Iranian Nomad Woman
I am home and homesick again. Ironically, I remember days when I walked in a park in Tehran, feeling home and homesick. Such is the life that I lead, a constant contradiction in terms and actions, interspersed with realities and longings. I look at this woman, who has probably never gone much farther than her tribe, her Il. I envy her her sense of belonging to that land, the irony being that she is an Iranian nomad. She never left Iran, so she never saw new places and people to love and to belong to and to miss if she ever left again. She grew up, got married, worked side by side of her man, and will grow old watching their children and others' from their tribe. She never leaves anyone or anything important behind. When they move from Yeylagh (cold country) to Gheshlagh (warm country) and vice versa twice a year, they take everything that matters and leave anything that doesn’t behind. I envy that efficiency. Is it painful for them? Do they wish they could stay somewhere permanently? Do they get tired of moving all their lives? To be sure, they know how to do it better than I do. Could it be though, because they never knew other places and lifestyles? I wonder.