On the anniversary of my exile
I spent my teens in Iran.
Have never been back since I left in 1982.
Today, on this anniversary, these are a few of my regrets:
I should have read more books, watched less TV, and I didn’t.
I should have asked, and learned and remembered the last name of our maid who served us faithfully for 10 years, and I didn’t.
I should have visited a ‘zoorkhooneh’ at least once, and I didn’t.
I should have put the picture of “Amir Kabeer” on my wall, instead of James Dean, and I didn’t.
I should have taken that ‘Persian Literature’ class more seriously, and I didn’t.
I should not have thrown rocks at dogs, as a way of entertainment, and I did.
I should have learned the lyrics of “Morgheh Sahar”, instead of ABBA’s “money money money”, and I didn’t.
I should have asked my parents to show me the world, inside out, instead of outside in: I should have asked them to take me to Mashhad, Esfahaan, and Shiraz, before London and Paris, and I didn’t.
I should not have tolerated social discrimination based on ethnicity, gender, or income, and I did.
I should have spent more time with my grandparents, who always begged me and other kids for a visit, and I didn’t.
I should have treasured every day, every moment I spent in vatan, and I didn’t…
