50,000+

Wild flowers of Damavand. Photo by Mahnaz Nazmi, Iranian.com, May 10, 2008.

I said "I work at the University." She said "I know." I didn't pay much attention and our conversation continued. I said: "I was in Southern California recently and the traffic was awful." She said "I know." I decided I didn't like this "I know" business. So I said "What's your hobby?" She said "I know what your hobby is. You are a blogger. I Googled you and I read your blogs. I loved that story about....." It felt so strange to be having a conversation with someone who knew so much more about me than I knew about her. I became quiet. For the first time I wished I didn't have a blog, so I could be on equal terms with people, safeguarding my privacy.

Later, I took my wish back. Though it has had its trying moments, blogging has been one of the best things I have done for myself in my life. I am not a famous blogger, and I don't have many readers, but I am grateful for the ones I have, because most of them come to read me not by accident, but by choice. This past weekend, the total number of visits to my blogs for the past year exceeded 50,000. I suppose that's an important milestone for the scribblings of a very ordinary Iranian woman who decidedly (and doggedly) writes in English to promote a message and to accomplish a goal. I may have lost some of my privacy in the process of owning a blog, but I have also experienced so much joy in being able to reach a group of intelligent and beautiful people. Thank you for 50,000 hits of friendship and joy.

The Things I Say

German Vogel Ruiz, a Chilean man, observing the threats of war on Iran, decided to go and discover Iran for himself in 2007. He has put his findings into this video clip, advocating "No War on Iran." Interesting and moving.

I had dinner with my friend Enayat. We had an interesting talk about writing (what's good and interesting to write) and reading (what's good and interesting to read). We talked about self-censorship among bloggers, about what they choose to write and what they choose to leave out. It was an interesting discussion, very thought provoking. Though I know I don't write about some things by choice, I doubt that I'm overly obsessed with self-censorship in my blogs. It would be very boring if I had to watch everything I say, taking all the joy out of the activity. I know to some people it might appear as though I am "too positive," or "too happy." I can't help that, because for the most part, I am what I write about. I do have sadder posts or more reflective ones, but when at the end of a day I sit down to write, I mostly remember and celebrate the good things I did and saw and felt that day. What can I say? Especially when some things don't go right, I feel moved to see and appreciate the things that do! That is the way I cope with life. My life is beautiful, not because there isn't ugliness in this world or that I don't see it, but precisely because I do. Am I making any sense?

This One's For You

Bruce Bahmani's slideshow at Iranian.com's Benefit, April 19, 2008 in San Francisco. I was touched to be featured from among literally thousands of writers who have contributed to Iranian.com for the past 13 years. Photo by Talieh Shahrokhi.

And so, I am taking my own advice. This post is for you. For all you kind and warm and wonderful people who come to read my scribblings, senseless most of the time, and sensible only a fraction of the time, but always written with love and passion. I love you and I am honored for your friendship. My life has a different taste, a different feel, and a different depth since I started blogging. What good is writing if you have no readers? What fun is there in telling a story if there is no audience? Thank you for coming and reading and sometimes saying something. You make it worth the effort tenfold. This is a home with room for more than just me and my family, it has room for all of you. Thank you for coming again and again. Please come and visit me in your own home, where someone who loves you always awaits you.

For Serendip

A saffron flower grows in the beautiful soil of Khorasan, Iran. Photo by Khashayar Dabestani, Iranian.com.

And so, she is back! My fabulous friend, Serendip, is back! Those of you who have been reading me longer, know that since April of last year, Serendip used to come and visit me frequently. Of course I love all my readers and I am always delighted to hear from any of them. Serendip, however, is unique in many ways. She was one of the very first visitors I ever had in my blogs, after my blogger friends in the area and Tameshk. She came and always left the most insightful comments for me. She is a highly-educated woman, a scientist, who has love and passion about poetry, music, spirituality, and politics, among other things. Every comment she ever left for me had a lesson of love and compassion in it. Serendip has a mostly political weblog. She keeps abreast of developing news and has her very distinct political views. Where she and I meet, however, there is little politics. We meet and greet each other in that beautiful vast land of humanity, where we talk about love, compassion, the arts, and anything beautiful. When Shobeir had first started visiting me, one day he wrote a comment for Serendip in which he said: "Your blogs are so serious and so cold (referring to the news pieces Serendip posts), but when I see you here, you are a poet, so warm!" Such has been our friendship, full of warmth and human poetry.

Serendip took a hiatus for a few months to be with her loving family. I am so delighted to see her back! Today I received my third message from her in one week, so I know she is back for sure, my refined, artistic, and articulate friend. It wouldn't have done to have welcomed her back in the comments section. I have missed her so much, I had to write her her very own post. Welcome back Serendip! Please stay this time. My older readers have asked after you, wondering what may have happened to keep you away from these parts. I explained to them that this was temporary. I'm glad you're back, my beautiful, unmet friend.

کاما کجاست؟

سلام. بالاخره با کمک لوا بعد از یک سال دیشب موفق شدم نرم افزارم را فارسی کنم و حروف پ و ژ را روی صفحهء کلید پیدا کنم. خیلی ذوق کردم. گفتم یک پست فارسی بنویسم ببینم چه احساسی داره!

