorgam be havai with the neighbor's kids in our safe neighborhoods. I miss the torching sun of the hot summers, the chilly snowy winters and the fresh rain.
I miss the 4 hour car ride up north. I miss the views, the greenery, the ladies with skins turned dark from a lifetime of working under the sun, selling dough on the side of the road. I miss the familiar breakfast joints by the road that sold eggs (sunny side up) with a side of cream and warm fresh bread. I miss the magnificent sea, the quiet beach, the sand. I miss the great rice fields that filled the air with their wonderful scent. I miss the vacation bike rides and lying under the sun. I miss eating watermelon by the stream after it had been floating in the cool water for hours.
I miss the little authentic tea glasses filled with dark dark tea. I miss the snow covered mountain, the hiking, the fortune teller with the bird.
I miss Norouz. The gold fish sold on the side walks and the music blaring every where. I miss seeing the colorful rugs hanging from each home's balcony rails waiting to be dusted. I miss the family visits, the food, the sweets. I miss coloring eggs red, blue, green and yellow for the haftseen and of course receiving gifts.
I miss the traditions, the rich culture, the humble people, the long history, the pride that never shatters, the warmth, the love. I miss my county. My country that is still holding on strong in spite of all the dark days, in spite of our abandonment. I miss what I used to call home.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Hot Yoga
Recently I had been hearing numerous people talk about "Hot Yoga". Hot Yoga is a new trend where the act of Yoga is performed in a room with the temperature of 106 degrees (F). This feature is supposed to make your body more flexible and your muscles softer. It is also meant to help your body sweat all of the toxins out leaving it cleansed and purified.
The concept did not make sense to me so I dismissed the idea of trying it for myself. I knew that I will not be able to handle the heat and the activity together. I could see myself collapsing on the yoga mat from overheating and exhaustion. However due to other's insistence and being the adventurous person that I am as well as so open to new ideas (not really but I've been trying very hard these days) I decided to give it a chance and try it. I figured that if so many people are raving about how much they love this new trend and what a great experience it was for them, there must be something to it that I am missing. So I told myself: "try new things, experience great adventures, broaden your horizons, come out of your comfort zone".
Wendy was one of the people who had been trying to persuade me to try Hot Yoga. She believes that I am officially a couch potato and need to move my recently widened ass (I blame the holidays). So we took the step and embarked on a new and exciting adventure. I felt good, I felt excited, I felt cool.
The Yoga studio looked very trendy and exotic, from the large size pictures of the Yoga gurus (they actually have pretty hot bodies, you just have to refrain from looking at their faces), to the music, to the type of people who worked there.
We changed in a little room called the "locker room" which reminded me of when I was a little girl and was forced to go to swimming class in Iran where they made us change in a dark and wet little hole of a room. But I continued to keep an open mind. We did not have our own mats so we were directed to a rack that held the hanging orange mats. I was happy that they looked like they were hanging to dry up from the process of sanitizing. During our initial registration process I spotted people coming out of the earlier class soaking wet, I started to question my decision to come, but I reminded myself to keep an open mind.
As we opened the double glass doors to enter the Hot Yoga class we were struck by a very strong and distinct smell, it was the smell of feet! I continued to keep an open mind and blamed the smell on the CARPET in the Hot Yoga class which absorbed every scent. We placed our large fresh towels on our mats, covered our water bottles with the smaller fresh towel and sat and waited, the heat actually felt good on my body (since I am always and forever cold). As we sat there and watched the people walk into the class I noticed that many of them were men, shirtless men, men with hairy chests! I kept an open mind.
The class started. There was no music and the instructor spoke very softly, yet continuously and with out a single pause. She informed us that if for any reason we want/need to stop our session in the middle of the class we do not have permission to leave the classroom until the entire hour and a half is completed. Fine, I kept an open mind.
As we started with the moves I started to become hotter and hotter and the smell started to become more familiar to my nostrils. Then it started, the sweating. It was not only your usual underarms and middle back, but there was sweat coming out of every single pore in my body, places that I was not aware had pores. I noticed for the first time in my life that my leg can sweat! Do legs have sweat glands? As my hair was sticking to my body and sweat was dripping into my eyes from my brows, I was trying so hard to perform the moves while keeping up with the task of breathing through the smell of feet. Then I looked up and saw every one els in class dripping sweat, big chunks of stinky water dropping off of each one of their bodies. Then there were the men, with their shirtless bodies and their chest hair (some with back hair as well). Drops of sweat crawling between the curly hairs of their bodies and splashing onto their mats and some on the carpet as well. There was drops of sweat falling out of the inside of their shorts from their crotches. I think I threw up in my mouth a few times. The smell started to get stronger, the men started perspiring more, I was holding on to a thin thread to an open mind which was on the verge of breaking.
