Hot, cold and room temperature

Water coolers in Hong Kong have hot, cold, and room temperature nuzzles.

I’m a non-western restaurant (and half of western restaurants) you get hot water served to you.

My Chinese colleagues always tells me I should avoid cold drinks when I have my period.

Traditional Chinese women don’t drink plain water after they give birth.

They also don’t bathe for one month after they give birth.

I enjoy living in HK and learning random facts

Migraine

I'm on the train to work when it starts. It seems almost harmless for a couple of minutes. Like a mild palpitation in the forehead after a brisk walk. But the veins of pain intensify. Sensitivity to light comes next, but I am still not believing it. I am hoping it will pass. Nausea hits and I know there is no hope. Severe nausea, like that time when I took a boat in Brazil and over 50% of the boat was sick from the choppy waters. I'm surfing the waves of tracks in lower Manhattan. The subway car is too cold, and I have a sheet of cold sweat all over my body.

The odors come next. Summer in NYC has a stench like no other. Subway cars are not immune. My sense of smell is as strong of a dog's at the moment. I can smell food, body odors, soap and coffee breath all over this train. I'm helpless and so damn aware. Of the noises, the movements, the smells...

I am aware that people may be staring at me too. With my clenched fists and closed eyes. The sleepy kind of attention that you get early mornings in NYC subways. Almost a polite kind of attention. Never a sustained eye contact.

I get to work and sit in a quiet dark conference room. Throbbing pain dances through my forehead. It smells like plastic and wood shavings here. The room was renovated last month. On another day the smell would be so pleasant. I am hoping no one has booked a meeting this morning. I can smell my own deodorant mixed with sweat and I wish I hadn't put on any. My eyes are watering. I start reciting poetry because that's the only thing that takes my mind off of the pain and I don't need to use my eyes or ears for it. I recite Hafiz and Rumi and the headache throbs and throbs, almost dancing to the rhymes.

Tears start running down my cheeks.  I feel like a toddlers in pain who can't communicate. No one is coming to take my pain away.

Sobbing feel good. Maybe it's the rush of oxygen, inhaled in between the sobs. Maybe it's the motion that jerks my body. But the pain is almost dissipating. It is there but it's not making me want to vomit anymore.

I walk out of the room but I immediately have to put on my sunglasses. My computer is too bright. But the day doesn't stop for my headache. I start responding to my emails...

Everyone is winging it

A few days ago, I read an article by a woman in her 40s about being a 40 something.  She listed a bunch of seemingly random observations about life: nuggets of wisdom, you could call it.

The one that stuck with me was: "There are no grown-ups. We suspect this when we are younger, but can confirm it only once we are the ones writing books and attending parent-teacher conferences. Everyone is winging it, some just do it more confidently."

I think about being a grown up quite often. The first time I seriously thought about it, was after my father passed. Death brings out the vulnerabilities of the survivors. Death of my father changed my relationship with the world. I no longer had someone to defend me against the dangers and perils of the outside world. I was all alone; a real grown up.

I was 29 when my father died and he was certainly not defending me against the world. I didn't need defending: I had immigrated to a different country and was living quite well, financially and emotionally independent for over 6 years. 

But the point remains. I had lost a parent and for the first time in my life I was no longer someone's child. I had to be a grown up and that made me uncomfortable. I wasn't sure I know how.

At 33, I have many friends with kids. Every day I hear about someone getting pregnant or giving birth. For obvious reasons, not the least of which is biological limitations, I think about having children of my own.

I'm not sure I am ready. You have to be a grown up to have children. 

Or do you? 

Were my parents grown ups when they had us? Did they need to think so much about having children, or was it the most natural thing in the world to them?

Maybe they were also winging it. 



PS- I'm writing again after a long time. If you visit me, leave a comment and tell me what you think. 

"music is the only language i know"

I love music. I fucking love music.

Just like wine. I know nothing about wine, but I love drinking it.

Similarly with music, I am not one of those people who love a certain genre of music and own thousands of records and know the history of bands in and out and can play trivia all night.

