Far Far Away

She stepped into the dark room and went straight to the sink to rinse off her hands. The smell of the dinner, the scattering flu viruses, all the hand shakes, all washed down the drain. She then put down her purse and turned on the lights.

The room was set how she had left it. Her laptop still plugged in. Some cloths neatly left on the chair.  Her book by the bed stand.  She connected her iPhone to the laptop, get it charged and synced. She laid her jacket on the bed and sat on the chair by the window; the night and the city underneath her gaze. The cars. The lights. The reflections on the river not too far away. The noises of the city at night. Her gaze flying over the buildings. Back to the river reflecting the bridge lights.

She took out her heels and suit; put on sweatpants and jacket and sneakers; grabbed the room key and iPhone and earphones and walked out the room. She head to the bridge, jogging along the sidewalk.

It was long ago she was there at the bottom of that bridge with him. Deep in the night. Feeling assured and secured. She was there again, deep in the night, feeling secured and assured. Albeit in a totally different sense. She was there but far far away from then.

The Unspoken Heart

Back and forth my mind moves between feeling grateful and feeling betrayed. The injustice bothers me. Then I ask myself: didn't the worst of the injustice happen to the best of the men and women? Who am I to complain?

The ignorance makes me feel hopeless. Then I remind myself of my many blessings I am granted for no reason.

I am a nobody in the eyes of the Beloved. I want to remember that. That must feel liberating. Yet I feel trapped.

So I pray and I repent. Then every move I make, every step, I say the word. And I smile.

One More Time A New Beginning

The untidy closet is tidy and organized. Both kids were in bed and it was just then that we could start working on the clutter. Now the result of the labor is fabulous. These are the jolts of khoone takooni in our house, the condensed Spring Cleaning if you wish, the Persian style.

In one shelf I sorted out my diaries; the very first notebook started at the Perisan New Year's Eve, 1990, 24 years ago! I had used my most favorite pen and exercised my best penmanship. I had drawn some pictures in the background. I was really into writing my first note.

I skimmed through the first couple of notes but I didn't dare reading the rest. I knew I would find the unfamiliar me who lived in the past and I would miss that 'me'. I better remember this when A and m are going to act strange in a few years.  In another notebook I found some of my poems. How proud I was for each one of them! How in love, in doubt, disappointed I felt in some!

I found some notes written in a secret language the keys to which I do not know anymore.

I found occasional notes written by friends who should have been with me at the time.

Notes from elementary school to high school to university to getting married to emigrating to Toronto to finding new friends to finishing school to landing my first job to getting pregnant to all the emotions of motherhood to yesterday when I wrote down yet another dream.

From that big house in Khane Eafahan to this house in the edge of San Jose; Who would have ever guessed?

A new Nowrouz is ahead of us once more. A new beginning enshala, if there were more days in my life.  And more notes to be written and never read unless I gather the courage one day.