About 15 minutes into the class I was miserable. I could not breath, every muscle in my body ached and I swear I saw the face of Jesus in the mirror across the way. I wanted to run out of that awful place, into the fresh cool air, away from all these disgusting people, nasty wet people, and the stinky carpet. But I was not allowed, I was trapped. I was a prisoner inside this 106 degree room with all these crazy people and forced to stretch into an unachievable pretzel. I looked at Wendy and she looked as miserable and I was, lying on her mat for much longer than she was instructed to do so. I started thinking about all of the germs, sicknesses, diseases and hideous rashes I am going to suffer from. I had locked my eyes to the classroom door, the door to freedom, air, life, peace and comfort, right on the other side. I ran different scenarios through my head on ways that I can get out of this misery, but none would work. I kept counting the minutes of the longest hour and a half of my life. "Why did I get myself into this? Why? Why? Why?".
The voice of that monstrous woman who was holding me prisoner and making me work so hard would not cease! She kept talking, in that low, mischievous and extremely annoying voice. She said things like "you are releasing all of the toxins in your body", "your body is loving you right now", "you are fighting diseases and sicknesses as we speak", "you will have so much energy for the rest of the day"... Ah I so wish she would just shut the hell up! Get me out of here! I hate Hot Yoga!
So just like every other torture session this too ended after 5 years or an hour and a half. Wendy and I looked at each other and we did not have to speak as our eyes said it all.
As we were trying to get out of that hell hole as soon as possible, we went to return our orange mats. I was expecting to throw my mat into a pile of "used" ones on their way to be sanitized. Well, not quite, we hung them right up there on that same rack where we had picked them up from, ready for the next group. Yes, there was no "sensitization" of the mats, they were just being re-used by every new patron. Uuuuugggghhhh I wanted to scrub my body in bleach.
Not only my body did not have more energy that day, I was a sleepy lump in pain all day long, in shock and traumatized.
Ok, I tried it, I kept an open mind and I experienced something new. That teaches me to never try anything new ever again, or at least never to go against my instinct, which is usually right. I am going back to my comfort zone (air conditioned yoga class) and staying there.
The concept did not make sense to me so I dismissed the idea of trying it for myself. I knew that I will not be able to handle the heat and the activity together. I could see myself collapsing on the yoga mat from overheating and exhaustion. However due to other's insistence and being the adventurous person that I am as well as so open to new ideas (not really but I've been trying very hard these days) I decided to give it a chance and try it. I figured that if so many people are raving about how much they love this new trend and what a great experience it was for them, there must be something to it that I am missing. So I told myself: "try new things, experience great adventures, broaden your horizons, come out of your comfort zone".
Wendy was one of the people who had been trying to persuade me to try Hot Yoga. She believes that I am officially a couch potato and need to move my recently widened ass (I blame the holidays). So we took the step and embarked on a new and exciting adventure. I felt good, I felt excited, I felt cool.
The Yoga studio looked very trendy and exotic, from the large size pictures of the Yoga gurus (they actually have pretty hot bodies, you just have to refrain from looking at their faces), to the music, to the type of people who worked there.
We changed in a little room called the "locker room" which reminded me of when I was a little girl and was forced to go to swimming class in Iran where they made us change in a dark and wet little hole of a room. But I continued to keep an open mind. We did not have our own mats so we were directed to a rack that held the hanging orange mats. I was happy that they looked like they were hanging to dry up from the process of sanitizing. During our initial registration process I spotted people coming out of the earlier class soaking wet, I started to question my decision to come, but I reminded myself to keep an open mind.
As we opened the double glass doors to enter the Hot Yoga class we were struck by a very strong and distinct smell, it was the smell of feet! I continued to keep an open mind and blamed the smell on the CARPET in the Hot Yoga class which absorbed every scent. We placed our large fresh towels on our mats, covered our water bottles with the smaller fresh towel and sat and waited, the heat actually felt good on my body (since I am always and forever cold). As we sat there and watched the people walk into the class I noticed that many of them were men, shirtless men, men with hairy chests! I kept an open mind.
The class started. There was no music and the instructor spoke very softly, yet continuously and with out a single pause. She informed us that if for any reason we want/need to stop our session in the middle of the class we do not have permission to leave the classroom until the entire hour and a half is completed. Fine, I kept an open mind.