I'm just a casual listener. Shitty music, good music, all sorts of genres and artists and ages. I like operas and classical musics and I love hip hop and rock too. And everything in between.

Sound cloud is the shit, isn't it? You can spend hours exploring all kinds of songs. Since it's another fucking snow day in NYC. I'm trapped at home and have a lot of time to do just that.

Thanks heavens for music.

My recent favorite artists are Soheil Nafisi, The Black Keys and Charles Bradley. My favorite songs by them are:

"Yar-e aziz" by Soheil Nafisi

"You put the flame on it" by Charles Bradley

"Tighten up" by The Black Keys


Enjoy!

foggy confusion

the winter is here

is it here to stay?

icy thoughts whoosh in my head

my heart beats colder

a foggy confusion over my soul

slowly numbing my ways

the winter is here

snow every day

white and powdery snow you say?

grayish slush at every street corner

the winter seems to be here to stay

The past lingers

A couple of weeks ago I pulled out my journals and started looking through them. I've kept journals pretty regularly between the ages of 13 and 24, when I started writing a blog in Farsi. Then I started writing another English blog and then this blog because the other blog was not anonymous enough.

Then I started not writing any more. I don't know why.

Reading my 14 year old thoughts was both interesting and unsettling.  Both very far and very close.

I wrote mostly about every day events. Whom I met that day, where we went, how I felt about boys, my parents, my friends, etc. I have to say, I was a bit of a boring kid. I was always worried about getting good grades and I was into many boys at the same time, without actually hooking up or anything.

And then there was the code language. Some form of made-up symbols that I had invented to hide the top secret stuff from whoever with access to my diary. I'm pretty sure no one ever read my diary, certainly not my parents. I remember that I let a friend borrow it once and a boyfriend too.

There were many names in those pages that I have no recollection of: school friends, boys, teachers, neighbors, etc. And there were events that seemed so dramatic that I have no recollection of.  I guess for a teenager everything is dramatic.

But some emotions were as raw as it was described in my writing. Some even seemed understated. I looked at some of the names and the feeling suddenly rushed through me.  I remembered small details, like the scent of someone. Or the vague dimple on his cheek.  The event was far. The impression of the event, the memory of the emotion, was very near and real.

Rejection, passion, frustration, sexual instincts, heartbreak, anger and excitement. They were all mixed together in those pages.

I wonder if I will ever write a journal again. The act of holding a pen and writing for minutes, or hours, seems a little foreign to me now.  And the fact is that I am not as open with myself as I used to be.  There are things that I don't even want to think about. And there are feelings that I like to deny.

If you deny the truth to yourself, can you write an honest journal? Can you live an honest life?

The joys of reading Joyce

I'd say I have mastered the English language and I am truly bilingual. Sure, here and there I might not understand words, slang or cultural references, but those are few and far between. And they usually occur when I am reading works of literature.

Yet, I have never dared to read Joyce's Ulysses before. Everyone knows that this is one of - if not the- best books in the English language. Everyone also knows that this is a tough read. I know too many people who would not touch the book, because they have tried and failed.

I picked up the book just because I happened to download it on my iPad, that I got as a Christmas gift. Since there is a dictionary attached to the software, you can look up the words without interrupting your read: a great feature. I decided to give it a try.

On the surface, the book is not that hard to read. There are words that you won't know and there are references and names that you might not get. But if you just read the narrative, it is not too difficult, nor it is too interesting. I felt like I am not getting much out of it. The writing is at points very descriptive and beautiful, but I felt as if there is meaning attached to the passages and names and locations that I was not understanding. I decided to look up a guide.

I came across this post. The writer seems to imply that you don't really need a reading guide, but he goes on listing the various available guides anyway. I wasn't convinced that I don't need a guide. Why would so many writers waste their time to write a guide when none is needed?

I opted out for re: Joyce, Frank Delaney's weekly podcast. It is free, readily accessible and doesn't require closing the book and opening another one just to look up the references. I can listen to it while looking at the text on my iPad.

I read the first two pages and started the podcast. And let me tell you, my life is forever changed.

