Sharing your sorrow
Sometimes one writes to hold a hand across the
universe and to use one’s knowledge and pave the way for
others
March 10, 2005
iranian.com
I may never figure out what makes someone decide
to become a writer. Why would anyone choose to isolate themselves
and keep no other company but words? Is it a choice or are we
indeed driven? While many writers see it simply as a job, to
the rest of us the meaning goes far deeper.
One may write for
a variety of reasons: to express emotions, provoke thoughts,
entertain, and yes, even to make a living.
But considering that writing is one
of the least profitable occupations, I am inclined to think that most do it for
the love of word itself, that they come to a point in life where writing becomes
their only way to reach out to the world. And, yes, sometimes we write because
we fear that if we don’t, an explosion is imminent.
I remember the day I
heard about my brother’s loss to a car accident back
in Iran. Those who knew he had raised me, and people who were familiar with
that extra ordinary bond between us, feared that the blow would finish me.
It was
as if I had lost an entire family at once for he had been a father, brother,
friend and yes, even mother to me.
In a society without the familiar rituals
of “aza”, with no relatives
around and no graveside to connect me to what was left of him, I felt utterly
alone.
My family stood by my side, friends offered solace,
but nothing could mend my broken heart. A friend gave me a book
on the unfairness of tragedies
and
how
to deal with them. Desperate for help, I finished it in a matter of days.
To realize that I was not alone, that everyone would go down a similar
path at
some point in their lives, seemed to offer a semblance of comfort.
Through several visits to the library, I reviewed the entire row of self
help books on
the subject. Alas! None spoke to my experience.
 Unable to find similar
books in Persian, I decided to write my own
in hopes of helping others. In order
to reach my readers and be sincere, I had to
open many
old wounds. Not only did I review my own memories, but I also went through
the process of mourning with other Iranian-Americans who had lost a loved
one while
living far away. Writing Sharik-e
Gham [see excerpt: "Rooz-e
azeez"] helped me to realize that
in today’s
world, where human contact is in short supply; there are still ways to
connect.
Sometimes one writes to hold a hand across the
universe and to use one’s
knowledge and pave the way for others. While the art of writing seems
to change into a marketable craft, I for one have learned it doesn’t
have to be that way.
Years ago, a doctor who had just returned from
his series of lectures at Tehran University, gave a talk in Chicago. “I
was told that my visit would change nothing,” he said. “That
their need for books, materials and professors went far beyond what
my few lessons
could offer. But they were wrong. I now realize
that as long as I did nothing, my help amounted to zero.
But, the minute I contributed, I became a number. Yes, indeed a very
insignificant one, but nonetheless,
a number! Therefore, going was the right thing to do.”
The enormous
support of my readers assures me that I, too, have
done the right thing. One reader wrote, “The flowers that
arrived after the loss of my beloved mother have now wilted, but
your book
will always be here to remind
me I’m not alone.”
 Although my words may help only a
few, but I can’t ignore
the fact that when it comes to acts of compassion, I am no longer
a zero. When it
comes to mending the broken hearts, I'm an awfully insignificant
number, but nonetheless, a number!
About
Zohreh Khazai Ghahremani is a retired dentist and a freelance
writer. She lives in San Diego, California.
.................... Peef
Paff spam!
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