As we started with the moves I started to become hotter and hotter and the smell started to become more familiar to my nostrils. Then it started, the sweating. It was not only your usual underarms and middle back, but there was sweat coming out of every single pore in my body, places that I was not aware had pores. I noticed for the first time in my life that my leg can sweat! Do legs have sweat glands? As my hair was sticking to my body and sweat was dripping into my eyes from my brows, I was trying so hard to perform the moves while keeping up with the task of breathing through the smell of feet. Then I looked up and saw every one els in class dripping sweat, big chunks of stinky water dropping off of each one of their bodies. Then there were the men, with their shirtless bodies and their chest hair (some with back hair as well). Drops of sweat crawling between the curly hairs of their bodies and splashing onto their mats and some on the carpet as well. There was drops of sweat falling out of the inside of their shorts from their crotches. I think I threw up in my mouth a few times. The smell started to get stronger, the men started perspiring more, I was holding on to a thin thread to an open mind which was on the verge of breaking.
About 15 minutes into the class I was miserable. I could not breath, every muscle in my body ached and I swear I saw the face of Jesus in the mirror across the way. I wanted to run out of that awful place, into the fresh cool air, away from all these disgusting people, nasty wet people, and the stinky carpet. But I was not allowed, I was trapped. I was a prisoner inside this 106 degree room with all these crazy people and forced to stretch into an unachievable pretzel. I looked at Wendy and she looked as miserable and I was, lying on her mat for much longer than she was instructed to do so. I started thinking about all of the germs, sicknesses, diseases and hideous rashes I am going to suffer from. I had locked my eyes to the classroom door, the door to freedom, air, life, peace and comfort, right on the other side. I ran different scenarios through my head on ways that I can get out of this misery, but none would work. I kept counting the minutes of the longest hour and a half of my life. "Why did I get myself into this? Why? Why? Why?".
The voice of that monstrous woman who was holding me prisoner and making me work so hard would not cease! She kept talking, in that low, mischievous and extremely annoying voice. She said things like "you are releasing all of the toxins in your body", "your body is loving you right now", "you are fighting diseases and sicknesses as we speak", "you will have so much energy for the rest of the day"... Ah I so wish she would just shut the hell up! Get me out of here! I hate Hot Yoga!
So just like every other torture session this too ended after 5 years or an hour and a half. Wendy and I looked at each other and we did not have to speak as our eyes said it all.
As we were trying to get out of that hell hole as soon as possible, we went to return our orange mats. I was expecting to throw my mat into a pile of "used" ones on their way to be sanitized. Well, not quite, we hung them right up there on that same rack where we had picked them up from, ready for the next group. Yes, there was no "sensitization" of the mats, they were just being re-used by every new patron. Uuuuugggghhhh I wanted to scrub my body in bleach.
Not only my body did not have more energy that day, I was a sleepy lump in pain all day long, in shock and traumatized.
Ok, I tried it, I kept an open mind and I experienced something new. That teaches me to never try anything new ever again, or at least never to go against my instinct, which is usually right. I am going back to my comfort zone (air conditioned yoga class) and staying there.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Mehrieh
Who ever that came up with the idea of Mehrieh was a genius. Think about it, 90 years ago when Soghra was getting married to Nasrodine she was only 15 years old, had no education, no job and absolutely no savings. So what did they do? Her family negotiated a price for Nasrodine and his family to pay in order to "take" Soghra as a bride.
The details of Mehireh is that the negotiated price (cash, real estate, cattle, etc.) will belong to the bride and only her. She is the sole owner and has all rights reserved to her. She can demand payment either upon possible divorce or any other time that she damn well pleases and the husband must pay up, by law.
It makes complete sense to me. If Soghra decides that she does not want to put up with Nasrodine's crap any longer, she does not need to worry about not having any financial leeway to leave his wife-beating ass.
The other beautiful part of Mehrieh is that Soghra can demand that price any time she pleases, even with out the occurrence of divorce. Lets say Soghra would like to give a couple of camels to her mother as a birthday present, but Nasrodin has such a tight ass that he refuses to allow the little woman to proceed with her wish. Soghra cannot disobey her husband because remember, no education, no income, no say, right? Well, here is where the light of Mehrieh comes in. Nasrodine had promised Soghra 500 camels on the day that they sealed the deal of marriage. Well Soghra has every right to demand those camels and present them to her mother. Nasrodine has no say in that.
Mehrieh gave women power, freedom and a sense of security. It was a way for them to have some cushion in life in case of possible mishap.
Time has passed, people have evolved, we have come a long way. Women are now allowed to get an education and not just a high school one, but college as well. Women hold jobs, own homes, have 401K accounts, wear lipstick before marriage and damn it they can vote! Women no longer tie the knott between the ages of 14 and18, they have been getting hitched in their late twenties and recently not even until when they are in their early 30's. Part of the reason for that, other than the newly found independence and power, is the fact that we get to live longer than 45 years old in this century! We can have children up to 50 years old! Ahh, the miracles of science!