Frank Delaney sounds like a kind of man who you'd like to sit with and drink whiskey. He might be an obnoxious arrogant for all I know, but I am certain he is a good conversationalist. Of course that doesn't matter since I won't be drinking whiskey with him.

He reads the book line by line and decodes and opens every word and every reference, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. The first 50-some episodes cover the first chapter of the book. Since this is a weekly podcast, it took him a whole year to publish that many episodes. By his estimate, the podcast will cover the whole book by 2025, when he is 100 years old. Now, that is dedication. And an odd mission to undertake.

Reading Ulysses when you understand the references and back stories is a vastly different experience. And the references are aplenty. Ulysses draws on Joyce's life, Odyssey, Hamlet, Irish politics, Catholic beliefs and so much more. It is a quite delightful read. Beautiful literature is mixed with stream of consciousnesses. The narrative zigzags between the narrators voice and that of Stephen, the main character and the fictional Joyce himself. As an Atheist, I also particularly enjoy the blasphemous anecdotes.

Reading Ulysses requires a lot of dedication, but it is worth every minute. I am certain that Joyce has written this book to provide the best mental masturbation there is, and to prove that he is a genius. I'd say he has accomplished both.




   

On my religious views and Mormonism

As an Iranian woman growing up in a secular family under the authoritarian regime of the Islamic Republic, I am admittedly anti-religious. At some point in life, probably around 15 or 16, I decided that I do not believe in any of it.

Our social lives were extremely complicated because we didn't have the same values as the Islamic government. At parties- in which our parents mingled, danced and drank banned home-made vodka delivered by an Armenian-Iranian dealer- there was an ever present sense of insecurity. The danger of the religious police raiding the party and making arrests, or at the minimum disturbing us and soliciting bribes, was imminent. We lived in this kind of fear as children and adults. Later, when I was a teenager, the same story was true. This time, there were no parents at the party and we weren't children anymore, so the danger of getting beaten and thrown in jail was more real. Naturally, we attributed this stifling sense of insecurity to Islam; that was the regime's value system.

Our private lives were even more complicated. Islam, similar to other major organized religions, is all about the after life. With the promise of the heaven, comes the guilt and the shame of enjoying the pleasures of life. I vividly remember how filthy I felt every time I masturbated. I would promise myself not to ever do it again because I was scared of burning in hell for thousands of year, hanging from my hair. It was a painful image for a 12 year old child.

And these are only two small examples of how the religion manifested itself in my life. There are many others such as sexual harassment by frustrated angry men, limited career opportunities, insults, countless hours of useless religious education, and...

I mention all of this to highlight to you, dear reader, that I am aware of my anti religious biases and you should be too.

And now, let's talk about Mormons.

The religion was created in the U.S. less than 200 years ago. It is apparently the fastest growing religion in the world and currently there are more Mormons that Jews. I won't bore you with the history and facts, because you can read all of that on Wikipedia. Better yet, you should read "Under the Banter of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer. It is a gripping and fascinating read.

The most fascinating aspect of the religion for me is the practice of polygamy. Like Islam, polygamy is accepted and practiced, but even more interestingly, it is encouraged and considered the fundamental pillar of salvation. How fascinating is that?

- I should say here that polygamy is not practiced by all Mormons, only by fundamentalists, or the Fundamentalist Later Day Saints.

Now, as a liberal woman, I have no incentive to practice any major religion. Religions are created by men for men, and that is nothing new. But to think that a religion created in the modern times, in America, can be so oppressive for womenو is just beyond me. There is rampant evidence of child sexual harassment among fundamentalist Mormons. They systematically marry young girls, as young as 13, to men as old as 80. Women are supposed to be obedient and bear children, some times as many as 12-14. The current prophet is alleged to have had 70 wives and at least 65 children.

Since polygamy is illegal in the US, these men are not lawfully married to more than one wife, usually their first. But the religious leaders, or prophets, wed the couples in their own church ceremonies. And how do the men pay for the wives and the children you ask? They don't. Tax payers do. These women are all on welfare because they are single mothers and none of them have a job. In one of the counties populated by fundamentalist Mormons, 8 dollars is paid in welfare for every 1 dollar paid in taxes.

