a book of ordinary people

You know that perfect moments that you have with your friends. When you are walking out of a Crazy Irish Pub towards your car and you say : "If Only I had a cigarette tonight would be perfect." And one of your friends hands you a cigarette and you start smoking while the other friend looks at you with disbelief :" You smoke?" and You reply : " Oh yeah and I teach smoking cessation classes too!!!" And then all of a sudden everyone bursts into laughter. Remember the expressions on everybody's faces....
When people are making love, or simply having sex and are really enjoying it.Remember the expression on their faces? Nobody is laughing, or having a good time. Sometimes it feels like they are suffering, as if they are in pain. And when it is all over, you can even hear the sigh of relief. People don't really laugh after having orgasm. With sex, pleasure is pain and pain is pleasure. Not in a sadistic-masochist sense, just a simple observation.

These days I am down in ICU. So far we have had three people coded on us. One of them tried to drink himself to death after his wife left him for excessive drinking. The other two had multiple complications. One of them kept coming back from dead and we persuaded her family to stop the resuscitation. We let her take her sweet time dying and walked back to our stations.I will never forget the expression on her face, her eyes were closed and it seemed like she did not want to be bothered with Life.
The third was an amputee, nobody exactly knows what happened ( most of the time that is the case). Massive organ failure. I ran down the stairs from the fifth floor down to ICU with the blue box in my hand. I never got to see his face. He was sent to the hospice in the next day or so.
I like it down here in ICU, in a very strange way .ICU is Full of expressionless faces of people who are heavily sedated in order to be mechanically ventilated. Some of them may never get to wake up.
When you look at it from a distance : Joy, death, pain, pleasure, life, sorrow and so many other words are just arbitrary. Why do we Scream while having an orgasm? Aren't you supposed to scream when you are scared and need help or maybe are angry? Why pleasure can be painful but death feels like nothing?
I am not trying to be philosophical here,no on contrary I am learning how to be normal. How to let everything just be.....
Be it death, Orgasm, or Joy....
I have started to like hospitals, I think I am staying....

Labels: rotation diaries

So the 30 is almost over, me being 30 years old I mean, and in couple of days I will be turning 31 years old.

Good or bad 30 is an arbitrary milestone in our minds. For me it was and still is, even though I have lived it and it did not feel much different than other years. It was as different as 28th and 29th were.

How did I feel about being 30? I felt old, in a very good way. There is a quality to growing old in your skin that I can not describe. I do not have the energy that I used to have when I was in my 20s anymore, and trust me it is the best thing that has happened to me in life next to discovering Tiramisu. I need to budget my energy, so there it goes
1) work to pay my bills
2) clean my house
3) socialize and travel once in a while.
So that means energy wise I can not afford to:
1) think too much about little details in life
2) argue too much about useless intellectual shit
3) stay up so late.
Just like 3-4 weeks ago in a party, I danced only to half of the songs and then by 12:00 am I had the Cinderella urge to leave the party. Because staying up after 12:00 meant that I would wake up late the next day and the preparation of presentations for the next week would be delayed and therefore my grocery shopping and therefore my laundry and so on. So yeah at 30 you become a real grown up..
On a more personal level what happened to me at 30? A lot I suppose or maybe nothing. Nobody disappointed me so you see that is a lot but in actuality nothing happened.
So I am going to scribble down couple of things that happened to me while i was being 30 years old in a very random manner:

A) I went on a cruise to Bahamas and as stupid as it sound I might go on another cruise, it is the gift of universe to the lazy people who like to travel. you do not even have to look for a place to eat ( trust me sometimes that becomes a big pain in a group trip).