Now what baffles my mind to the point that I see steam coming off of my flat ironed head of hair is that people are still continuing with the tradition of Mehrieh! Families are still negotiating and setting prices on the bride. For the woman who can buy 100 camels (or a car, depending on your taste) with her own money if she wishes. The woman who has the ability to drive, go to work, and go out with friends with out the need to acquire a man's permission. The woman who owns her own home for god's sake!
Last week I found myself in the middle of a heated discussion between a couple of my friends and their parents. I had to keep checking my calendar to make sure I am still in 2008, or even the 21st century for that matter! I could not believe what I was hearing and was so shocked that I felt my hair slowly raising on the top of my head. Thinking about my foggy memory of my temporary travel back in time I can recall statements such as "you have to show your worth and respect by setting a decent amount of Mehrieh", "khodeto sabok nakon", "do not be stupid and disregard Mehrieh, it is your womanly right", "do not ask him to sign a Prenuptial Agreement, that will offend him" (the prospective bride has a job and an income where as the prospective groom is currently between jobs). I did not have a single response for this group as my feelings were beyond words. I strongly believe that arguing with such group of people gets me nowhere other than to the medicine cabinet for some headache relief.
SERIOUSLY??!! Are you kidding me? I mean there is steam coming out of my ears!!! I cannot believe that I have to explain this. We have to think about why a tradition or custom was originated, and if those reasons still apply to us in this age. Mehrieh did determine the worth and "cost" of a woman back in the freaking stone ages, for whatever reason they believed right. However, I really would like to believe that in our time (maybe we can call it the pebble ages) a woman's worth is determined by her beliefs, values, strength, education, determination, self worth, and not by her money, her family tree, and the value of her Mehrieh.
These days a woman does not need Mehrieh to be able to stand on her own two feet upon divorce. These days a husband and wife share their assests, they are equal. So when a woman is contemplating giving an apartment (or a set of cows) to her mother as a gift, she makes that decision with her husband as they have a relationship not an agreement.
So why are we continuing with the tradition of Mehrieh? I understand people's need for tradition and a sense of culture, but if we use our ever so capable brains we realize how some parts of our culture and traditions are not only not applicable, but also so ridiculous in this day and age. We, the new and improved (in some ways) species of the Iranian decent have many beautiful traditions that we can hold on to such as the Sofreh Aghd and all of the ceremonial gestures that go with our wedding ceremony. However, we need to put our custom in a colander and get rid of the ones that not only keep us from improving, but they are so negative, offensive and disrespectful to a group of us (I mean women, if you are not following me).
It shames me to think that this tradition is still being followed when so many women have fought so hard for what we have and where we are now.
Whoever that came up with the idea of Mehrieh was a genius, whoever that continues to follow that idea now, in my opinion, is not!
The details of Mehireh is that the negotiated price (cash, real estate, cattle, etc.) will belong to the bride and only her. She is the sole owner and has all rights reserved to her. She can demand payment either upon possible divorce or any other time that she damn well pleases and the husband must pay up, by law.
It makes complete sense to me. If Soghra decides that she does not want to put up with Nasrodine's crap any longer, she does not need to worry about not having any financial leeway to leave his wife-beating ass.
The other beautiful part of Mehrieh is that Soghra can demand that price any time she pleases, even with out the occurrence of divorce. Lets say Soghra would like to give a couple of camels to her mother as a birthday present, but Nasrodin has such a tight ass that he refuses to allow the little woman to proceed with her wish. Soghra cannot disobey her husband because remember, no education, no income, no say, right? Well, here is where the light of Mehrieh comes in. Nasrodine had promised Soghra 500 camels on the day that they sealed the deal of marriage. Well Soghra has every right to demand those camels and present them to her mother. Nasrodine has no say in that.
Mehrieh gave women power, freedom and a sense of security. It was a way for them to have some cushion in life in case of possible mishap.
Time has passed, people have evolved, we have come a long way. Women are now allowed to get an education and not just a high school one, but college as well. Women hold jobs, own homes, have 401K accounts, wear lipstick before marriage and damn it they can vote! Women no longer tie the knott between the ages of 14 and18, they have been getting hitched in their late twenties and recently not even until when they are in their early 30's. Part of the reason for that, other than the newly found independence and power, is the fact that we get to live longer than 45 years old in this century! We can have children up to 50 years old! Ahh, the miracles of science!
