Chapter 7: Writing

I would pick up an empty notebook, carefully draw lines with a ruler and make a square at the top of the page. I would write the story for that page at the bottom of the square and then draw pictures related to what I just wrote in the square, just like the books I used to read when I was seven.

I don't exactly remember how I first started to write stories, but I think it was my aunt who ignited that passion. My mom and dad both worked and my grandma used to take care of me before I went to Kindergarten and after that on snowy days and sick days. I think that particular day was a snowy day, one of those days that we woke up on, only to hear our mom telling us that it had snowed and we had to wait to see what the news says. We would run to the window and with a mouth wide open look at the street that was covered with snow and there was that one neighbor whose foot steps had ruined that stillness. We would look at our mom and tell her that the schools are definitely close, "Have you looked at this?" we would ask. Our dad, who thought that even one day not spent in school is wasted day would say "Who knows? It hasn't snowed that much!" and we would run to the TV, sitting quietly on the floor in front of it, waiting for the news anchorman to say the magic words: "All schools of districts 1, 2, 3 ..." and we would be so happy that we would not go back to sleep.

It was probably on a day like that, on which my dad dropped me off at my grandma's place and not very long after my arrival I started to feel bored. My aunt was there that day, visiting my grandma from Amol, a city at North of Iran. She told me that I could pass some time if I started writing. "Writing about what?" I asked. "Hmm.. about spring for example."

I went to "my room" which was not technically mine but I was the main person who spent time there, started thinking about Spring. I wrote how spring looked like, what happened to trees, how much I liked it and whose birthday was on spring (my mom's). I went out of the room to show her my essay on spring, 10 minutes after she gave me the topic. She later on told me that she thought it would keep me busy for at least an hour, giving her time to do some grown-up talking with her mom. "Now what?" I asked, and the response that I got was actually not that bad. I went back to write on summer (when my brother is born), and then I went back again to write on fall (when I am born) and winter (when my dad is born) and I really liked that game. I think I spent that whole day writing, about different topics and I didn't get tired.

I had several attempts at writing a novel, which is still a big dream of mine. One was about a rich family with a son and a daughter who lived in a huge house in a city and naturally the kids were bored with having so much money and stuff that they decided to spend the summer at their relative's house in a small town. I think at that time I was watching too much "Road to Avonlea" and was inspired by the simplicity of life in a small town. Later, when I was a teenager, I tried writing about a love story but that didn't work either because I hadn't experienced it yet, so what did I know about love. Now I'm just taking small steps, writing about the things I know and experience. It may not be that interesting but at least I know what I'm talking about.

Chapter 6: Alma Mater

I now know how to "properly" start school. I didn't know that the first time I started school here because I was so worried about making to my classes on time and getting to know the bus system, taking notes in English, learning the banking system, opening up a bank account and a phenomena named credit card, those were all enough to make me not even realize how the first semester passed. It was surreal, like a dream and yet hectic, as if I was always running.

Now I know that you first have to go to your school's bookstore and indulge yourself in everything that has your school name on it: t-shirt, sweat shirt, sweat pants and a mug. Because you are proud of going to that school and you have to show that to everyone else, well everyone else on campus who also go to the same school, so not really a point there, but yoohoo!

Unfortunately I figured that out a bit late. I started setting foot in my school's bookstore the last year, after I came back from a visit to a friend who attended Berkeley. She had a big mug saying "Cal" in a italic font on it and she even bought a "Cal dad" T-shirt for his dad, which he wore when they had guests coming over. I didn't really get her, so I asked her why she bought all that stuff? And she asked me a very important question: "I'm proud of going to Berkeley, are you not for going to Illinois?"

I guess I wasn't. I never took pride in my academic achievements. I was never happy when I got an A. Nor unhappy when I didn't get one. That's how my parents brought me up. They thought me that it's ok to not get an A, that it's not a big deal, and I grew up with that in mind. I won competitions and my classmates' parents would call my parents to congratulate them and only then they would receive the news. I got into two of the best high schools in Tehran and my dad told me "good". I never took pride in anything, until my that visit to Berkeley.