You ask yourselves, why do these women put up with this bullshit? And I think the answer is because they have no choice. These women are raised in a society with screwed up values. They have never been educated in a modern school system where they can learn useful employable skills, and many of them have been married off as children. By the time they are in their mid-20s they have a few kids and they are completely dependent on the men in the society. Now, how do you suppose one can escape that?

It is a new year. The new year always bring an artificially heightened hope of a better, improved self: new hobbies, regular exercise, better diet, visiting friends more often, etc.

Maybe the new year is my chance for writing once again.

Guatemala

I just visited Guatemala. It was our honeymoon. For many years, I have been doing my travels alone or with friends here and there. This time I went with a guy whom I married a year ago this time and whom I have loved for about 7 years on and off. Since I don't like the word husband - because it's traditional - and I don't like the word partner - because it's modern and endogenous - let's just call him J.

Guatemala is beautiful. I especially loved the sky. When I visited Spain in 2010, I also especially loved the sky. There is something about the large white clouds and their contrast with the blue sky. And then there is that vastness; the sky was so big that you couldn't see where it started and where it ended.

We visited the Mayan ruins in Tikal. I don't know much about the Mayan civilization, but those structures were amazing. We climbed one of the temples and from the top, it seemed like all the world is your territory. You could see why someone might think he/she is god when looking down from that height.

Then we went to the Pacific coast where the sunsets were dreamy.

I surfed for the first time. It was hard and I wasn't very good at it. Everyone said that the waves are too big and the currents are too strong for surfing. Well, I couldn't tell because I don't know what the criteria is. But I loved those strong waves. I loved the way they were banging my body around and taking the control away from me. Those waves were larger than me, and they were threatening my life, and I was enjoying that. A couple of times I though that I might drown because I was pulled under for a long time and I couldn't get back out. And later I had a lot of bruises to show for it.

Considering that my uncle's wife drowned on their honeymoon almost 25 years ago, I should have been a bit more scared. But there is something special about fighting the forces of nature. Fighting at the same time that you are pleading with them not to hurt you. I suppose that's kind of like when you have violent sex. There is ecstasy, pain, fight and submission all at the same time. I didn't learn much surfing after all. But the experience was delightful.



My next post is going to be about Mormonism. I read the book "Under the banter of heaven" while I was in Guatemala. And I am going to watch "Sons of Perdition" tonight. I think I have a thing or two to say about Mormons.

Happy New Year.

rants...

i wonder why i don't write anymore. sometimes i have a lot to say, but i don't know how to say them, or where to start.

tonight i am sitting here, studying for an exam. i just had a class in entertainment and media and we talked about psychology of markets. about how media companies are so sensitive to fads in the market and how markets are so irrational.

sometimes i think about very shallow things, like how insecure i am about the fact that i am getting old, and my clothes are tighter than before.

sometimes i think about life and how perfect life has turned out for me. and then i miss my dad, because if my dad was alive and happy, life would have been even more perfect. and if i lived closer to my mom and sister whom i miss terribly every time i enjoy a german beer.

i especially miss my mom. the thought of her getting old and fragile frightens me. the thought of her dying...well, i do not want to imagine that. but i want to be close to her. close enough that i can see her on a whim, for an afternoon tea, which is a very civilized thing as my new friend, an old guy from the upper west side would say.

the weather is nice in brooklyn, and my room is warm and sunny. i open the curtains to let the sun in every morning and the rays of light add to my fragile happiness.

night is beautiful too. the walk from the subway in the empty streets, sometimes accompanied by the sound of the wind, sometimes by verdi. i like the night. i like feeling like i am protected from the bright harsh reality of the day. from all that noise, all that bore of the outside world.

i am living my 30s to the fullest. or am i?

spain

just got back from spain, after two weeks of vacationing. i am well-fed (read fatter), tanned and very relaxed. i don't know if i am ready for real life yet, but it certainly was a good time. we arrived in tossa del mar, which was a beautiful if expensive beach town. the mediterranean is surprisingly blue, and very cold this time of the year. the first day on the beach i forgot sun lotion, so my skin was completely sun-burnt, so i was pealing for the rest of the trip. but the sun was very pleasant, especially after the rainy and gloomy spring of new york city.