Now what baffles my mind to the point that I see steam coming off of my flat ironed head of hair is that people are still continuing with the tradition of Mehrieh! Families are still negotiating and setting prices on the bride. For the woman who can buy 100 camels (or a car, depending on your taste) with her own money if she wishes. The woman who has the ability to drive, go to work, and go out with friends with out the need to acquire a man's permission. The woman who owns her own home for god's sake!
Last week I found myself in the middle of a heated discussion between a couple of my friends and their parents. I had to keep checking my calendar to make sure I am still in 2008, or even the 21st century for that matter! I could not believe what I was hearing and was so shocked that I felt my hair slowly raising on the top of my head. Thinking about my foggy memory of my temporary travel back in time I can recall statements such as "you have to show your worth and respect by setting a decent amount of Mehrieh", "khodeto sabok nakon", "do not be stupid and disregard Mehrieh, it is your womanly right", "do not ask him to sign a Prenuptial Agreement, that will offend him" (the prospective bride has a job and an income where as the prospective groom is currently between jobs). I did not have a single response for this group as my feelings were beyond words. I strongly believe that arguing with such group of people gets me nowhere other than to the medicine cabinet for some headache relief.
SERIOUSLY??!! Are you kidding me? I mean there is steam coming out of my ears!!! I cannot believe that I have to explain this. We have to think about why a tradition or custom was originated, and if those reasons still apply to us in this age. Mehrieh did determine the worth and "cost" of a woman back in the freaking stone ages, for whatever reason they believed right. However, I really would like to believe that in our time (maybe we can call it the pebble ages) a woman's worth is determined by her beliefs, values, strength, education, determination, self worth, and not by her money, her family tree, and the value of her Mehrieh.
These days a woman does not need Mehrieh to be able to stand on her own two feet upon divorce. These days a husband and wife share their assests, they are equal. So when a woman is contemplating giving an apartment (or a set of cows) to her mother as a gift, she makes that decision with her husband as they have a relationship not an agreement.
So why are we continuing with the tradition of Mehrieh? I understand people's need for tradition and a sense of culture, but if we use our ever so capable brains we realize how some parts of our culture and traditions are not only not applicable, but also so ridiculous in this day and age. We, the new and improved (in some ways) species of the Iranian decent have many beautiful traditions that we can hold on to such as the Sofreh Aghd and all of the ceremonial gestures that go with our wedding ceremony. However, we need to put our custom in a colander and get rid of the ones that not only keep us from improving, but they are so negative, offensive and disrespectful to a group of us (I mean women, if you are not following me).
It shames me to think that this tradition is still being followed when so many women have fought so hard for what we have and where we are now.
Whoever that came up with the idea of Mehrieh was a genius, whoever that continues to follow that idea now, in my opinion, is not!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The selfish helper
When I was in my early twenties I had many goals of different nature. From selfish ones to selfless ones, from short term goals to long term goals, easy to difficult, and from doable to unrealistic ones. One goal that was very close to my heart was to at some point in my life go to Iran, live in one of the poor and underprivileged villages and teach to young children in schools. I figured I could teach these children all I know about life, the world and possibilities. I wanted to give them hope, teach them to dream, show them their worth and possibly make a tiny little difference in their lives. I planned to go live among these young children, go to school with them and shower them with love. I had a goal to encourage them to learn, grow and to demand a better life. To show them that they are special, beautiful and wonderful beings who deserve great things in life. I wanted to make a difference.
Like every other goal that I had it seemed challenging but doable at the time. But then life happened. Marriage, responsibility, age and reality happened. My goal and dream of helping packed up and went up to the attic, collected dust and was eventually out of sight. Yet it never managed to go out of mind.
I still think about that goal and dream of mine. I think about what could have been, if I would have actually accomplished it and what it would have looked like. I day dream about the children's faces, their bright eyes when they look up at me listening to every word and absorbing every message. I picture the surroundings, the sounds and finally the remarkable satisfying feeling that I would have in my gut. I day dream...
Looking at how my life looks like now (husband, house, career), I feel that I will never be able to live out that dream and accomplish my goal. And by "never able to" I probably mean "chose not to give up what I have for others".
Therefore, I can not help but to wonder, are these so called selfless goals truly pure and have the true essence of giving, or is it to satisfy our own ego and desire to be good? Would we continue with our random acts of kindness and with helping others if that warm and satisfying feeling that we receive in return was taken away from us? Are we then filling up our quota of "being kind" to make ourselves feel good rather than to actually make the world a better place?
These are all good questions to ask, complex scenarios and fascinating, but what happened to my dream and to the goal? What happened to the children? It seems that the desire to help is still there, but is the price too high now? So if I was a single poor person here in America with nothing going for me, then maybe I would proceed with gracing the unfortunate children of Iran with my presense and assistance. I wonder if I would be granted the same amount of "credit" then as if I proceeded with the "dream" now.
