As I get older, the seemingly mundane simple days feel magical – not a gift that I take for granted. Today was a day like any other, except that I’m now a year older and supposedly wiser too. For the occasion, I heard from friends from all over the world, friends from different chapters of my life. My magical day was tickled silly and showered with love. Thank you for thinking of me and for all the fantastic wishes. I will carry them through into my journey around the sun and will do a happy dance and blow a kiss your way every time one of them is granted. Thank you for being part of my life.
Ah, not to be cut off,
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.
The inner — what is it?
if not the intensified sky,
hurled through with birds and deep
with the winds of homecoming.
I left home thinking that I could always return and that it would stay just the same as it did on that summer night in July 1992, when I packed all my worldly belongings into two suitcases and left Iran with the hopes of a better life in Canada. I was leaving behind the country in which I took my first steps as a child, the country in which I first fell in love, a country that for all its ills was where I knew as home. And so I did what any emotional yet pragmatic person would do, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I made believe that after my departure, time would come to a long pause and that I could always return and find everything just the way I had left it. How else could I bring myself to leave?