I started to think about my journey, how far I've come. I, who hated school in undergrad and didn't even want to graduate have come to a grad school here in the United States of America, a country most known as "land of opportunities". I decided that I was going to be proud of myself, and make myself realize that. I bought a sweatshirt, bought my mom and dad mugs, bought myself a mug and had coffee in it everyday. Instead of my life being on fast forward, I started to look around, to spend an afternoon in quad, laying down under a tree shadow and read, to absorb the fact that I made it, I made it to my dream, to go to a good school in US.

University of Illinois, Urbana-Chamaign campus is my Alma Mater. At first I thought Alma Mater is the name of that statue that we have next to our quad, but then I realized the term means the school that you attended, and that every person calls his or her school Alma Mater and that made me feel less special about that statue, feel like it has all been a prank. But nevertheless, I love my Alma Mater, I even love that statue, I have a graduation photo in front of it for God's sake!!!

Chapter 5: Pasta

I invited a friend over for dinner. She is having an interview at Microsoft and I told her to come over before she leaves for her flight. We used to go to the same college back when we were both undergraduate students. I told her to come over for dinner, but I'm not sure what to cook. I can't cook Tahchin because I don't have yogurt. I can't cook any Khoresh because I don't have the stew meat that is needed for most of them. So on my way back to home I decide on pasta, I have everything that I need and I haven't made it in a very long time. I get home, wash my hands and quickly start on making the sauce. I let it stay on the stove for an hour so that the meat is completely cooked and then start on the pasta. After the water is boiled, I empty a pack of pasta noodles, break them into half and put them into the boiling pot. As the noodles are getting softer and softer, I twirl the boiling water and with that twirling my mind goes back to when I first had pasta.

My aunt graduated from University of Maryland. At the time she told me this, I had no idea where it was or the importance of it. Now that I had applied to about 20 universities in the US, have been to college park and have a friend who is getting her PhD in there, I know it's a big deal! She came back to Iran after she got her degree and I'm always grateful for her coming back and being a part of our lives. Because if she taught us nothing else, she definitely taught us about American cuisine.

I had my first pancakes, my first fried chicken, my first pudding and my first pasta at her place. My favorite is her pasta because no one could ever get it close to how hers tasted, not even with following her recipe. It tasted like fresh tomatoes, garlic, onion and a bunch of aromatic leaves have all been melted together. We always thought the key to her cooking being so different that anyone else is the love and passion she puts into it. The way she put salt and pepper with her hands on top of the cooking pan, the way she tasted the food with her wooden ladle and the look on her eyes when she knew it was just right, that is something that I hadn't seen else where, until I found this cute little restaurant.

I don't remember when I first went there, it was probably my best friend and partner in crime, Shadi that always took me to these cozy little restaurants and coffee shops that first found that place. It was a few blocks away from our university building, on perhaps the most educated street in Tehran where people usually go to find books, sit in cafes and discuss intellectual matters, Enghelab street.

If you passed it by, you would think it's probably a coffee shop,  and a very small one. But a closer look would have revealed that there are two cooks, standing right there at the back of the place, with their oven and cooking material, cooking pasta. That was the second best pasta that I had, in that little restaurant, with the two owners who cooked right next to you and served you the food themselves.

There were hardly 5 tables there, but they were clothed with tiled red table cloths. They had colorful plates to go with their colorful drinks. They had all sorts of Araghijat and traditional Iranian drinks with mint leaves inside. It just felt like home, like your mom is cooking for you and she will bring it to your table any second. That place became my favorite restaurant right after that first visit and I would go there many times in the course of my 4-year-undergraduate studies.

It was there that Salim and I went for our very first Sepandarmazgan celeberation. I had bought him a book and he got me a pursue that I really wanted. We were exchanging gifts that one of the two ladies came to our table. She asked us, with a smile that revealed her knowing the answer to her question already, what the occasion was for us exchanging gifts. As she heard our answer, she walked back to their kitchen, got us some chocolates and told us that she really liked us celebrating the Iranian day for celebration of love instead of Valentine's day. Then she went back to the kitchen, where her own love was cooking, because there was no doubt that the two of them were in love, and their love for each other and for food was what made that place so special.