Ultimately, just by thinking about it does not make you a good person. To do a good deed when it is convenient does not make you a good person. It is when you actually act on a good deed when it is difficult to do and no matter what the cost, that is when you will go into my book as one who I would admire.
Like every other goal that I had it seemed challenging but doable at the time. But then life happened. Marriage, responsibility, age and reality happened. My goal and dream of helping packed up and went up to the attic, collected dust and was eventually out of sight. Yet it never managed to go out of mind.
I still think about that goal and dream of mine. I think about what could have been, if I would have actually accomplished it and what it would have looked like. I day dream about the children's faces, their bright eyes when they look up at me listening to every word and absorbing every message. I picture the surroundings, the sounds and finally the remarkable satisfying feeling that I would have in my gut. I day dream...
Looking at how my life looks like now (husband, house, career), I feel that I will never be able to live out that dream and accomplish my goal. And by "never able to" I probably mean "chose not to give up what I have for others".
Therefore, I can not help but to wonder, are these so called selfless goals truly pure and have the true essence of giving, or is it to satisfy our own ego and desire to be good? Would we continue with our random acts of kindness and with helping others if that warm and satisfying feeling that we receive in return was taken away from us? Are we then filling up our quota of "being kind" to make ourselves feel good rather than to actually make the world a better place?
These are all good questions to ask, complex scenarios and fascinating, but what happened to my dream and to the goal? What happened to the children? It seems that the desire to help is still there, but is the price too high now? So if I was a single poor person here in America with nothing going for me, then maybe I would proceed with gracing the unfortunate children of Iran with my presense and assistance. I wonder if I would be granted the same amount of "credit" then as if I proceeded with the "dream" now.
Ultimately, just by thinking about it does not make you a good person. To do a good deed when it is convenient does not make you a good person. It is when you actually act on a good deed when it is difficult to do and no matter what the cost, that is when you will go into my book as one who I would admire.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Her man
He tells her that he would like to go to Las Vegas in order to spend time with his cousin Amir. Amir is going to Vegas for his girlfriend's birthday with her and a group of her girlfriends. So since Amir is the only male at this event he needs some one to spend time with, and that is the reason why he plans to go to Vegas. Yes, he actually believes that that is a legitimate reason and that it is really ok for him to go to Vegas with Amir and a group of girls. Right!
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He is standing by her side as he asks his brother for a chair. He sits down once the chair is delivered with out asking her if she would like a seat, leaving her on her feet. He has absolutely no clue why she is upset. After she informs him, he actually believes that she is upset about the actual chair, literally.
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He tells her that he is not sure about what he would like to do for dinner as she calls him to inquire. Yes, he cannot make a decision about dinner until he is leaving work. She asks him to call her when he decides as she would like to plan her evening. She takes deep breaths. Two hours later he leaves her a message with a suggestion for dinner. As she gets out of the shower she calls him back to let him know that the suggestion will not work. The scent of that particular restaurant remains strongly on clothes and hair, a bad idea because they are attending an event after dinner. He is set on his suggestion and asks her why she took a shower before dinner and not wait until after? Yes, he actually asked her that! (so he wants her to go out to dinner after the gym with out taking a shower, come back home, take a shower and go back out again). She is speechless and does not bother to reply. When she declines his suggestion he informs her that he has already called another friend and has invited him out to dinner with them. She tells him to go to dinner with the friend and that they will unite for the party after. He sees nothing wrong with how the evening turned out!
------------------------------------------------------------------
When she sees that the porch light is out she grunts as she knows that it will take weeks for him to replace it. She can change it herself, however she has decided not to take over every single task in the household and leave him some responsibilites. When she notifies him of the light bulb situation, he tells her that he will take care of it over the weekend. Yes, changing one light bulb is a weekend job for him! After he actually does complete this task (after 7 or 8 reminders) he lists it as a chore (taking credit) and tells her that he is done with "chores" for the day. Yes, he actually believes that changing a light bulb completes his quota of chores for an entire day!
------------------------------------------------------------------
She had been asking him to organize the garage with new cabinets for two years. Finally he decided to take up the job and do it. So since this project was her idea and due to the fact that it is costing a high amount of money, he actually suggests that that could be her Valentine's Day present! She laughs at him, but deep down she knows that if she had said ok, he would have been serious!
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She has to continue reminding herself that he is a man, they are of different species, this is how they really do think, this is honestly what they actually and truely believe, it is not personal, he does not mean harm... So this is what she continually recites to herself as she takes deep breaths: "Pick your battles, pick your battles, pick your battles, pick your battles...".
