In Chinese Medicine, we talk about the importance of a person’s first breath. with that first breath, a baby takes in the energy of the universe at that specific time and at that specific place and makes it its own. nowadays, we don’t put very much relevance on a person’s birth place. we think it is more important to think about where they grew up, what kind of local culture or customs they grew up in. after going back to iran, i can not deny that Tehran, my birthplace, is in my blood. In Iran, there is a common saying that one is a child of a certain region, “bacheye Esfahan (child of Esfahan)” for example. and it is true that most likely where you were born is where you grew up. but it mostly refers to where you were born. in Iran, the importance of place is still there, perhaps not in people’s minds but in the language. when i was in Tehran, my body felt great. My skin was not even slightly dry, my hair was not frizzy but smooth and shiny, my water metabolism was working great. it is interesting because the weather is more dry in Tehran than in Portland, OR, but i look at my skin now and it is flaky and my hair feels so dehydrated. even after a week and a half, my body still has not adjusted to this place where it has lived for the past 5 years. but in Tehran it was so easy. it was as if my body let out a sigh of relief as it exclaimed “This is familiar, I am home.”
4/18/09
i am excited to see what this new world will look like. it is my unified world where my two lives as an american and as an iranian will meld and i can just be me, one product out of two cultures. will i vacation in iran like americans go to the bahamas? will i have a house in both places like americans who have a beach house? will i work part time in iran like a visiting professor? i don’t know what it will look like. i don’t even know what i want it to look like. it is a dream i haven’t dreamt yet. in the meantime, i am going about my life here. getting my work started, starting classes, excited for each night, waiting for my dream to come to me.
4/16/09
yes, i am definitely back in america. in iran, it was so nice when the bus driver would say my name without hesitation. it was so easy for him. it was just like all the other names. actually some people had names much more complicated than mine. it was so nice when someone would say Ms. Azizkhani and they didn’t mean me. they were calling my cousin. every time something like this happened, i would be taken aback. i would pause for a moment and revel in the fact that this was an unusual occurrence for me. in america, i must constantly spell my name for people, sometimes multiple times. and i am the only one with this name. now, i am back to the world of feeling like i am different because of my name. it is interesting that in iran, it was only my name that belonged 100%.
but other than that i feel like i am adjusting well. i feel motivated to get my life started again here. i am bringing my experiences from iran into my life here and trying to meld these two worlds. it was a completely different life for me in iran these past couple of weeks. this experience was a little similar to my life as a child where i have one face inside my home and a different one once i leave the front door. as i grew up, i latched on stronger to my outside world face, trying to make the other disappear. but it will never disappear. now, i am trying to fuse the two. i am trying to understand that it does not have to be one or the other. i am trying to understand that it is not either a life here or a life there. i can live in both places. i don’t have to straddle and wobble as i try to walk one foot in each world. i can have both feet in both worlds because they are really one world. maybe this is why i have had pain in my feet for so many years.
here is a video of the music that i talked about earlier. enjoy.
http://video.aol.com/video-detail/sasy-mankan-ninash-nash-ft-radin-band-music-video/2392454777
4/11/09
i had a huge realization today. I recognized that the Iran I hold in my mind is that of the war stricken years. even though i have blocked most of it from my memory, i was born admist the war between Iran and Iraq. i was born admist the bombs, the mandatory blackouts, the after sunset curfews. although we were far from the majority of the fighting, i still grew up experiencing the panic, the distress, the ugliness of war. then i left when i was five, so lucky to have escaped. today, i realized that i hold so much guilt for being able to leave. the years that followed my flight were some of the hardest for the Iranian people. they truly had nothing. i hold guilt for being able to have had a normal life filled with lots of dolls, watching cartoons, and having food on the table. but the significant part of my realization is that today’s iran is so much different from that of the 80’s and 90’s. the oppression of the islamic regime still exists, but people are enjoying life. the younger generations have fun, they can have good jobs, they are able to buy anything we can here in the US. there are a lot less restrictions now. so there is no need for me to feel guilty for leaving. infact, people there might be overall more happy with life than people here. whatever the case, i must accept the path my life has taken and rid the guilt from my body. i realize now that it is a self destructive act that only i have put on myself. and only i can free myself from it.
4/10/09
my tears started to roll as our plane started to move from the gate. I was really leaving. As we took off and I was no longer on Iranian soil, my tears were like two rivers. I had no control. These tears were coming from so deep inside. I looked over into the distance at the lights of Tehran. I was so sad. I knew that I was leaving my heart within those city walls. Those surrounding mountains were housing my soul. I kept my headscarf on, I listened to Iranian pop music on my ipod, anything to keep me connected.
When I landed in Amsterdam, our plane of camaraderie began to disperse. I saw tall bodies, white skin, blonde hair. English was being spoken. It was beautiful because I felt like I was experiencing the outside world for the first time. but I was gaining these new eyes at a price. Pretty soon, I could not hear any farsi no matter how hard I strained to listen. There were no striking women in beautiful head scarves. There were no people talking on top of each other. I felt so incredibly alone.