I look at my half broken noodles boiling in the pot and remember that she once told me when we were eating lunch there, that the pasta noodles should be cooked full length. That is the proper way to do it and that people should be educated not to cut them in half when they are eating them. They should be using a spoon and try to twirl the noodles around their fork with the help of the spoon as a base. She would've been disappointed in me if she were to look into my pot. But then again my pasta is not even half as good as hers so nobody cares.

Chapter 4: Found

It's not "Snow", I have read that book, well half way through anyways, and I didn't like it. It's another book of his that is more famous.

I'm telling myself this as I'm looking at the row of books in a local bookshop in Pike Place Market. Pike Place Market is like Tajrish, if you've ever been to Seattle, or to Tehran you know what I'm talking about. It's a crowded market with everything that you might look for, mostly small shops with local products that makes the place unique. Unfortunately you don't find places like that a lot in US and that's what makes Pike Place Market a very dear place to me, it represents home.

Salim and I are walking to find a restroom for him and we pass this bookshop and I have to go inside a bookshop if I'm passing one (it's like an unwritten rule and everyone who knows me knows this) and he rolls his eyes and is like "seriously?". I tell him that it won't take that long and show him where the restrooms are and assure him that by the time he is back from the restroom, I'll be out of the bookshop. I get in and look around. It's a second hand bookstore and like any other second store, it's not organized. You have to look for what you want and find it among all the other things and that's what I love about these places. That longing to find something and go through rows and rows of books with just the hope of finding it is one of the best feelings in the world.

By the time Salim comes back, I have spotted the book "Snow" by "Orhan Pamuk" and I am looking for his other book, the one he got famous for. All I can see is a couple of "Snows" and a couple of "The Secrets of the Black Book" here and there. This book that I'm looking for is called "My Name is Red" and I can't see it in the row in front of me, but I notice there are a couple of books, placed horizontally on top of each other behind this row in the front. I ask Salim for an extra couple of minutes and he sits down and patiently waits. I get the books in the back, but those are more "Snow"s and "Black Book"s. I go to the next stack of books, more of those two books again. By now I must've assumed that this bookshop only has these two books of him, but no, I keep looking. Just like I did three years ago in Iran.

One of my fun things to do in Tehran was to go to a book city. Book cities are a chain of bookstores we have in many cities in Iran, they are like our version of Barnes and Noble. This one was right across from a park where me and a couple of my friends were hanging out at and we had just said goodbye, me on my way to the bus stop when I happened to see this book city. It was like finding a hidden treasure. There was always something new in each of these book cities and I would always go explore one when I found one.

I had watched "Perks of being a Wall Flower" recently and they talk about "To Kill a Mockingbird" in that movie (which I found out is based on a book later) a lot. As I entered this book city I told myself I would look for the book. This is another habit of mine, if there is a book they talk about in a movie or a show that I like, I have to get the book and read it. Just like I got "Moby Dick" after that episode of "Gilmore Girls" where Rory is caught reading it by Dean.

I go to the English section and look for it. I never ask the staff for a book, cause I love that game of adventure hunt. Looking for a book among all the other books is a game for me and I love it. Not only do I get to look at all these books, which is amazing, but I also get to see what is new, what I haven't read and what I might be interested to read. I look for "To Kill a Mockingbird" for a very long time and I'm tired at this point. So I decide to go ask a staff member after all and to see if they actually have it in that store or not. He looks at his computer and tells me that they have exactly one copy and comes with me to show me where it is but he can't find it. He looks a bit more and tells me that the system might be wrong and they might actually have sold that one copy as well. But I don't want to believe him. I want to believe that that one copy is there for me, lying around somewhere, waiting for me to find it. And that's when I notice the same thing as I noticed in the Pike Place Market's bookshop, there are more books behind the front row. So I pull out books from the front row and look at the back row and then put the books back in their place and do the same thing with the next couple of books. I did this again and again until I actually found it. It was amazing, it was an amazing feeling. I felt like accomplishing something really important. It felt great!

