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.