Back in the States
I have lived a lifetime but it was only a dream. There is a recollection but it seems out of reach, like I fabricated the entire experience. though the calendar proves a time lapse, so it must be real. But it is still hard to fathom. It is hard to fathom that on the other side of the world, those same people that I was with 24 hours ago are still there, going about their day, living their lives. It is hard to fathom that I was there sharing their days with them, that I walked on those streets with them. When I was in the airport, CNN broadcasted a piece on Iran. It was incredibly surreal. There I was, sitting in Amsterdam, watching footage of the streets that I was a part of only hours earlier. A mere six hours earlier, that was my home, and now watching it on the screen made it so far away. A distance was born and it grew wider and wider by the minute. And now on the other side of the earth, my heart is heavy as I try to savor the taste of my trip. But it is fleeting as it flaps away into the wind like a butterfly. And I stand there, my hand stretched out, empty.
4/6/09
the sadness is slowly starting to creep in. I have only 3 days left. I feel like I can stay here forever. I am surrounded by family, I have found friends, I have acquaintances. I have a cell phone filled with numbers. Within this last month, I have slowly started to build a home here. And now, I must say goodbye. Some say it is see you later, but that is not true. It is undeniably a goodbye. My grandfather is well aware of this. Everyday, he reminds us that he may not be here for the next new year. he knows his days are numbered. Sometimes he holds on and sometimes he lets go. The other day I told him that when Master Wu read my astrology chart, he said I would get married at 32. My grandfather smiled big, threw his head back, put his hands up in the air, and thanked God. He said “I can make it until then.”
I am sure he can. He is a strong bodied man. But it is his will that sometimes waivers. As he ages, his passion for life deteriorates. Family members come over less and less often because he has less tolerance for kids and commotion. It is difficult for him to go outside because of the wind and cold. He thinks too much because there is so much time and not much for him to do. He thinks about what this person did or what someone else said. He has had a full life with few regrets. In the end, he is happy with his life. But this last segment is the hardest for him. Thus the bitterness starts to show. I try to mend relationships but it is difficult. There are too many grudges. There is resentment today but there will be regret tomorrow. So many people take what they have close by for granted. This family has lived within 30 miles of each other their entire lives, and yet the last time they all saw each other was when I visited last. But I trek half way across the globe just to catch a glimpse. Everyone has their own lessons to learn in life. Everyone has their own fate. Mine is to come and go. When things are not good, I come to make it better, and then I leave. Just like what I have here, I too am impermanent.
I have to practice saying goodbye.
4/2/09
I never thought that a city could be so beautiful. This morning I watched the sunrise over Tehran from the 8th floor of my great aunt’s apartment building. I have never experienced Tehran so calm and peaceful. Usually it is bustling with activity, but this morning, on the 13th day of the new year’s holiday, it was so quiet. Most residents of Tehran escape to the countryside or smaller cities for the 13-day holiday. They go visit family or take vacations. So during this 2 week period, Tehran takes her much needed yearly rest. I was so happy to experience Tehran in this way. Nonetheless as the day progressed, the streets became more and more lively. It is custom for everyone to spend the 13th outside picnicking with family. The parks are packed with people spreading their rugs specific for sitting on outside. They put up tents, bring their camp stoves, and a lot of food and tea. People are playing ball, soccer, badmitton, cards, backgammon. It is such a festive day where the family gathers outside, eats, takes a nap, plays, and enjoys each other’s company.
4/1/09
it has been a whirlwind of activity the last couple of days. I have been in Tehran with my mother’s side of the family. Her side of the family are mostly all women. All once beautiful and powerful women, who all married very noble and truly kind men, and who 4 out of 5 of them have outlived their husbands. Some by 25+ years. These women have so many memories together. They have spent their entire lives connected to each other. They have seen so family members come and go. They have seen some family members go abroad and disperse. They have seen each other’s heartache and suffering. They have seen each other’s weddings and helped take care of each other’s children. Every single one of these women has seen their share of hard times and good times. They have laughed together, fought together, danced together. No matter how difficult it gets to tolerate each other’s flaws as they age, they still stay connected. Even though it is difficult for them to travel from their homes to get together because of their age, they still convened. Even though they always argue when they are together and find faults in each other, they still spend days straight together. Why? Because they are of the same blood.
3/29/09
Today I picked tangerines for what seemed like hours. I remember as a child being so excited to come over to my grandparents’ house so that I could pick oranges and tangerines. Even if they weren’t ready to be picked, my father or uncles would humor me, lift me up into the trees so I could pick just one. I would be so proud of my little feat. Today, I went from tree to tree, seeing the garden as I did when I was a child. It was a huge grove where I could get lost and spend an eternity. Each tangerine was a meditation. it was as if I was picking one for each day that I missed these last 26 years. So many memories flooded my being while I was out there. These trees have witnessed all of it. They have seen story of the Azizkhani family. They have seen the coming and the going and the not coming back. They have seen birth and death and everything in between. So many emotions are held firm within these garden walls. These trees have become our anchors.
I had my first soda in 17 years the other day. It is because the water here is so difficult for me to drink. I am just not used to it. The soda was orange mirinda. Before I decided to quit drinking soft drinks, orange soda was always my favorite. As I was picking tangerines today, I remembered how I always preferred orange flavored candy, drinks, etc… Orange gummy bears, orange runts, orange Sunkist, orange high-c, anything that had a flavor option would be orange. I realize now that it was not just the flavor, but that it reminded me of home. It is interesting how things like this carve their way into your subconscious and soul.
POMEGRANATES AND DREAMS 