Finding "My Name is Red" reminded me of that time in Tehran, reminded me of how I can have small, simple pleasures any where in the world and how the definition of home changes over time. I guess home is where brings you small, simple pleasures... .

Chapter 3: Numbness

I had dreamed of going to a top university in the United States for the last couple of years. I thought I wouldn't want anything else in my life if only I could get into a good school there. It would be a dream come true, like the ones they show in their movies, the girls whose dreams come true and get to go to Yale (Gilmore Girls), to Princeton (A Cinderella Story) and to Harvard (Legally Blond). It's funny how you always want to have the things that you can't have. And I wasn't an exception.

I'm a huge movie fan and back in Iran I used to always go and watch the "good" movies in a movie theater, cause they are hundred percent better on a big screen in a dark room. But still I always envied Americans for being able to watch those "good" Hollywood movies in movie theaters. I couldn't wait to go to the US and watch a blockbuster on an IMAX screen, and now that I'm here, oh boy do I miss watching an Iranian movie, and there are many of them out there since I came, all "good" ones.

It was "Hush! Girls don't scream" in a mid-summer afternoon. It was my last day in Iran and I had to go see one last movie. There were two movies which I thought were worth watching but there was no way I could cover both in that last day, so we chose this one. I say we, because going to the movie theater was a family event. My mom and dad are both into movies and we made sure to always go watch movies together as a family.

The movie was sad, very sad and poorly directed. Although it hit a very sensitive and important subject, it failed to iterate it in a believable manner. We came out of the movie theatre somehow dissatisfied, wishing we had chosen the other movie. Looking at my watch, I kept thinking we might still make it to another movie, but I knew it is not going to be possible. My brother and I sat down on the back seat of the car and he told me to take a selfie with him with our movie tickets in our hands. That was the last selfie we took. It's been two years since.

We came back home and got ready, checking everything for the one last time. After all, in a couple of hours, I was going to fly away and God knows when I would be back. Two suitcases and a carry-on. That's all I could take. I put everything (mostly books and notebooks) that I couldn't stuff in the suitcase on my desk in my room. I told my mom to send them to me as soon as she can. We probably took off to the airport much sooner that we should have, because we didn't want to hit any unexpected traffic. Imam Khomeini International Airport is a bit far from the city so we had a long way to get there. This is where everything stops having a shade of reality on. As soon as I get into the car, I can't distinguish reality from dream. My memory is blurry form there onwards. I hardly remember what happened in the car, what we discussed, the last people I called to say goodbye to, what songs we played, nothing. We got to the airport.

Salim arrives with some of my very good college friends, all boys. The flight is very late at night, or better to say early in the morning and I told my girl friends that they shouldn't come. Salim's visa status is still unknown but I'm very hopeful and don't even think that I'm saying goodbye to him. We take a couple of group photos, with my friends, with my family, with Salim and my family and then I should start to get going. I hug them one by one, not crying at all which is very weird. I can see that my mom is amazingly controlling herself not to cry, but to my surprise, I'm too zoned-out to even realize what is exactly happening. My dad helps me take the luggage after the security check and then I hug him for one last time and that's it. They are all back there, behind the walls and I'm on the other side.

My aunt's husband is also flying, with a different airline, to go see his daughters and wife in California so I find him near the gates and we kill time together. Not remembering what we talk about either. He goes off eventually to his gate and I'm all by myself now. Salim gave me a box when we were saying goodbye and he told me to open it after I passed the security check. I open it up, there are flowers inside with a card. He used to buy me flowers all the time and I used to dry them up and decorate my room with them. In the card, he tells me to dry these too when I get there and keep them in my room. I read the card, look at the flowers, but still, I don't cry.

I get on the plane, it's going to be a short flight to Qatar and then a long one to Chicago. I sleep on the first flight and end up watching movies and sleeping in between on my second one. Again everything I remember has a shade on it, a blurry shade. Looking back at that flight, I remember how suspended I felt, just like the plane, in between two places, one of them completely unknown. It didn't feel like a long flight at all cause I was mostly asleep and for the rest, unaware of my surroundings. We land on Chicago.

