My mother was singing a traditional Iranian song by Marzieh (a famous singer) and it made me think of something. Not that I hadn’t thought of it before, but at that moment I suddenly thought of how much my mother has given up. She left a country where she’d lived fifty years of her life in. She gave up a life-time of memories, songs, people, culture, and everything that was life for her. For me, it was only eleven years and although those years meant a lot, they weren’t significant enough to shape who I am today. They weren’t big enough to give me an identity. But for someone like my mother, those years had shown her one culture, one setting, one language, one foundation of life. She had already found, I suppose, some sort of identity for herself, some form of reliance. But she had the courage to start over, begin from zero, start a whole new map of life…It amazes me, her power and strength, her courage and confidence to take such a jump, start a new life after years of one identity and be born again…But I see why and how she was able to do it: it was all for freedom…My mother is a believer, she didn’t think it was impossible to start anew and live in happiness. She didn’t think she was too old to be happy and have an American life. She was a believer and still is. Her book of life used to be pages of sadness and loss, but she refused to leave them that way. She wanted something and she knew it was possible to be a dreamer…