it's liberating when you stop belong to your past. it breaks your heart too.



in the early years of immigration, i tried to adopt to my new home as best as i could. i tried to move on from the past, to build a new life. i wouldn't allow myself to visit my memories. like a photo album in a drawer, that you pull out only once in a while, i burried all of my memories somewhere in the deep corners of my mind. i detached myself from all those familiar faces and places. i did what i had to do to survive, to move on, to build something anew. i was going for a" global resident", a new identity.



and i succeeded almost perfectly. i feel more at home in new york city than i feel in tehran. i have an american boyfriend, i even write my diary in english.



but i am obviously not an american. i don't like the smell of bacon, and the idea of owning a gun turns my stomach. a big house in the suburb is far from my dream home, and i still have my accent.


i have stopped belonging to iran. but i don't belong here either. i can't say that i mind this identity limbo. i like the utter freedom it presents me with. and i like to pick and choose. i might not like bacon, but i love grilling burgers. and i do like being a permanent resident; the lines at the airport are much shorter.



but i don't mind it. after all, this is the freedom that i have been seeking.