I get off the plane and head to this long line to get to this officer who checks my documents. I'm sleepy, jet lag and still not in the moment. He asks me where this apartment that I wrote on my form is, and I hear him asking me what "department" I'm going to, and I say with confidence: "Computer science sir!". He looks at me very angrily, and says impatiently:"Are you following me?" because I guess it was obvious that I'm not fully aware of anything that is going on around me. He repeats the question and I tell him it's my dad's uncle apartment. He lets me go. I head to the baggage claim area and when I get there I see my suitcases having been put down the for me from the baggage carousal. I look around to see if someone approaches me. Aren't they going to rummage in my stuff, and make sure that I'm not bringing something illegal to their country? Seems like they are not. I pick my stuff up and head to the gate that opens up to the airport. My dad's uncle and his wife are there waiting for me.

That day was my first day in the United States of America, but it felt like a dream. I wasn't fully awake, or fully recovered from the huge change that has happened. My dad's uncle apartment was right in front of Lake Michigan, with a gorgeous view. I sat down with them and chatted a little bit but couldn't keep myself awake for a long period of time and they knew that so they suggested that I go take a nap. I slept for a very long time and then wanted to go for a walk alongside lake Michigan. I saw my first gay couple who were also taking a walk and asked them to take a picture of me and the lake. I walked a bit more and then went back to go to dinner with my dad's family somewhere on Michigan ave. that later on became one of my favorite places in the US.

The next day my cousin and her husband, who drove all the way from Virginia to Illinois, came to pick me up and drop me off at Champaign, the city that I was going to stay at for the next two years of my life. My cousin practically packed a complete household set for me. She had an extra set for when she moved in to the US that she didn't use anymore and she brought them all for me. It was when we started unpacking them that I realized I don't need to do any shopping for my new place, expect maybe some grocery. The helped me do my shopping, set the place up and unpack everything. It was all done in one day thanks to them. At the end of the day, we ordered Pizza, made some salad and I had my first dinner at my new place with two lovely guests. The next morning they headed back to Virginia and I went to my department and the International Students Services to take care of registration and other necessary procedures. I was busy the whole day, not knowing how the day passed by. It was at the end of the day, when I was back home, and it was dark outside that I realized I was all by myself and I finally started crying.

Chapter 2: Time

My cousin puts a picture of her brother's lovely, cute, adorable daughter on Instagram and I see it while I'm carelessly browsing my feed. I stop and stare. I know this, I know that they have come to Tehran to visit my family and I know that they are staying at our house, but staring at that picture makes everything real all of a sudden. The baby girl is sitting on our sofa, looking at the TV, with a doll in her arms. She is sitting right where I used to sit and watch TV. She is there and I'm here, thousands of miles away.

I don't know what I expected! Did I expect that everything goes on a long pause? I guess I did. I thought I would somehow catch up, that I will be able to go back and not have missed a single thing. Well guess what? I was wrong. Time is certainly passing by and I'm certainly not there in every single moment of the lives of people that are so dear to me. I'm here, sitting in my one bedroom apartment in Seattle, trying to think that it's ok. That I would go back and catch up. I would make up for these two years, somehow.

My cousin's daughter, whose name is "Shirin" was born when I was in the US. She is a chubby, cute, big-eyed little baby girl and she is going through that sweet phase of being a baby. I see pictures and videos every now and then and I have almost a feeling of somehow knowing her. I have made up her personality in my mind and think that I would totally know what she likes and what she hates. This could be all in my mind but I'd like to believe it. I have this thing with babies, this secret bond. Somehow they like me, and I like them. It's not just babies, I usually have a better relationship with kids rather than adults. Whenever there was a party or a gathering at our place, you could find me in my room, playing with the kids. I would usually end up telling them a story or reading them a book, trying my best to show them how great it is to dive into the story world. It's better than the real world, that's for sure!

