A Hotel in Ankara

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.