ooooowwwww.....valak to ta abadani ke beham nemigan rashti...
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Abadan
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I dreamed of Abadan last night. I often do.
I dreamed I was watching a silent black-and-white film about our family and our home, No. 110 Braim. The film began with my sister Soraya putting something into a large car or van. It looked as if the family was about to go on a road trip.
I remember seeing myself, in my early teens, running through our house from one end to the other and out in the yard. I slowed and stood in front of the camera, smiling. I think I had my legs slightly apart and my hands on my waist.
After a few seconds the camera lifted, showing our house from above. Everything looked sharp, clean, orderly. Perfect. The konar trees looked particularly massive, more like walnut trees. The fence around the house was not the green, bushy shemshad but made of wood and painted white, like the ones around American farm houses.
The camera, still high above the ground, began to move slowly to the left. It passed over our fence and the Pars American School into a foggy area where the ground was uneven with patches of mud and grass. There were a few dark, large objects that stood about 30 meters high. They looked as if they were man-made but not in use. A bit rusty, maybe. I don't recall where this place was, exactly, but I still thought it was somewhere in Abadan.
The film in my dream was not an 8mm home movie made by an amateur. It was a professional job. I guess it could be interpreted as a sanitized, Hollywood version of me, my family and Abadan. In truth, neither I nor my family were that happy. And Abadan was not that perfect either. But it was home, damn it. It was home.
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mibini arman..ma abadania khabamoon haliwoodie...mano chi migi ke ba reyboonam mikhabam...khabaye bahal mibinamLove like you never got hurtwork like you don't need the moneyDance like no one is watching
تا عاقلان راهی برای یکبار خندیدن پیدا کنند دیوانگان هزار بار خندیده اند
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