Da Planet

I quit my job, sublet my apartment, said goodbye to my friends and family and temporarily moved to another country, in another continent, with a completely different culture and way of life. I always wondered how it would be to live here since I was only a baby when we moved away. I was born in this country, but yet I don't have any recollection of how life in Iran is. The only memories I have and the only bond I have to this country is due to all the family trips we've made every once in a while to visit my mom's relatives. The people I only knew by pictures, names and voices on the phone became alive when I was seven and for the first time came back to Iran. I remember the very first meeting. Everyone was waiting in the reception hall at the airport. My mom and I came out of the passport control and she told me that the crowd standing on the other side of the glass window were all members of her family. I think it was about 20 people, at least it felt like it. They all ran up to us when we came out and they kissed and hugged my mom and everybody cried. I was squeezing my mom's hand really hard. It was absurd to me. Who are these people and why is everybody crying? Someone picked me up, kissed me while crying out: Oh my God, she has become really big. What a beautiful girl you've become! I had no idea who they were. I only recognised some of the faces from the photo albums we had at home. When we left the airport my mom and I didn't take the same car. I think I was with my uncle and his family, and my mom was in another car. I remember we stopped for juice on the way home. Ab talebi, melon juice. This is the very first memory I have of Iran.

 

Then we fast-forward twenty years or so, and I find myself thinking about how life in Iran would be like. I decided to move. Without a plan. Without any back-up. I quit my job, sublet my apartment, said goodbye to my friends and family and temporarily moved to another country, in another continent, with a completely different culture and way of life. "I can always move back and start from scratch again", I told myself. I never want to look back at my life and think "What if..". That's what I based my decision on. Looking back and never regreting anything. I had many voices in my head telling me I was crazy. And twice as many outside telling me the same thing. But I did it. And now I'm here. Three months and counting. I'm still fighting the voices that keep saying "Come back home". Most of them are from family and friends who still think I'm crazy. But I like it here. I don't know why. I don't have a plan, nor do I have a stability or a regular day to day life with routines. But I have something, I'm finding something. I can't really put in words what it is. But maybe it's exactly what I was missing. Or maybe I'm crazy and I've lost it. Who knows. At least I know, I will never look back and think "What if...".