 Once upon a dream
All that remains
is the memories
Arash Sayedi
February 21, 2005
iranian.com
The sound of my friends' laughter. The warmth of my grandmother's
touch; the smell of her scarf. The sour taste of Masht Hassan's
lavashaks. Playing with marbles in the dirt. Street soccer. Fighting
with my neighbour's kid; beating that fat kid up real good and
then getting beat up by his brother. Pushing a tire down the road
with a stick. Ringing door bells late at night and running like
a bat out of hell. Noon Barbary. Smell of naphtha on Charshanbeh
Soory. The stomach aches after about half a kilo of Masht
Hassan's lavashaks. The smell of pencil and rubber on the first
day of school.
Bar pa. Bar ja. That scary looking school principal that later
turned out to be a loving father. The pain of my math teacher's
ruler landing on the back of my hand; call me screwed up but I
miss even that.
Today these memories are so distant they seem like somebody else's.
Moments trapped in the eternity of time. They belong to a world
I seem to have known in another life. It has been so very very
long they almost don't seem real. Have I dreamt them or are they
really the fragments of my shattered past that make me who I am?
Am I the sum total of my memories or am I something more?
Well
no use brooding now. Those days are gone forever. All that remains
is the memories. Those are my treasures. Proof of the absolute
bliss I once knew. Proof that I was once a kid. Proof that the
hard shell that now types these words was once careless and free.
I can't help wonder though; should I ever have any children of
my own, would they ever know these joys? Being on that great land
and smelling it's air? Experiencing the simple pleasure of sitting
in a 'toot' tree and eating away until your whole face is red and
your stomach swollen? Or folding a piece of hard plastic and running
around the street making clicking sounds that for some reason seem
infinitely entertaining when you're a kid? Will they experience
the pleasure of getting together with cousins and aunts and uncles,
exchanging kisses, giving and receiving eydi? Will they get to
smell the Jasmines on the corner of grandmother's old yard? Will
I?
Maybe, maybe not. From my past I have my fondest memories. And
into my future I carry my dreams. And the rest? Well the rest is
up to fate.
*
*
|
Once upon a dream 