the second stop was barcelona. cosmopolitan, yet relaxed, barcelona has good food, beautiful women, a picturesque sky and a lot of gaudi. gaudi was simply everywhere. i enjoyed the museums, small cafes, and walking around looking at the buildings. it was also nice that my school friends were in the city to hang out with us. we partied until 3 am one night, and still showed up at the train station at 8:30 am to catch a train to figueres just for the dali museum. the town is about 2.5 hrs from barcelona, so that took a lot of dedication, and was well worth it.

the highlight of the city might have been the Barcelona-MU game. we saw the game at a "exclusive" bar, tucked away from the craziness of the city. the bar was run like a co-op and only members and their guests were present that night. a large unpretentious space with minimal furniture and cheap drinks, the bar was a perfect place to see the match with some very excited fans. and then barcelona won, so we took to the streets. the celebrations were more like riots . it reminded me of the riots in iran, when the students were protesting and were getting attacked by the police. it was weird to think that this is happening after a football match, but i guess the spanish are going through some tough times of their own.

the next day we flew to Seville. if someone asked me what i think spain would be like, i would probably describe Seville. the town was absolutely spanish. the yellow buildings with cute balconies and narrow windy streets were mesmerizing. and the tapas was to die for. the best part: you didn't have to choose what item on the menu to order, you could have ordered them all. they were only 2 euros for god's sake!

granada and madrid were fun too. al hambra was truly remarkable, and the city views from the hill where the mosque was located on were breath-taking. seeing picasso's guernica was probably the highlight of madrid. although, we had some good meals there too.

coming home from such a wonderful vacation is not that exciting. but it is nice to be back home too.

die walkure

i saw die walkure today in the cinema. i usually go to the met opera but today the performance was sold out. i also wanted to experience the opera in HD. so i went to the cinema. die walkure is by far one of my most favorite operas. definitely in top 5. i have seen two different productions at the met and i liked them both. but the movie experience was just great. first, the tenor was really really good. he was handsome, good acting, good volume and i think he sang really well. the soprano was really good too, and the chemistry of Siegmund and Sieglinde was so overwhelming on the stage. it was by far one of my most romantic theatrical experiences. i loved the acting, the music was marvelous and walkure is such a dramatic and romantic piece. i was sitting there thinking this scene makes me want to fall in love all over again. makes me want to experience the excitement and joy of young love, makes me wanna embrace someone that hard.

wagner rocks my world. i love the ring cycle. so naturally i was thinking about going to Bayreuth once for the festival. i checked the website and there is a 7-10 year wait for the festival....yeah, so that's not happening soon. but i will make it happen at some point. for sure.

...

when i say to my iranian friends that my spiritual life is lacking in the US, they are usually surprised. at best they are skeptical, and at worst they are scornful. my spiritual life is lacking none the less. and for someone who is not religious nor spiritual, this might sound strange.

it isn't that i used to feel a connection with a larger entity and now i have lost that. no, i have not been a believer since i was an adult. but i was connected to something important and that was the eastern philosophy. it is hard to explain how that used to get translated into my everyday life, but it was a huge part of my life. from the Hafiz poems my father recited at every occasion, to conversations about the nature of love, human values, and the purpose of life, i was absorbed in spirituality in my everyday life.

it's not that i don't get into meaningful conversations anymore. i do. i talk about politics, economics and even relationships all the time. but these conversations are all outward-looking as opposed to the ones i mentioned. i realize that this is probably a function of age as well. i was in my early 20s when i left iran, and naturally, much more in search of a meaning for my life. now, i just understand life better and i know myself better, so maybe i am not as curious about the philosophical issues as much. but i still miss all of that.

nostalgia?