B) my brother took my digital camera and moved to South America. In other families people steal better things and move to South America.But my family has always been a bit of loser ,when it comes to lying,stealing and cheating and I am not even sure if that is a virtue.
C) A friend of mine revealed to me that she is dying to have an affair, a very simple one of course, since her husband of 3 years is the only guy that she has never cheated on. I told her not to go for it,because it will never be simple and she might end up regretting it for the rest of her life. That is it, this time around I did not approach the issue from my moral high grounds, because I do not have any. Thirty means becoming practical. A marriage is an investment in time,money and emotions and an affair no matter how simple it might be;is too big of a risk to be worth taking. If the marriage is not worth your time/money/emotions bow out of it with grace, do not let OTHER circumstances end it. Have I ever mentioned that no one in my family has ever gambled or have the slightest interest in gambling?
D) A coup and a following uprising has happened in my country,and for the first time in 100 years nobody even remotely related to me and my family ( even an acquaintance) is on the run, in jail, going to exile, stripped out of all his/her basic human rights under house arrest, executed or burning their Russian Novels. Just for one simple fact: pretty much all the living members of my family and our family friends live outside Iran and most of them can not even write their names in Farsi. This time around the only price we paid was a lot of tears, and return of nightmares and memories that all of us sincerely thought were suppressed after 80s ( dahaye shast) ended.
Btw: Can someone explain to me why my family has no problem gambling their lives so that the world becomes a better place but barely takes any risks when it comes to other matters in life?

E) I went to a silent retreat and did nothing but meditate trying to think about nothing. For a week I did not talk, read,no ipods, or computers. It was tough, at one point I caught myself during the act of emotional eating.I never knew that I was even capable of finishing my own plate and then I found myself overeating. I had no other of way expressing my emotions. At the end though it was great, something changed inside of me. I am not exactly sure what it was and how did the change happened. But it was good, it still is...

F) Not that I ever was big on drinking. But recently I have noticed that I can not be an honest drunk anymore. My job had taught me to hide my emotions very well, I have learned to pretend that people's death makes me extremely upset and is shocking when in fact I knew it was coming and at that point was a way better option that life. Alcohol is supposed to have disinhibitory effect on people and make them feel like their real selves. Twice in a row after having couple of beers, and considerable amount of shots. I continued to laugh and pretended that i was enjoying hanging out with friends and then have rushed to the bathroom started crying, at one point I even kicked the door of my bathroom in rage and then came back to friends all smiling. I have learned to control myself even when i am drunk, and worst of all I am not a happy drunk anymore...

G) This one might not make any sense to anyone. But after all these years, once and for all I have ceased to see the empty chairs. I used to see them all the time. In a party, in restaurant, in bars. But one day we were in a party and it was packed and even though I have always managed to see empty chairs even in packed parties, this time around there was nothing. It is as if an empty hole in me has been filled. I am too old to look for things and people who do not exist anymore I suppose

H) I sat in front of a man who was empty and was not capable of feeling anything. I explained to him how people felt and how he had to react to them. He thought about it and realized it was true and acted upon my advice. I still can not believe it but this man did not react to any outside stimuli. He reminded me of Dexter
I still do not know what has happened to him in childhood that had made him so devoid of emotions,but I command his ability to let his head become his heart in the absence of it.

I) I have grown into a less confused version of myself.I read a lot of history these days, a lot. What I have realized is that at the end of the day nobody is all that innocent and not that many of us will go to heaven, if there is any.

.... to be continued I meant Life

این را برای پروین خانم را که دهه شصت به جای مدیریت کارخانه ،خیاطی می کرد و هر چهارشنبه دم زندان عادل آباد بود تا برود ملاقاتی نازنین تر مرد دنیا می گذارم.و مادرم که تنش می لرزید از هر زنگ در چرا که خانه چپی های محل را علامت زده بودند .
قصه زیاد دارم از آن روزها.. دارم می نویسم.آرام آرام ،نمی خواهم احساستی بنویسم و پر از خشم. فقط می خواهم بنویسم تا هیچ کداممان فراموش نکنیم آن روزها را و یاد بگیریم رو به جلو برویم و خدای نکرده عقب گرد نکنیم.
بیست سال دیگر سرمان را بالا بگیریم وبا لبخند یادمان بیاید که دهه هشتادونود دهه شصت نشد.

