Hello 29

I was sixteen days old that the eight-year war between Iran and Iraq started; now I am 29 and the coup's government has cancelled all public ceremonies, religious and non-religious, afraid of people's gatherings. And there were a lot of hopes and fears between these years...
I have a first-hand experience on war, on death, on ideology, on living on coupons, on industry development, on elections, on press freedom, on suppressing the press, on art for good, on art for art, on earthquakes, on cooperation for reconstructing, on love, on social activism, on making change and being changed, on being arrested and interrogated, on living abroad, on traveling, on depression, on coup d'état. I have lived a lot in these years; what is better than it?

I am back

I am back to the library after a short break—eating a sandwich, drinking some hot chocolate, and looking the undergraduate students gathering, laughing, arguing—to cheer up. But I am still not happy. Not happy (and strong) enough to concentrate on my studying. I can see that I am completely fragile and going to break down by a breeze…

Yes: I know it is not easy to study some theoretical course abroad, in a language that I could not express myself explicitly; I know I am getting use to study hard; I know I am here to learn as much as I can and I should not lose my track; I know; I know; but still do not have good feelings, do not have self confidence… I am not the one I used to be: why I have become so much unsocial here in London?

Kolakchaal

It was completely dark when we started to climb Kolakchaal at 4 am. I was some how sleepy and unconscious at first but after feeling the cool gentle breeze on my face’s skin, I fell into a nice dawn-dreaming!
After a while, light comes up steadily. And there was a wow-like light on Tehran…
I love this city. No matter it’s crowded, polluted and full of traffic jams. No matter it’s dirty, has ugly buildings and bumpy streets. It’s beautiful specially when you look at it from the northern mountains.

How much?

It never happened to me before: crying for not having a chance to talk to one of my best friends. I just think about her, for more than a month. I’m some how nervous for her risky decisions. Yet, she is happy and healthy in a pretty good European country.
And now, I’m listening to Mark Knopfler’s Shangri-La which she bought me about two years ago. Hmm, she is happy and I have to be happy for her. I can’t call her and if I could, it wouldn’t take the place of her smile…

Immigrating to other countries (so-called first world!) for searching better life opportunities, it’s the road Iranians, especially young generation is driving on. Is it the best road? Why aren’t other roads parallel?
Everybody pays, he sings. He doesn’t know how much. Neither do I.

Parastoo is planning

It’s a kind of scary situation: I am investing on a thing that I am not sure about the result at all. After some months of being disappointed in my job as a journalist –because of many things-, I tried to find something enthusiastic and then I decided to study more on journalism.
Although I used to be a very good student at high school, it turned to be a “not bad” student at university. And now, this kind of non-academic, some activist person want to be a good post graduate student in another country in another language. Wow! How could it work?

Hey!

It’s 5 pm and I did nothing today. It’s shameful. Anyway, I feel like... like… after a couple months out of schedule, coming back to the real tough life. I will rock my world!

Touch the new life

It can’t be imagined but my favorite list of music is almost the same as a girl’s list comes from Uganda.
It can’t be imagined but I’m sharing my fears on getting arrested on the way back home with 2 other journalists come from Zimbabwe.
It can’t be imagined but now I know there is at least one person in Colombia who thinks the same as me on religion.
Here, in Kalmar. A small southern town in Sweden, it’s not a big deal to sit down and write about your feelings: almost everywhere in almost every time is quiet and clean. Green, is the main color of the city and there is not a kind of shocking news.
And this is Fojo, which made this opportunity for a group ofsome 20 journalists from various countries and continents to touch the life, which you couldn’t even imagine.

Emotion

Hello

Playground school bell rings again
Rain clouds come to play again
Has no one told you she´s not breathing?
Hello, I am your mind giving you
Someone to talk to
Hello

If I smile and don´t believe
Soon I know I´ll wake from this dream
Don´t try to fix me, I´m not broken
Hello, I'm the lie, living for you so you can hide
Don´t cry

Suddenly I know I´m not sleeping
Hello, I´m still here
All that´s left of yesterday

*Evanescence

Cry virtually

I can’t write -and think.
Not about the story of Iran and its Atomic energy;
Not about myself, nor my passions;
Not even about my struggle to be more optimistic.
What a blue, useless and clingy girl I am.

Rainy day, not romantic one

It was a rainy day; very rainy in fact, for a friend of mine. As he passed the street, his cell phone slipped out of his pocket right through the gaps on the metal plate -which covers the sewage- and straight into the canal itself. There was nothing he could do, not even informing the telecommunication company to block the SIM. It is Norouz; and everything is closed till Monday. But it isn't bad after all. He would buy a better cell phone.

P.S. Our plan to go to cinema, turned out to be a disaster as well. All cinemas were closed today as tomorrow is an official day of mourning in Iran, a holiday! It is the day prophet Mohammad passed away nearly 1400 years ago.

First, but not the last

I just want to give it a try and write a weblog in English; that is, after 4 years of keeping one in Persian - and feeling great about it. Here you can find my notes on almost everything: daily life, movies, books, as well as my views on social and political issues.

The name of the blog comes from a book written by Kazuo Ishiguro, a well-known British-Japanese author. It’s simply what I’d be doing: writing every night about what remains of the day. I love the book and its great translation into Persian by Najaf DaryaBandari.
By the way I gotta work more on my writing. Do encourage me please!

P.S. My very special thanks to one of my best friends, HamidReza, the designer of my blogs. Chaakerim dadash!

Summer

A rice field, Rasht, Iran.
[photo by: Parastoo Dokouhaki | July 2009]