Shirin is not the only kid that I'm missing out on. One of the kids in my family that I had a strong relationship with was my other cousin's daughter, "Sarvenaz". She was four when I left Iran.

Sarvenaz used to call me "Ana" because that was the closest she could get to my name, and she always wanted to play, and I played with her because I liked it. She was unstoppable, and she would never get tired. Didn't matter how much I tried to sit down with her and play something that doesn't require too much movement, she always wanted to run around, go hide, or take me from one room to another and explore. If you wanted something to be safe, you had to make sure it is out of her reach and out of her sight, both!

I clearly remember the last time I saw Sarvenaz. She and her mother, my cousin, came to our house to say goodbye to me. It was two days before my departure day from Iran. I still had to pack a lot of things and make sure that I take enough things to help me survive and not too much that I don't have space or weight for. It was really hard fitting everything into two suitcases, not weighing above 50 pounds. How can you pack twenty-three years of your life into two suit cases, not knowing when you will be back for the rest?

I was trying to figure all that out and she came to my room and sat on the floor, watching me roam around my room, putting things from one place to another. A few times she asked me to let's play but I was so busy and my mind so occupied, I told her that I can't right now. After I rejected her a couple of times, with a tone so surprised, she said: "Are you saying that we are not going to play at all today?" and I suddenly looked back at her, forgetting all that I had to do for a second, and thought about the sentence she just said. She was surprised, and angry and she didn't expect me to welcome her like that, for the first time not even wanting to play with her. What she didn't know and she made me realize with that sentence was that I wasn't going to play with her for a very, very long time.


Last month, Sarvenaz started going to school. She is learning to read and write now. Not sure she needs it though, because she used to remember the books that were read to her word by word and yet she insisted that you read them to her and she accompanied you in narrating the story, correcting you if God forbid you missed a line, or even a word. Yes, she was four at the time I left and now she has homework to do. Oh and I forgot to mention that she has a new born baby brother that I haven't seen yet. There!

And I wish it was just babies, and kids who grew up. But that's not the case. People around you also grow up, and as ugly as it may sound, they grow old. I try not to think too much about this aspect of time, the aspect of making people grow older and weaker, but sometimes it hits me in the face. Like the last time I Skyped with my grandfather.

My grandfather and I have a very strong bond, and it started from when I was a little kid. I had a working mom and I used to stay with my grandparents when she was at work. My grandmother stayed at home and took care of me and my grandfather would sometimes take me to his small little grocery store. Those days were the happiest days of my life, because I used to get to walk with him, hold his hand, and I felt big, and grown-up, standing next to him in the store, watching him sell stuff to people. He even used to let me sit on the counter top when there were no customers, and I could see everything in the store. I felt very big!

But I was even happier when he took me to the park after his shift was over. He would let me come down the slide as many times as I wanted, never getting tired, never telling me to rush. I remember clearly that one time, I was coming down the slide and he was trying to catch me and slow me down and I hit his hand hard with my little feet. I felt so bad and even though he told me it was nothing, I didn't want to go down the slide again that day. After we went back home, I took a closer look at his hand and there was this bump on his middle finger. I asked him whether it was because I bumped into his hand earlier that day. He said that he has had that bump for a very long time and he told me that it was a mosquito bite. I don't think I ever believed him.

One day, he told me that he is going to take me on a bus ride, just like he had promised. I couldn't wait till we get to the bus, holding his hand firmly and lovingly, thinking that he is the best person in the world and I'll be going through the best experience of my life. We walked and passed blocks and I could see we are getting closer to the street that had wires in the sky. I knew that those wires were for the buses and I couldn't hold my excitement any longer. I pulled his hand and ran to the bus stop and he ran with me, listening to me babbling about going on the bus. Just like he listened to me all the coming years after.

As I grew up, I used to go visit him as often as I could. We would sit down and play cards, he would talk to me about the past, telling me stories about his childhood. Sometimes if he was in the mood, he would bring his photo album and go through the photos, explaining who is who and where each photo was taken. I've never seen anyone with a memory like his. He would remember everything and everyone, names, numbers, dates. He remembered my birthday all these years, always calling me to tell me happy birthday. This year he didn't call.