آمده ام خانه جدید و مثل همیشه موقتی است. حا لا بگو کدام خانه موقتی نیست خانه آخرت؟ بگذریم . نمی خواهم
زیاد اسباب ببرم که میشود بلای جانم. یکهو فکری به ذهنم می رسد : خانه ام را عشایری درست می کنم. این هم از آن چیزهایی است که باید شیراز بزرگ شده باشی تا بفهمی. یادم هست یک بار نفیسه می گفت خانه مستاجر بختیاری اشان را چه قدر دوست دارد. "هیچ چیزی توی خانه اشان نیست جز وسایل ضروری زندگی حتی یک دست مبل هم ندارند. پشتی دارند."
فکر کنم فامیلهای اصفهانی مادرم بشنوند سکته کنند. (که آدمهایی هستند متمو ل و لازم نمی بینند مبل بخرند.حا لا مبل استیل که هیچ.) اما ایلیاتیهاهمه همین طور بودند. آنهایی که من میشناختم همه چند نسل بود که شهر نشین بودند و همه دوستان دوران دانشگاه پدرو مادرم بودند و همه خا ن زاده های به نسبت متمولی بودند. اما خانه هایشان همه مثل هم بود : خلوت ( به زبان ما شهریها می شود خالی!!) یک قالی عشایری داشتند و چند تا گلیم وچند تا پشتی .
خاله ناهید که قشقایی بود و شوهرش یکی از پزشکان به نام شیراز بود (ایلیاتی نبود) و برو بیایشان واقعا زیاد بود حتی با معیارهای شیرازی ( شیرازیها خیلی عادت ندارند به خانه نشینی همیشه بهانه ای پیدا می کنند برای بیرون رفتن و خوش بودن.) داده بود چند تا مبل چوبی ساده ساخته بودند و پشتی هایشان را روی آن میگذاشتند. آن آخرها هم یک چند تا لوستر خریده بودند به گمانم.
دوستان عشایرما تا یادم می آ ید مثل اینکه همیشه آماده به کوچ بودند. حالا که یادم می آید می بینم آکثرا هم از ما ل دنیا چیزی نداشتند. اکثرا یا خانه اجاره ای می نشستند یا جا های خیلی متوسط شهر. با اینکه موقعیتشان مثلا از پدر من بدتر نبود. ما نه هیچ وقت اجاره نشین بودیم و نه خدای نکرده خانه مان محله ای بو د که خانواده دما غ سر بالای پدری را که گاهی راه گم می کردند و به جای سفر خارجشان می آمدند شهرستان را سرافکنده کند.

حالا من نشسته ام توی خانه مثلا عشایری ام و زل زده ام به سمت راستم . دو تا پشتی قشقایی گذاشته ام و باید سومی اش را از خانه پدری بیاورم. این پشتیها فکر کنم همسن من باشند دست بافند و مادرم سالها پیش از بازار وکیل شیراز خریده بود از دستفروشهای قشقایی. و حالا سرو کله اشان پیدا شده توی خانه دانشجویی بنده در شمال کالیفورنیا لب اقیانوس. جا نی دارند این پشتیها ، مثل جنسهای پیزوری چینی نیستند . می بافندشان که طاقت بیاورند زیر باد و باران و ان همه کوچ ، مثل خود قشقاییها . شاید هم برای همین است که جز معدود اسباب خانه امان توی ایران هستند که طاقت این کوچ را آوردند. راستی کسی میداند مبلها چه بلایی سرشان آمد یا میز پینگ پنگ؟
نگاه سمت چپم می کنم ، خالی است زیاده از حد. مادرم ازراه میرسد و می گوید که یک میز تاشو دارند خانه اشان و می آردش برای من تا بگذارمش این گوشه خا لی و این قدر توی ذوق نزند. ما شهریها را می بینی ؟ طاقت نداریم یک گوشه خلوت را ببینیم. تن به همه بدبختی می دهیم که یک چیزی پیدا کنیم و پرش کنیم. بعد هم می نشینیم غرغر می کنیم که خفه اما ن کرد این همه آشغا ل که یک عمر خودمان را لت و پار کردیم که جمعشان کنیم. شاید از بس دور مانده ایم از طبیعت یادمان رفته که کویر به قشنگی جنگل است.