I'm thinking about my father. maybe because i am going home. or maybe i am completing the process of grief. it occurred to me a few days ago that i will never see him again, ever. you might think this has occurred to me before, when he died about 1.5 years ago. it did, but it never felt this way. the way it felt back then was very sad. when i thought about his death, i used to think about the process of dying. what was he thinking when he took the last breath? did he know he was dying? did he think about me, my mom and my sister? or was he clueless?

the way i thought about his death yesterday was different though. it was more than just him dying. it was about him not being there: not being able to see my life taking place. not being able to participate in it.

i miss him. and every time i think about him, i immediately think about my mom. what if she dies? how would i be able to live with that? and i know i will, and thank god for humans' capability of adapting.

but adapting is sad. sometimes you just wish you didn't have to adapt.

i'm travelling home this week. it is always emotional and conflicting. it makes me the happiest and saddest person i ever am.

on the bright side, i get to see people i love and eat delicious food. i am thankful for small pleasures in life.

dream of freedom

I am listening to the radio and two foreign policy experts are talking about the Iran's green movement. the guy mentions that the green movement in iran does not have the support of the majority. that most people in iran want an islamic republic, in the current or a reformed shape.

my first reaction is that you obviously don't know anything about iran. but then i think about something that i have thought about time and time again: how much do i know about iran? how homogeneous is iran?

i obviously lived a sheltered life. i was the daughter of an intellectual secular family with an almost western upbringing. it's not that we were rich, or poor for that matter, but we were different from many people. for one, we were non-religious and untraditional. my father was a feminist in his words and a socialist in my view. our family friends were of our type. they were educated, non-religious, political and open minded. even when i was in iran it was obvious to me that we are different. i took pride in our being different. i saw my family and myself as rebels against the authority of this regime.

but did i learn nothing about other people? i mean i went to school and worked with all sorts of people. true, i tried to stay away from the ones that had too different of ideologies, but i had friends from all sorts of families. i worked in a rural area of iran for about 1.5 years and i travelled a little. did i not learn anything about iran? i don't believe i didn't.

yes, iranians are not all like my family. they are religious, judgmental and strict in their world views, but most of them are sick of the islamic republic. the cab drivers and passengers alike blame the government for their misfortunes. unemployment is a bitch and inflation is eye-popping. there is no certainty in the future and tension is high. people are angry and tired. they don't know how they will be able to afford the cost of living. they see the theft and experience corruption first hand. they feel stifled and tired. they want freedom. and i believe that they are wiling to pay high prices for that dream. the dream of a democracy, where oil money is put to good use and the future is bright and clear. where abuse is justly punished and the criminals are brought to justice. we have not and will never forget the cruelty of this regime. we want peace, justice and freedom. and i believe in it when i say "we".

happiness

a professor was giving a talk about happiness. she was listing the happiest con tries of the world and the reasons behind their satisfaction. the happiest country in the world was listed as Denmark.


my first response was: "sure, it's obvious. they are wealthy, educated and healthy. and they have a socialistic country that takes care of them when they need it." but then she compared other countries with similar characteristics. Germany, France, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, etc.


it turned out, the most important factor determining happiness is expectations. apparently Danish have low expectations of life. they don't expect to have huge amounts of money, extraordinary careers, big houses or luxury cars. in fact, every year they are pleasantly surprised that the state of affairs in Denmark is not completely rotten.


now, think about that for a second. i had to pause and reflect on it for a few days. this is huge. this is telling me that the lower i expect from life, the happier i am. (assuming basic levels of well being). completely counter intuitive, right? maybe.

it made me think about my relationships. does that mean the happiest relationships are the ones that the couple have the lowest expectations from each other? does that mean not having standards make you happy? if you are a beer snob like me, you get annoyed when all is available is budlight. but if you have low expectations, you can't be disappointed.


i have to say, i am conflicted by this. if in search of quality we lose happiness, do we want to pause and lower our expectations? or do we want to accept that we just can't be the happiest people because we can't have low standards. how much control do we really have in setting expectations?

i haven't written for a long long time. in fact, i have not had enough time to reflect on myself. i was too busy managing the events of the outside world that i nearly lost where i am in the journey of life. this all sounds too philosophical and i am a fairly simple person, but there is some truth to it.

when you see yourself with the eyes of the outside world, your view of yourself becomes very narrow. in the past few months i was focused on finding a job. and finding a job requires me to look at myself from the employer's prespective.

