The wind is taking me away tonight. Tonight, the wind is my friend, my companion. Tonight, I’m sitting alone, outside on a green, rocking chair. The wind blows quietly, whispering spring. Tonight is another Friday night and I’m not smiling. My mind is with the wind…it would be so much easier if I didn’t want anything, if I had no needs, no expectations, no fantasies…

Children laugh at each other. They laugh when they see monkeys at the zoo or silly cartoon characters on t.v.
What do the grownups, the adults laugh at?
We laugh at ourselves. We laugh with sarcasm. We laugh out of pity sometimes, out of boredom, out of extreme fatigue, out of anger, out of sadness.
There are times when we remember how to really laugh, how to really enjoy the moment. We remember how we laughed at little things as children. We remember that we were once children.
We are no longer innocent when we grow up so we laugh to cover the guilt, the anger, the pity. Sometimes we don’t know why we laugh. Maybe we don’t need to know.
Children laugh with reason. They see and laugh. They do something and laugh. They haven’t forgotten that clowns are funny, that talking animals are funny, or that grownups are funny.
Have we then, forgotten everything?

How many times did I sigh today, how many times did I say “whatever”, how many times did I tell myself it’s all pointless, don’t get caught up in pointless matters?
I just want to sit here tonight, not think, not speak, just write. Write about what I want, what I care for, what I hate and I love. I just want to write without thinking of realities, or bigger pictures, or how it will affect my readers. I simply want to write. I don’t care for realities.
My ship has sunk tonight. I’m in a sea and I’m drowning. But this sea is calm, static. Yet, I’m still struggling, I’m still drowning…and I don’t know why.
This isn’t a losing battle. It’s not out of depression or pity. I just have to pour it out, the thoughts that are running in my head, the thoughts that I no longer care for and that I must somehow recycle.
How do you recycle your thoughts? How do you get rid of the internal waste that piles up in your own head?
I just want to sit here tonight, stare into nothing, be nothing, want nothing, know nothing.
I want nothingness, oblivion…
I’m tired of wanting, of caring, of being…

I am selfish. I have desires and dreams that I refuse to give up. I can’t help it. I have to have what I want. Am I selfish then?
Where do we draw the line? When do we know we have to accept and move on? Why should we not want everything?
I hate these unimportant desires that cost so much, that waste my time, that make me desperate. But…I just can’t help it. Maybe I am selfish.

I hate those moments, when I drive you to the airport, I had this feeling three times, I don’t like them at all, I always cried on the way back…
These are parting moments. Moments where you say good-bye, where you search for words but don’t have the energy to say them out loud.
I hate and love airports. I love hellos. I hate good-byes.
But I rather say hello and goodbye than not see you at all.

We’re driving down Falls Church. The window is down, the sun is in my face, and Madonna is singing “American Life”. I look out the window and…
My brother and I are driving down to the Amsterdam airport. I have to head back to Washington and I know I don’t want to. Madonna is singing this song for the first time. The European roads are unfamiliar, yet welcoming. In fact, I prefer this unfamiliarity over the familiar streets of Virginia.
Why is it so hard to get back to the norm? Why is it so hard to go back to work, to school, and to the everyday drama of life? Why is it so easy to forget the drama?
As we get closer to the airport, I get a bad feeling inside. I don’t want to listen to Madonna anymore. I have to part from this transient moment of happiness and freedom.
Today when I heard this song again, I remembered the drive with my brother. I remembered, and I got a good feeling, like I could have that moment back…

He is smoking a cigarette outside on a bench. I’m setting up the tables. He’s staring out to the tennis court, I think. He takes a couple of puffs and comes back in. The doors open at 5 and dinner starts then.
We need breaks. Even at work we need a little quite time, a small break, some “me” time. A break could be a cigarette, a beer, or just a quite place to sit and think. Maybe not even think, just day-dream.
I hum to myself at times when I don’t have access to my iPod. It gives me a sense of normality and makes me feel at home. When I’m there, in the senior home, I get depressed. I see their faces and I think they deserve better. They deserve to be on vacation with their families. They don’t deserve to be alone. Nobody deserves to be alone.
I’ll be leaving in a week or so. I found another job. I didn’t want to leave them this fast, but I couldn’t stand it any longer. Maybe if I had found a good way to get used to the atmosphere or a better break-time, I would have stayed.

Sometimes even the strong people cry; but that doesn’t mean they’re now weak.
I cried tonight because I felt sorry for myself, because I just wanted to cry, because my mother was right.
But I still think I can make my own decisions. I still think that as wise as she is, sometimes she can be wrong.
i hate disappointing her but i don’t like being unhappy either and i know my unhappiness will bring more damage.
so i will allow myself to make the decisions that I need to make. i will give myself that right.
im not broken just because i cried. i have grown stronger and now my tears don’t last that long anyway…
im going to make my own mistakes if they’re supposed to be mistakes
im going to take my own risks
im going to play this game
and Im gonna beat it
People will tell us where to go, how to live, how to be happy
People will always want to help
but they can’t define happiness for us…

Last night I watched Carrie Bradshaw of Sex and the City and thought, that’s probably gonna be me when I’m 38. A single girl in the middle of Manhattan, a writer, no kids, no family…pretty much all the things that I think will make me happy (except the single part).
But then there is the fear of not wanting them anymore. How do we know what we have is enough? How do we know what we really want? There are things we want and there are satisfactions. But when we’re no longer satisfied, what do we do? Will we ever be completely satisfied with everything we have?
I’m not 38 yet, but even now I’m afraid of never-ending desires. I’m afraid I’ll never be satisfied. Last night, I thought of what I had. But, what I didn’t have was what became important and ultimately made me upset and angry.
I’m gonna go for the things I want. And I’m just gonna hope that’ll be satisfying enough.

We’ve been making phone calls to Iran to wish everybody a happy new year. Another new year has arrived in Iran and I can’t even grasp the meaning of it anymore. Maybe it’s because there are no reminders here on the streets that I walk, the stores I go in, or even on the smiles that no longer spell out Christmas. There are no pictures of Sofreh Haft sin (the traditional symbol of the Persian New Year) or songs that announce the New Year’s arrival. So maybe it’s only fair that I don’t feel particularly happy.
But I don’t feel nostalgia either…is that okay?
I’m walking outside, still feeling the trace of cold that winter has stubbornly left behind, and I’m not in the mood to think of Norouz (Persian New Year). I’m simply walking away, doing the tasks I do everyday, and I don’t feel that there’s been any change. I don’t want to walk away, but I have no choice at this point. I am and will continue to be a stranger in a land that I still call mine.
I wish a happy new year to all who celebrate this Norouz and hope they understand that I mean it from the bottom of my heart. The concept of Norouz might have lost its meaning for me because of circumstantial issues, but the meaning of new beginnings has not.
I can only count on my Norouz memories as a child to remember what it meant and what it felt like.
Here today, I can only imagine what people are doing at this time…buying new clothes, cleaning their houses, renewing their lives…the meaning of “Happy New Year” will remain universal, while my feelings will simply be my own.