The last time we Skyped, he could neither see me nor hear me. He only knew that I was there, at the other end of that call and he blew me a kiss. He had to trust that I would see that and catch it. That was all he could hope for. But I couldn't even hope for that, I just hoped that he remembers how much I loved him, how much I used to sit down with him and talk, play cards and sometimes just be silent. Hopefully time doesn't take that away from him, and me, too.

Chapter 1: Smell

Lying in bed, while Facebook messaging my best friend, it comes back to me. It has been a long time since the smell has come to me. Actually I had forgotten about it all together, but surprisingly it came back, very unexpectedly. Last time I smelt it was probably a year ago. I took the car and drove there, playing “Cold Play” the whole way. I was very anxious because I knew it’s probably the last time I will see most of them. And who knew when I would see them again, especially my best friends. The only person’s departure that was settled was mine. 

I get there and park in he right side of the boulevard. A bit further than the park that holds some of our dearest memories. How much debate and struggle we went through to hold the classes there? How many times we went under the water hose in the hot days, or grabbed someone in attempt to drown them in the pool? I even told one of my best friends the beginning of my love story, right there in the middle of the park, sitting in the shadow of that tree. It was exactly four years ago… .

Now it’s four years later and I’m leaving the country. I’m leaving the country in less than a month and as I get closer, each day, I become more scared. I don’t feel confident like I always do, no! I feel scared! I don’t know what expects me there. I have no idea whether I’ll like it, or I’ll hate it? These questions roam in my head every day. The only thing that I’m sure of is that I have to stick with my decision and see it for myself. I have to go and see if it works for me. For the time being, I’m just focusing on that, on having faith in my decision.

I get out of the car, go up the stairs and into my beloved high school. Looking eagerly for familiar faces. Either girls from my own class, or the ones from the years before or after me. I instantly cheer up. This is the effect of this place, it lightens my mood up. And that smell comes. I can’t describe it, it’s not like a real smell. It’s not like the smell of spring or of fall. It’s not like smelling flowers or your favorite food. It’s like the smell of memories, it’s like a jar holding four years of my life and whenever I come back, I open the jar and take a good, long sniff. And just like that, all the memories come back in a flash back. I see faces, classes, teachers, corridors, notebooks, notes, everything. And for me, it’s the best smell in the world.

I find my way to the dining hall, because everyone will be there. Today is the most important day in Ramadan. It’s called Laylat al-Qadr. People gather around and stay up all night, praying. That’s why we have this annual event on this day, because we can stay up and be together, be with the people that we haven’t seen in almost a year, our friends from high school. The reason why it takes place in the dining hall is because we have our Iftar there, the meal we eat and break our fast with. I don’t usually fast myself but I love Iftar, since it has my favorite dishes and deserts. I usually don’t eat anything other than the deserts, and my favorite is Sholezard (Saffron Rice Pudding). And there are plenty of Sholezard dishes here!

I look around to find my friends. Well, I pretty much know everybody. I can’t walk by a table and not say hi to a dozen people. It’s like they are my family, a family that I visit at least once a year. A family that I spent, most probably, the most adventurous four years of my life with. As I go further down the dining hall, I hear a laugh. I can tell that it’s Mana. Mana has this audible, unique laugh of hers that will reveal she is in a room whenever you hear it. And I know if Mana is laughing, then the gang is probably all here.

This friend of mine, whom I’m Facebook messaging is from that gang. She is in Iran, as we speak, and I miss her. I miss her, and I miss being with her and doing the things we used to do back in Iran. I tell her that, and I tell her that sometimes, something happens and I think that if she was here, we would laugh at this, or cry about it together. It’s so strange that she is not here anymore, it’s so strange that I still think about her and her presence every day. Almost a year has passed and sometimes, I think like it was yesterday that I said goodbye to them. I saw them at the last table in the dining hall and I smiled and a I instantly felt a lump in my throat. This was going to be our last gathering, all of us, together.