Leaving Tehran
Remembering every tear, every suitcase, and every
good-bye, not knowing where or when the next hello will be
April 28, 2004
iranian.com
In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our
heritage. To know who we are and where we have come from. Without
this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter
what our attainments in life, there is the most disquieting loneliness. --Alex
Haley
I leave Tehran on the
brightest of mornings when the sun is shining high above me and
the beautiful Mount Damavand smiling my way. Where I will go, and
where it will lead me, is yet to be known, but where I leave and
the things I leave behind, are as clear as the morning light coming
down my way.
The pear tree that has given me fruit for all the summers I can
bring to memory waves good-bye and, for the last time today, I
water my roses, taking care to remember each one by one knowing
that there will never again be another reunion.
I say farewell to the beautiful city of shattered memories and
broken dreams, the city covered by mountains on all sides, like
a bird in cupped hands. And today for the first time I feel the
reasons that have taken home away from me. Cats and dogs have left
its beauties unseen, while all the time ripping its feathers,
not caring one bit what the consequences will bring.
As I sit in there in the taxi, taking note to keep in mind every
scene, I remember all the other taxis I've been in, not sitting
there to go to grandma's or Kate's but all of those that have taken
my home to replace it with yet another. Those that have left me
in wonder and
bewilderment with the one and only question that, up to now, I
have found no answers for. The ever lasting "Where is home, really?"
Remembering every tear, every suitcase, and every good-bye,
not knowing where or when the next hello will be.
No more listening to the beautiful notes of a blind music man
who plays with his heart, no more walking in the gorgeous streets
of
my favorite neighborhood, no more heavy traffic, no more polluted
air and no more looking up at the ocean-blue sky that belongs
to a city named Tehran.
I think of the scenes that will surround me after the long plane
ride I have before me and bringing to mind all these things comforts
me to a certain degree, but then I see that little
innocent face standing somewhere in the street and feel that there
must be something wrong; she is no less deserving.
Among my own people it is amazing how different we have become.
Their language, their actions, their every task is alien to me.
But why? Don't I have the same eyes? Don't I
have the same blood running through my veins? Does my light colored
hair set us worlds apart? But then again, I saw that girl walking
in front of me with hair as blond as my yellow crayon and she seemed
to fit in perfectly.
With them I feel like I am living through the story I read long
ago; entering Juffure, the home that Kunta Kinte left by force
centuries before. But the difference is that I feel as if I am
Alex and Kunta put together. I am the one who has left, and yet
again, I am the one who returns. The centuries created the gap
between those two people, the distance is what separates the
two living inside of me.
Living thousands of miles away from my homeland has given me
the chance that many can never even dream of. The chance
to
live a comfortable life, go to a great school, the opportunity
to know the meaning of security and freedom and have unlimited
horizons to grow. But at the same time, there will forever
be a gap no one can fill, a missing piece in the puzzle that no
one
can ever find any replacement for.
And yet, even though it is miles away from my place of original
birth, I cannot help loving the other environment I belong to.
I cannot
help admiring the way they handle everyday life. I feel deep
emotion for the waterfall that I have been to every summer since;
I love
the amusement park that would not permit me to ride on its roller
coasters. I remember checking my height year and year after with
disappointment, and the squeal of joy when finally my growth
hormones gave me the permission to go.
Perhaps having the chance to belong to two different places has
beauties that may not be seen at first. Maybe, home is not just
one place but two places at the same time. Maybe that has beauties
that I have yet to discover. Maybe the waterfall I have seen
in Niagara and Shushtar aren't so different after all. Because
no matter how tremendously they might vary in size, the joy that
comes towards me from watching both feels much the same.
Perhaps, Dorothy was wrong; Maybe there is a place like home. .................... Say
goodbye to spam!
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