by Roshanak Fazli


Opening my eyes early in the morning, giddy between sleep and the fretfulness of starting another day, I meditate of you. I endeavor to get up cause waking up is next to hades. The interval between moving physically and waking mentally is to pass swiftly.

Tossing and turning the whole night hints the nightmares, mere hallucinations, though sweet. Does everybody around her know? Is she herself the only confidant of her wistful faraway enigmatic dream?

Let me has been more than 10 years I have been craving for you. Oh, where is the calendar? I used to keep a diary. You you youit is always you. Music is not supportive anymore. Whatever I listen, reminds me of you. It is not IT any more, it is you. I am a freak of immigration.

From high school to now, she has been thinking and planning to go abroad. Abroad for her include Canada, America and Australia. She has tried mentally a lot. Most of her friends already know about her dream.

Several years ago, I saw The Secret and hardly believed it. Gradually I was falling to admit it. I followed all the news and rules, fluctuating and changing around-the-clock. I was inept; I am still incapable. However, I came to one firm deduction; unable to set myself at liberty, I tend to metaphysics. Sometimes reality is tough to swallow, so we come to originate God, Saints, Imams, and Virgins. The moment I apprehended it, I declined every faith I was brought up with. I do not pray, I do not beg any more to achieve my dreams. Nevertheless, things went wrong. Was it because of having the valor to face reality instead of sitting and crying? Is every Tom, Dick, and Harry courageous enough to declare that there is nothing out there to aid? I check my emails and feel that someone has sabotaged me. I check all the scholarship positions. Not my field, not my race.bullshit. for a moment I wish I studied what they like, want, accept, and allowa mere submission. Do I wish I were a different race? Not yet! I am not done yet! You are everything to me; you are my breath


She is an English teacher, a respectable one. Most of her students adore her perseverance, mindfulness, and honesty. She is those kinds of teachers who start the class on time, finish later than the supposed time; endeavor hard to get the students understood. Moreover, all of her students know about her voracious longing to fly away. They consult her concerning the issues of going abroad or studying overseas.

Ten minutes to ten and Neda will be here in ten minutes; hope so. She is always running late. Drinking the last cup of my favorite green tea, I let Neda come in. As usual, she did not do the assignments, was busy sleeping and wandering purposelessly in every second of her life. I ask her the desirable final goal of her: nothing comes out! I point out some hints to have a sensible lifeline, though I doubt she listened to me at all. She is waiting to marry. Is that called a purpose? (I do not believe in marriage. I detest groups of any kinds, and ghettos. I do not believe in borders. We are all one. So I do not call myself a feminist, I do not dare.).

Class is dismissed after one hour and half. I am not sure whether she has learned a word or not. I try to grasp what I try for in her gestures and postures. I have been working on understanding people through their expressions recently, however I guess I am in Irony. Within ten minutes Roksana will come. She has been cancelling the class repetitively lately. I am waiting for a complete dismissal. To my great surprise, she wants to come three sessions a week; she is going to go to Canada, my dreamland. Oh, I wish I did not hold class with her. An especial sort of fond has risen up from the bottommost point in my heart. I like her cause she is going to land there. Doorbell rang; she came up the stairs, enthusiastically sat in front of me, waited for miraculous words to be showered on her. I am reticent. I am jealous. I am resentful. I have been teaching all these dumb to fly away, while I am still in the first place. Consequently, I deliver whatever I know wholeheartedly. I get paid for it.

Then Sarah comes. (Sometimes I feel like a psychologist, visiting various doctors. I am the sick one.) She is heading to London. How?!?! she wants to get IELTS in 3 months! They think I am a microwave oven.