من یکی که هنوز بلد نیستم خانه خلوت اصلا چه طور میتوان داشت؟ میترسم از فضاهای خالی ، شاید می ترسم صدایم تویشان بپیچد ، شاید هم ازبچه گی یک ترسی گذاشته اند توی دلم ناخودآگاه. شاید هم خانه آدم نشان میدهد که آن بالای آدم چه خبر است. خانه ذهنمان را هم طاقت نداریم خالی نگه داریم. دایم باید پرش کنیم از فکرهایی که پشیزی ارزش ندارند.

آخر هفته می آیم خانه پدری و هر چه که رنگ و بوی قشقایی دارد را جمع می کنم و هزار تا چیز دیگررا که ببرم با خودم . خانه ام رنگ و بوی عشایری خواهد داشت ، به یاد شهرم و خاطرات بچه گیهایم. اما خودم هنوز از تبار فکل کراواتیهای شهری ام .دعا کنید روزی برگردم شهرم و بروم ازایلیاتیها زندگی کردن یاد بگیرم.

Labels: ordinary stories

I don't really miss you.
there was nothing about you to be missed..
And that is exactly what I miss, the peace that came upon me when I was around you...
There was absolutely nothing about you. No judgment, no extreme emotions, no expectations...
you would drift into your own world and I would into mine...
Occasionally we would talk about random non-personal matters...
I never knew much about you, and you did not know much about me neither...
And it really did not matter
What is there to know, that we already could not see?
I lied I missed you the first couple of days that I left, I missed that peace of mind that i had while you were in the room. But not anymore...
Unknowingly you uncovered my inner peace,and guess what I am not going to let this one go away....
I guess that means I will never miss you, cause you are always here right by my side...

It all happened so fast, that I don't even think I got a chance to finish my watermelon. It was a big piece, I told "H," that it was too big for me and he took out his knife cut it into two halves and gave back the two halves to me!!!! We all laughed...
It was the Spring of 1999, and we were bunch of carefree kids enjoying our Weekend somewhere by the lake in between mountains outside our city. It was me , "A" my classmate and her two sisters one of their cousins "H," "R" and the three "P," brothers and couple of other kids. And all we did was eating our watermelons minding our own business..
All of a sudden from the middle of nowhere the army of god appeared with their guns in their tows in a big car. A heavily bearded middle aged guy dressed all in black got out and rounded us all up, yelling and screaming calling us immorlists , infidels or something like that. Growing up in Iran you get accused of so many things so many times that the chronology and etiology of accusations start to escape you at one point.
He had his soldiers to point their guns at us and then took each one of us behind a big rock to interrogate us. I was too young to realize that standing up for yourself and defending your basic rights as a human being will not take you anywhere when dealing with a fascist. And there I felt it, that slap on my face. for stating that I had done nothing wrong and will not give him my student ID. His next words after slapping me was "See you at the revolutionary court."
We somehow managed to get out safe, "A's" older and married sister was able to get us all out by flirting non-stop with the middle aged revolutionary Militia who deemed our eating watermelon immoral. At one point he told her that she should not think of him as a father but more like a brother because their age difference is not all that much!!!
They say they came after my paternal grandpa in the first national Iranian bank that he was one the founders with guns, and took him to the jail. Everybody was confused he was neither a communist ( Todei) or Corrupt. He was a man of morals and principles ( Not that Todeis were not), well known and dearly loved in the circle of writers, poets and intellectuals of his time.His crime " He published books," my father said. The books that were of historical value but were too risky to be published. He used to print them in his backyard, because everyone refused to publish and even print them. "He learned all the tricks of the trade of printing on his own." my father says, " He always said people need to know , they need not to forget who we were." One of his famous friends went to the Notorious "Bakhtiar" ( Not Shapour Bakhtiar) who founded " Ministry of Intelligence," and asked him to let my grandpa go. "This man had done nothing wrong, keeping him is just a bad publicity for the regime." They were smart enough to let him go. But My grandpa did not stop. He loved books, he later found a publisher paid him good money to continue publishing. He backed a lot of big projects. Again he went to jail, for publishing a newspaper during 1950s coup.
My father says" there were times that i would wake up in the middle of the night and think what would happen to our families have they kill my father?"
He survived somehow, and stayed a lover of books. I still remember his library. He had locks on the glass doors of his library. We had to ask for his permission to get our hands on his books. Alzheimer was the only reason he gave up publishing books.
And then there was my father, the young communist, they came for him in the hospital. "They said they would wait until I am done with my patient." He says.
My father is a quiet man, and all he likes to do is to sit and read books. And that is all he did with his friends, they read books and discussed them. They went to villages to teach people about basic hygiene,listen to their stories and read books for them.
My father got lucky, he only was in jail for a year, his family was well connected enough to prevent his execution. Besides two of my mother's students had important fathers who were able to help him. He lost half of his teeth during interrogations,they tried to make him talk but he was a quiet man who did nothing but reading books. He had nothing to tell them......
Nothing will stop my father from reading books but his death.....