this is truly the first time i have ever looked for a job. in the past, the job has always came to me either because i was a good engineer or because i knew the right people. but this time, i was not good at the job i wanted to take: i have never done it before. and i didn't know anyone. let alone anyone that actually mattered. so convincing people that they should offer me a job was a task that was a bit beyond me. now, it's true that i am in an mba program and we, mba students, tend to think that we can do just about any job and be good at it. i can't say that i fully believed that, but i am convinced that i'm smart enough to learn just about anything in a short time.

the interviews were very different depending on the company and the function. in many of the interviews, the interviewer just asked many arbitrary questions and gave me some business cases to solve. i didn't get my dream job, which was only my dream job because the company is very high profile. but i got a job that i feel good about. and the reason i feel good about it is that i think people in this company took time to get to know me. the interviewer asked me about my upbringing in iran, about my transition after immigration and about what interests me in the business world. i really appreciated that he is curious about me, and not only about what i have prepared to say.


well, long story short, i took the job and i will be spending all of the next summer at a job i know nothing about. but i anticipate it to be a good experience. a learning experience that pays. so i am happy right now and i get to spend this semester doing whatever i want. i get to be curious without worrying about getting a job.

i am happy even though it's winter. and winter always wears on me. i also started rock climbing again which is just awesome.

busy goodness

school is mad busy. i don't have much time to catch my breath. but it's the most exciting period of my life (maybe after the first time i was in love). i feel like a world of opportunities has opened in front of me. i feel like i am growing as a person and as a student. i do well in tests, i build good relationships, and although it is crazy, i am on top of it. being on top of it all is something i didn't expect from myself. also, i feel like i'm much more of a people's person that i used to think. this is such a steep learning curve that it might knock me out of the game. but let's hope not!

i love every minute of this. even though i don't get more than 5 hours of sleep every night

school

i knew i was going to be busy at school. but this busy, i never thought. i don't think i have ever been busier than this in my life! between studying finance, accounting, micro economics, strategy, and then preparing for recruiting, i hardly have enough time to sleep. i think my average sleep hours reduced to about 6 hours a night. it's as if i have a really demanding job already. oh boy!

enough bitching. school is great. i meet a ton of people every day and i get to learn about the companies, the markets, economies, people, and everything else. it's such an exciting opportunity.

gotta love business school! (and i do)

i'm all settled in my new brooklyn apartment. and it's been great so far. i love my room: it's big, and there is a dent with a desk that i could use as an study room. i have five windows which i absolutely love! i get both morning and afternoon light, something that i lacked all these years in my manhattan apartments. and being on the forth floor, in a residential neighbourhood with short buldings, grants me the refreshing late-summer breeze.

i don't know all-settled is a good word because i still need to buy a bed and a dresser and curtains and other stuff. but i feel like i am settled. i feel, once again, that i have a welcoming home to come to after a crazy day out there. as much as i love new york, living here is sometimes exhausting.

the school has started and i am meeting new people every day. i have about 400 class mates who are fascinating me. there are people from every background and every part of this world. and most of them are just really nice and friendly. there are of course the usual nut cases and arrogant guys and princess-like girls too. but that is a given. hanging out and making small talk is a little emotionally draining some times. i am one of those people who prefers to have one close friend than a few acquaintances. but in the past few years, i have realized that i should be more flexible. a couple of my really good friends have left new york, and i have felt the void of not having more friends. so this time, i will try to stay in touch with more people and hang out with them more often.

......

i just finished reading 1984. and it freaked me out from time to time. it was unsettling how relevant it was to what is happening in iran. and in other parts of the world too, but iran is a more tangible case for me. it reminded me of all the values that the islamic republic was trying to implant in out heads when we were little girls. the religous ceremony at the age of 9 to celebarate or woman-hood. the guilt from feeling excited about guys, and the shame and fear of having sex for the first time.

the book is just so real and alive, that makes me feel very pessimistic about the future of this world. will it always be the same? will there always be people from this or that country who live under a dictatorship? it has always been the case, so what guarantees that it will stop?

and yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, i know that it will be different in the future. it will be better. it has to be better.