-----------------------------------------------------------------
He is standing by her side as he asks his brother for a chair. He sits down once the chair is delivered with out asking her if she would like a seat, leaving her on her feet. He has absolutely no clue why she is upset. After she informs him, he actually believes that she is upset about the actual chair, literally.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
He tells her that he is not sure about what he would like to do for dinner as she calls him to inquire. Yes, he cannot make a decision about dinner until he is leaving work. She asks him to call her when he decides as she would like to plan her evening. She takes deep breaths. Two hours later he leaves her a message with a suggestion for dinner. As she gets out of the shower she calls him back to let him know that the suggestion will not work. The scent of that particular restaurant remains strongly on clothes and hair, a bad idea because they are attending an event after dinner. He is set on his suggestion and asks her why she took a shower before dinner and not wait until after? Yes, he actually asked her that! (so he wants her to go out to dinner after the gym with out taking a shower, come back home, take a shower and go back out again). She is speechless and does not bother to reply. When she declines his suggestion he informs her that he has already called another friend and has invited him out to dinner with them. She tells him to go to dinner with the friend and that they will unite for the party after. He sees nothing wrong with how the evening turned out!
------------------------------------------------------------------
When she sees that the porch light is out she grunts as she knows that it will take weeks for him to replace it. She can change it herself, however she has decided not to take over every single task in the household and leave him some responsibilites. When she notifies him of the light bulb situation, he tells her that he will take care of it over the weekend. Yes, changing one light bulb is a weekend job for him! After he actually does complete this task (after 7 or 8 reminders) he lists it as a chore (taking credit) and tells her that he is done with "chores" for the day. Yes, he actually believes that changing a light bulb completes his quota of chores for an entire day!
------------------------------------------------------------------
She had been asking him to organize the garage with new cabinets for two years. Finally he decided to take up the job and do it. So since this project was her idea and due to the fact that it is costing a high amount of money, he actually suggests that that could be her Valentine's Day present! She laughs at him, but deep down she knows that if she had said ok, he would have been serious!
------------------------------------------------------------------
She has to continue reminding herself that he is a man, they are of different species, this is how they really do think, this is honestly what they actually and truely believe, it is not personal, he does not mean harm... So this is what she continually recites to herself as she takes deep breaths: "Pick your battles, pick your battles, pick your battles, pick your battles...".
Sunday, January 27, 2008
From Simon to Obama
Anahita has been trying to raise up some political interests in me (refer to "comment" on blog dated 1/16/08). I think it is because she became excited when I programmed NPR in my car radio, wrote about Afghanistan and showed some interest in the world. Little does she know that the NPR radio button has yet to be used, and my slight interest in world news and current events was merely due to an entertaining book, an interesting movie, and possibly a laps in personality.
She tried to use the "charming and handsome brother" tactic on me to introduce me to the presidential race and to persuade me to vote, vote! She sent me a survey to complete which would inform me of the presidential candidates who I am mostly "compatible" with (I was unaware of the meaning of almost half of the words in the survey). She even tried to guide me to the voter registration website in order to make the process smoother for me.
Does she truly believe that this Glamour Magazine reading, Romantic Comedy watching, gossipy, American Idol fan could be transformed to a worldly, politically educated, fascinating conversationalist, news paper reading voter?
It has been raining in Southern California for almost a week straight now, any thing is possible!
She tried to use the "charming and handsome brother" tactic on me to introduce me to the presidential race and to persuade me to vote, vote! She sent me a survey to complete which would inform me of the presidential candidates who I am mostly "compatible" with (I was unaware of the meaning of almost half of the words in the survey). She even tried to guide me to the voter registration website in order to make the process smoother for me.
Does she truly believe that this Glamour Magazine reading, Romantic Comedy watching, gossipy, American Idol fan could be transformed to a worldly, politically educated, fascinating conversationalist, news paper reading voter?
It has been raining in Southern California for almost a week straight now, any thing is possible!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Battle of the Eggs: Shabnam Vs. Maman
Part I
When I was a little girl I did not like eggs, actually I despised them. I hated the smell and the texture. My mom on the other hand believed that eggs are one of the most nutritious foods in the universe, they have protein. That was the reason why she force fed me.
One of her force feeding techniques was to attain my full attention with a story, then feed me as I was engrossed in the fascinating tale (highly sneaky). Eventually I caught on to her motherly trick, and instead of rebelling against it I used it to my advantage. I developed and enforced a new rule: in order for me to eat an egg, you must provide me with a new and interesting story (note: one story per egg, multiple eggs cannot be consumed with a long story, story cannot be "made up"). My mom agreed, because she would commit to anything for me to consume eggs as it was her goal in life. To her this looked like an easy contract, little did she know that there will be a glitch: there is always an endless supply of eggs, but not stories.
