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 Train of thoughts You live and breathe beside the unexpected October 7, 2002 The Iranian I open my eyes one eyelid at a time to the sweet noise of nothingness. There's no clock ringing, no voices, only complete silence. I try to guess what time it would be from the amount of sunlight let out the window. My guess is about 7 am. I've told her to wake me up at 8 but knowing I won't sleep a wink anymore I get out of bed. As usual, my brother is already up and I can hear him in the next room. Don't ask why she has to wake me up -- still -- every morning. Personally, I don't think it's unusual. Maybe it's because I don't own a clock and feel too lazy and tired at the end of the day to make up for it by walking to the nearby store. But whatever the reason, it feels good knowing that you can count on something bringing you out of your sleepy world that won't be brushed off when you reach down to stop it. The weather is a little bit cooler; you can tell fall is kicking in. I finally muster up all my effort and sit up. I try to take a good look at my body, inspecting it as much as I can. I just can't believe this can be the same girl who just last week wouldn't get up earlier than 11 in the morning, not even if her life depended on it. And now, this very moment I have given up a full hour of sleep on my own free will. I must be losing it. After the most important meal of the day has been taken care of, I go into my room to change, and like always, in my mind I make a note of what I should wear. Then I remember how useless it all is. Whether you're wearing diamond or rags. Especially when you're sitting there in that stuffy classroom filled with 20 nervous students during your afternoon tutorial. While staring blankly at the sheet of paper in front of you wickedly called a quiz, even Giorgio Armani can't do a thing about it. But still, even with that in mind, I would never wear blue and orange. There is a cool breeze outside. I put my blue companion that is with me everywhere and feel so glad that I've remembered to bring it along. I like walking, but geez, it sure was nice to sleep in until 11 every morning. It is not that early, I know I would be dumbfounded if I could see farmers getting up before dawn, or other groups of people going to work when the rest of us are sound asleep in our slumbers, but still, as I get in that train I wonder what has driven people here 'so early' today and every day. Like the little boys to my right, who probably never listen when their mothers tells them to brush their teeth or clean up their room. What in the world can make them go to school? The same goes for the woman beside me or the guy reading The Star. If Rumi had a point, and we really do have freewill, why in the world aren't we using it to sleep in everyday? Or go hiking instead? Or just watch TV? As a child you oppose everything, question everything and leave the boundaries of exploration limited to nothing. But no matter how much you hate the idea, you never reject the call of the your country's board of education. Even if you cry and scream the first day of school, deep down, you still know it's what you have to do. But why? Meanwhile I see a little oriental boy sitting in front of me worriedly looking at his watch. It is late and he probably fears detention. And looking at his round little face I remember my brother whom I know gets up so early in the morning for the same reason, and feel a deep urge to bend down and kiss his face. But my question is still unanswered. One by one we have our different reasons, but as a whole, what makes us keep going? What drives us all? What if everyone just decided to stop going to work one day? Or what if the train were to stop moving? And if this decision were to be made after I'd gotten to school, how would I get home? What guarantees that I will? What guarantees that things won't just stop for some stupid reason? Mouths to feed, bank accounts to fill, mortgages to pay? Things to learn to get a high paying job? Schools to go to, so we could go to college and earn good money? Are most of our reasons related to our capital? And yet ... what would happen if for some reason, we all decided to stay home; If we all just... let go. I have no answers for that. Except for one: "fear" -- a deep, small fear in the corner of our bodies; the fear of what may happen here one morning if instead of dark, hot coffee and hurried people, there was nothing but emptiness. Can it be only fear? Never in my life could I have imagined that I would find myself looking forward to hearing a mild New Zealand accent go on about elasticity or Young's modulus as if he were a great actor in a Shakespearean play, not only memorized each line but nurturing and gentle with each, telling you of a 5 feet 2 inch man who built a glorious bridge, or a brilliant engineer who suffered great injustice. As you look at those gentle and firm eyes and watch his tall body move from one side of the board to the next, you know fear is the last reason on earth you are listening to Professor Collins go on about any topic. As I walk further, I come face to face with a beautiful, glorious building that goes by the name of University College. I remember walking these same steps many years ago with my father as he was earning a PhD. I am here for a less glorious ambition, and yet, at this particular moment, I am just glad I am. As a fifth grader, could I have even dreamt of such a moment? The possibility never even crossed my mind. I was going to dig up lost civilizations, decipher a new version of the Rosetta Stone; this did not seem to be a one in a million chance. And yet, not very old still, I've lived enough to know that you live and breathe beside the unexpected. What was yesterday's impossibility becomes today's ordinary. Yesterday's ordinary might no longer even be dreamt of reaching. It seems that procrastination ruins more than just a short midterm or a trip back home. I am told about a picture stuck to the front door of the engineering department in a rather prestigious university; a before and after drawing of a person banging on the doors of the school, begging the people inside to let him in. And a picture of that same person a couple of years later, ragged and exhausted crying and hitting doors so they'd let him out. They tell me if I am lucky and get to choose whether I can stay in or not, there is a huge possibility that I will find myself in his shoes. And all I can do for now is pray that I won't. For this particular moment at least, I will enjoy my moment of victory.  I walk towards my usual building, and see a guy somewhere
wave and smile. David or Michael? Or John? Who is left handed and has trouble with
the seats in Calculus class. The street is getting more crowded every minute. I am surprised at the number or Iranians. It's funny the way they stop speaking Persian when they see you. They have typical Iranian facial features; you can tell where they're from by the way they look at you. But whatever their nationality, I find the crowd givinng a warm feeling. There's no guarantee everything won't just stop for some stupid reason, or a good one. But for today at least, there are many people out there who need to go back. Today, for some unknown reason, I rest assured; there will be a train to take me home.
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