It is 10 oclock at night and I am thick with my students aspirations and me. Can I get more; is there any room? Could be. I turn on TV. Travel channel is my favorite. I am a masochist. I have started to tear my feet skin again. Last epoch was before entrance exam to university. A globe trekker is in Antarctica; on a cruise ship. How white is everything! Iceberg, penguins, northern light. Its magnificent, crystal clear. There is a seal on a piece of ice, surrounded by seven sharks. I put the cup of coffee down on the end table in despair and suspicion. The sharks are trying to hunt the seal. I am adroit in empathy. Turning up the volume, I understand that the shark parents are teaching the shark children how to hunt a defenseless seal. They knock the ice piece repeatedly to off balance the bait. However, seal is resisting. Seal cannot fight back. With all power, it grasps the slippery surface of the ice piece. I am proud of my champion. Ten minutes they are struggling. The sharks are gone.

I take a breath; relieved temporarily.

All of a sudden, a circle of hunter sharks overturns the ice piece, and devours my seal. I am startled; inadvertently, tears are coming down. How unfair is the world out there! I am grateful for being a member of socialized animals. We do not hunt each other. While seeping my black coffee, I remember The Most Dangerous Game. I am dazzled! Are we the epitome of animals or vice versa?


In this class, there are five students and we mostly discuss unrestricted subjects. Jabber, Hussein, Mohammad, Ahdiyeh and Asad. Whats news? is the kind of greeting I got used to. Ahdiyeh is the only married student of the class.

Is it up to men to propose for marriage? Or men and women are equal? she asked.

She is looking neutral and indifferent. Students are bewildered and reluctant to answer. She does not care. She is just having one aim in head, secretive though. She is desperately hopeful.

I guess, men should offer. Actually, it is mens responsibility. Women are so decent that better not lower themselves to appeal a man., Says Asad.

She smiles lifelessly.

I do agree. Men are biased. They should not accept an offer from a woman. Mohammad says.

She nods.

I have no idea.,Ahdiye says.

She thanks.

Men should step forward. Men support the family and they must be ready financially. ,Jaber retorts.

She is still.

Both women and men have the same share and role in it. It is not the question of man or woman. Whoever loves first, can propose first. , Hussein says.

She grabs a deep breath and sits on the chair, giggling mutely.

She does not add anything and summons them to open their books.

Class is dismissed after two hours and a group of students is getting ready for oral exam. He and I are supposed to ask questions and both of us give scores. He seems not having any preplanned questions. He bombards the first victim breathtakingly. I am uncommunicative. I just listen, hardly. I think of you, imagine your colleges and classes and teachers and students and libraries and standards. I vomit mentally. I like to suffocate him for the nonsenses he is asking the poor ignoramus students. He seems simply to indulge in a whim for his witty assertion so often. I wonder why so much attention and praise continues to fall his way. This is ridiculously illusory.

Ok, Mahsan. I ask you a question; think for one minute and then reply. Why do you think women are shopping freaks? ,he asks( shamelessly).

I like shopping, gold, jewelry. Feel happy. She can only think of.

I can see his entertained eyes. What do you like your husband buy for you on Womens Day?

I bought a cell phone on my husbands birthday for him and it was a surprise. I like a surprise.

OK. Do you prefer gold and jewelry?

Oh, yeah.

Thanks a lot. Have a nice day.


Her students are sharply split in their view of value of her work. Some of them adore her and some of them detest her. She thinks her honesty should be seriously wanting. She does not eat that much. She just smokes and thinks. Her husband is irritatingly worried about her all the time. She is angry and rebellious. She surfs the internet every day in hope of finding a new way to immigrate like birds, careless to borders.

You should eat something. You goanna eliminate yourself. How much did you drink? says her husband.

As much as I could forget.

What should I do now? Let me call Shahab. He knows what to do. But are you with me? Open your eyes please. Youre fainting! cries her husband.

Closing my eyes late at night is next to impossible. Tossing and turning in my bed, I think of you. My heart is heavy with despair and acknowledging the reality. I hear him eating snacks and watching horror films. There is no star in the sky; your sky may be full of stars and a full moon. I hear him opening and closing the door of balcony. He smokes not inside. I feel the wetness of my pillow. For two hours I have been crying listlessly.

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