And so one day my mom ran out of fascinating tales. She tried to sneak in a few repeat or "made up" stories here and there, but unfortunately (for her) it did not fly. Each time I reminded her about our deal and that the story must be fresh and original.
She ran out of stories, I stopped eating eggs. I won.
Part II
One morning before school when I came to the breakfast table I saw something interesting and exciting, a Chocolate Shake! My mom placed it on the table in front of me as she had a smile on her face. I was so happy, she was letting me drink only a Chocolate Shake for breakfast! I did not question her motives as to not risk the treat. As I was gulping down the shake I noticed that it did not quite taste like a typical Chocolate Shake. I did not ponder too much about it and left for school.
I continued to receive Chocolate Shakes for breakfast 2-3 times per week. One day as I questioned the taste of the shake my mom brushed it off and blamed my taste buds.
One of the lovely mornings as I was walking into the kitchen to sit at the breakfast table, it happened. I was traumatised as I caught her red handed. She was whipping a raw egg in the glass that would be filled with my "Chocolate Shake". As I stood there and looked at the glass with disbelief, she looked at me like a deer caught in head lights, my dad burst out laughing!
My mom had been feeding me RAW EGGS hidden inside a glass filled with milk, cocoa powder (which technically is not even Chocolate) and HONEY!!!!!! I had been drinking RAW EGGS and HONEY disguised as "Chocolate Shake" 2-3 times per week! The betrayal, by my own mother, and to use CHOCOLATE as her cover up! I was crushed.
I guess my mom believes that every little elementary school girl should follow the footsteps of Rocky!.
Now I know what that smile was about when she presented me with my first glass of "Chocolate Shake". It was not the smile of "here honey, enjoy a treat", it was the smile of "wooohahahha, you sucker"! She won.
Score:
Shabnam- 1
Maman- 1
When I was a little girl I did not like eggs, actually I despised them. I hated the smell and the texture. My mom on the other hand believed that eggs are one of the most nutritious foods in the universe, they have protein. That was the reason why she force fed me.
One of her force feeding techniques was to attain my full attention with a story, then feed me as I was engrossed in the fascinating tale (highly sneaky). Eventually I caught on to her motherly trick, and instead of rebelling against it I used it to my advantage. I developed and enforced a new rule: in order for me to eat an egg, you must provide me with a new and interesting story (note: one story per egg, multiple eggs cannot be consumed with a long story, story cannot be "made up"). My mom agreed, because she would commit to anything for me to consume eggs as it was her goal in life. To her this looked like an easy contract, little did she know that there will be a glitch: there is always an endless supply of eggs, but not stories.
And so one day my mom ran out of fascinating tales. She tried to sneak in a few repeat or "made up" stories here and there, but unfortunately (for her) it did not fly. Each time I reminded her about our deal and that the story must be fresh and original.
She ran out of stories, I stopped eating eggs. I won.
Part II
One morning before school when I came to the breakfast table I saw something interesting and exciting, a Chocolate Shake! My mom placed it on the table in front of me as she had a smile on her face. I was so happy, she was letting me drink only a Chocolate Shake for breakfast! I did not question her motives as to not risk the treat. As I was gulping down the shake I noticed that it did not quite taste like a typical Chocolate Shake. I did not ponder too much about it and left for school.
I continued to receive Chocolate Shakes for breakfast 2-3 times per week. One day as I questioned the taste of the shake my mom brushed it off and blamed my taste buds.
One of the lovely mornings as I was walking into the kitchen to sit at the breakfast table, it happened. I was traumatised as I caught her red handed. She was whipping a raw egg in the glass that would be filled with my "Chocolate Shake". As I stood there and looked at the glass with disbelief, she looked at me like a deer caught in head lights, my dad burst out laughing!
My mom had been feeding me RAW EGGS hidden inside a glass filled with milk, cocoa powder (which technically is not even Chocolate) and HONEY!!!!!! I had been drinking RAW EGGS and HONEY disguised as "Chocolate Shake" 2-3 times per week! The betrayal, by my own mother, and to use CHOCOLATE as her cover up! I was crushed.
I guess my mom believes that every little elementary school girl should follow the footsteps of Rocky!.
Now I know what that smile was about when she presented me with my first glass of "Chocolate Shake". It was not the smile of "here honey, enjoy a treat", it was the smile of "wooohahahha, you sucker"! She won.
Score:
Shabnam- 1
Maman- 1
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