پسر بزرگتر من که هم سحرخیزه و هم برعکس من و برادرش صبح ها خیلی سرحال و هوشیاره (کاما کجاست؟) امروز صبح با دیدن من پشت میز و در حال کار باز حرف زدنش گرفته بود. میخواست از آسمون و ریسمون حرف بزنه و من هم وسط کار ترجمه بودم و اصلا نمیخواستم تمرکزم را از دست بدم. بنابراین جوابهای کوتاه و عمومی می دادم (مثل آهان و درسته و ای بابا!) که بتونم کارم را ادامه بدم. بعد از چند دقیقه و چند موضوع مختلف به من گفت: " مامان (کاما) حالت خوبه؟" بهش نگاه کردم. چشمهای خوشگل و براق و مهربونش به من نگاه می کردند و یک گرهء کوچولو مثل یک اخم ملایم ابروهاشو به هم وصل کرده بودن. گفتم:" خوبم. خوب خوب." گرهه آب شد. حرفاشو ادامه داد. این بار دیگه واقعا گوش می کردم. گفت: "من یه چیزی راجع به خودم تازگیها فهمیدم. فهمیده ام که من نسبت به شرایط زندگیم همیشه فقط عکس العمل نشون میدم. یعنی صبر می کنم تا اتفاقات بیفتن (کاما) اونوقت یه کاری می کنم. بعضی وقتها این کار را هنرمندانه انجام میدم! بعضی وقتها خیلی خرابکاری می کنم. از خرابکاری خسته شده ام. می خوام یک کمی فکر کنم و خودمو عوض کنم." گفتم: "خوب اگه صورت مسئله رو بدونی نصف راهو رفتی! اگه راه حلو بدونی سه چهارم راهو رفتی. میمونه یک چهارم. به راه حل نزدیک تر از اونی هستی که فکر میکنی." سرشو تکون داد و رفت. وقتی جوابشو دادم دیگه حرفی با هام نداشت! من وپسرم و کامپیوترم و میز نهارخوری و لیوان چایی—حتی بدون کاما هم روز خیلی خیلی خوبیه. دوشنبهء خوبی داشته باشین.

Gratitude

I call this unnamed picture "Woman with Flowers." From Iranian.com, Photo by Horizon, a very gifted photographer in Tehran.

Someone has to remind me occasionally that life on the internet is not real. Or is it? Are the people we meet on the internet real? Are our relationships with those people behind the blogs limited to a few paragraphs the blogger writes and a few mindless or mindful comments we and others leave there? Do we ever get to meet the essence of the individuals behind the blogs and the comments? I'd like to think that we do. Though we might not be able to see the whole person, or all of that person, the parts that we do see and touch are real.

A sarcastic individual might tell me: "Get a life, lady!," but I would like to confess that I have laughed uncontrollably at some blogger's jokes, I have cried inconsolably at another blogger's woes, I have worried deeply about another blogger's dilemma, and I have spent a whole day thinking about some philosophical post I read somewhere. I get upset when a blogger who feels the blues turns off his or her comments, leaving me without a way to talk to him or her, to leave a greeting or to try to soothe the pain and to bring reminders of happier days, just like I would appreciate if someone did it for me. I am delighted when I read an intelligent comment by a reader, or see that the meaning of my post has found a home in his or her heart. I miss my readers and wonder why they haven't come back. My more experienced blogger friends tell me that one of these days I will grow tired of replying to every single comment, and that I, too, will only reply when a reply is warranted. Today I doubt that very much. Never in my life have I disregarded the greetings, Salam, of an indiviual. When someone talks to me, I answer. So, O.K., suppose that someday I get so many comments, I won't have time to deal with all of them on an individual basis! Until such day, I write to hear from people, and when I do, I reply.

More important than my daily posts, I love the dialogues that take place inside my comments section, where my readers show me their beautiful hearts and brilliant minds. I wrote my post last night, with a mind burdened with thought and a heart full of hope. I write this post tonight to thank all of you for commenting on yesterday's post, but specially Alef Shin, who surprisingly wrote in his perfect English (as opposed to his usual perfect Farsi), telling me that he has seen the love of motion inside my soul. I am grateful for that observation, mostly because until I read that comment, though I was quite aware of it, I had not been able to verbalize that love thoroughly myself. My heart is touched today by the knowledge that I am read and understood, and that is as real as it gets for me. Thank you to all.

A Meeting On A Street Corner

I was running up the street in Downtown Berkeley the other day, when I saw my boss (right) and her boss (left) engrossed in a discussion on a street corner. Their faces looked so intent and interesting as they were conducting their business, unaware of the traffic and the noise around them. I tried to hide and snap a picture of them having that meeting, but then I thought better of it, thinking how strange that would make me look if I was caught! When they saw me, they "posed" for me, and here's the photo. We then started walking back to work, talking about my new project. Well, the picture wasn't what I had in mind, but it turned out to be a good picture after all. Hee hee, though I am almost certain they weren't talking about me before I took the photo, I can't be so sure that they haven't been doing it since! I really have to stop carrying that camera with me (yeki az in rooza kar dastam mideh!).