Oh where were we? They came after me for eating watermelon, and no i do not even like eating nor am a fanatic fan of watermelon. I still remember those guns pointing at us,it was not as scary as the thought of going to revolutionary court. No one knows what happens there, absolutely no one.
They say when my grandpa came to jail to visit my dad he asked me dad:" Why did you do this son?" and my father replied:" Just like you did!!"
I guess had I been in jail I would have replied to the same question from my father with something like :" Didn't you teach us that eating watermelon is one of our basic rights as a human being?" I was lucky enough to be with someone who was smart enough to use her flirting skills to get us all out. She was old and wise enough to realize where in the world we were all standing.
I left Iran 3 months later at the end of June 1999.Couple of weeks later there were deadly protests. They attacked the students in their dorms while they were asleep, I guess sleeping is as big of sin as eating watermelon or reading books or maybe publishing them..

These days I attend protests all over bay area, wearing green and trying to remember if I ever got a chance to finish that big piece of watermelon that "H," caught into two halves by the lake??? I wish I could send an email to that revolutionary gaurd and tell him that I had a lot of pieces of watermelon by the ocean with my friends, and nothing horrible has happened as a result of our act!!!

Labels: ordinary stories

امید به آینده رساترین اعتراض ماست. به سابقه دیرینه این سرزمین نگاه کنید. در زندگانی ما مردم که از کهن‌ترین تمدن‌ها زاده شده‌ایم، فراز کنونی جزئی از یک تاریخ طولانی است. ما در جاده‌ای به درازای تاریخ همه بشریت قدم می‌زنیم. در این جاده چه بسیار ملت‌ها که منقرض شدند و جز داستانی از آنان باقی نماند. آن چیزی که ملت ما را به خلاف آنان و علیرغم سخت‌ترین رویدادها زنده نگه داشت امید بود، زیرا آفت این راهپیمایی هزاران ساله ناامیدی است. مردم ما می‌توانستند با بدبینی و ناامیدی حوادثی شبیه به آنچه را که در جریان انتخابات گذشته با آن روبرو شدیم پیش‌بینی کنند و به صحنه نیایند. آیا آنان اشتباه کردند که به این پیش‌بینی‌ها اعتنا نکردند؟ نه! آنان به مقتضای روح امیدی که هسته درونی هویت ملی ما را شکل داده و ما را در طول هزاره‌ها زنده نگه‌ داشته است چنین کردند. به‌ویژه با جوانان می‌گویم که اگر می‌خواهید ایرانی باقی بمانید از شعله امید در سینه‌های خود محافظت کنید، زیرا امید بذر هویت ماست؛ بذری که با نخستین باران شروع به روییدن می‌کند و جان هرکسی را که هنوز ایرانی باقیمانده است، در هر کجای جهان که بیتوته کرده باشد به اهتزاز در می‌آورد، تا از نو خود را در سرنوشت این خاک شریک بداند.
امید به صرف گفتن و شنیدن شکل نمی‌گیرد و تنها زمانی در ما تحکیم می‌شود که دستانمان در جهت آرزوهایی که داشتیم در کار باشد. دستانمان را به سوی یکدیگر دراز کنیم و خانه‌هایمان را قبله قرار دهیم.

بیانیه شماره 9 مهندس میرحسین موسوی در مورد اعلام تایید نتایج انتخابات ریاست جمهوری توسط شورای نگهبان