I woke up greeted by a pleasant sunshine that compelled me to get over the second hand hangover from all the partying and drinking at the wedding the night before.
My legs ached, particularly the area around the back of the knee on my left leg and my right ankle joint. I wondered how it’s simultaneously possible for me to compete in a triathlon with manageable pain but suffer after mild dancing, a skill that God has gifted every Iranian but me.
If you saw me at the party though, you’d have been impressed… or worried that the world had gone tits up for you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that people have seen me dance.
But there I was, enjoying moving my body to the music.
My lungs feasted on the free man’s air as I walked towards nature.
And my eyes were feasting people. People living ordinary lives. People enjoying a normal day and good weather.
I felt a deep envy that transformed into gratitude. I am immensely lucky to be in a position where someone else’s joy doesn’t trigger thoughts of taking it away from them, and instead gives me a part of that joy, allowing me to experience it with them.
But my mind then, was wandering to things that I didn’t have as a kid. Things that I don’t have now. Things that I could never have. And despite the gentle sun warming our souls, it felt cold on my skin as I wanted to incense the fire inside me.
Until I saw the kid playing football against the wall of the tiny balcony of his council flat. So pure was the kid’s joy that it cleansed the grime of the city and the blemishes of my heart. I could see myself in him, making the most of what I have.
I felt lucky again, and determined to continue my walk without ignoring my wounds. I allowed them to exist, turning them into scars and thereby dropping any emotional charge I carried from them without ignoring their lessons.
I have just come back from a long trip, one that felt, for the first time in my life, like a proper holiday. I got a taste of a life that I want to have.
Life is so strange because had the holiday gone in the way that I had planned, my words wouldn’t be so full of contentment.
I was disconnected, so I chose to disconnect and reconnect with myself.
As my walk was coming to an end, I saw a middle aged man roller skiing with so much passion that my gut felt as light as the feather necklace that I’m wearing, like when you’re on a plane and it suddenly drops a few feet after passing through an air pocket. Unable to control myself, my smile widened ear to ear, high on the strongest drug known to man.
I love people who are passionate, because that passion radiates on to me. In that man’s grin I saw the perfect balance between struggle and euphoria, I’ve been there when cycling up a hill on a single speed bike. In that moment I was that man, but he was more than just a mirror: it felt like when you put two mirrors in front of one another and you see an infinite recursion. I saw a clear path to me becoming that man, and perhaps roller skiing will become my next hyperfixation.
For a brief moment I wondered why I’ve never felt that way with dancing. If passionate people are my mirrors, then why have I never seen a dancing mirror?
I scanned the memory of my mind for scenes that stuck out from the wedding, and there they were: three unlikely siblings who actually loved to dance. Everything else was a blur.
The lesson I take is that I’ve always been comparing myself with people who don’t know themselves.
All the mumbo jumbo you’ve just read could be because I’ve just finished reading Forty Rules of Love, but what is more likely is that the book has simply taken me back to the same part of my brain that I have visited before, except that I am three years older and I’m now wearing a purple hat that says “may all your delulu come trululu”.
I’m not a prophet, though I am a messenger. I tell you of my tales and adventures, but lurking in the whitespace between my words are the most important tales of all: those within myself.
I hope that my writing inspires you to search within you and find the gold that I have found.
I understand if you have stumbled upon my writing at the wrong time. The 15th of September is not everyone’s special day, and I’m no stranger to having my annoying Evazi unsolicited advice falling on deaf ears… for I sat with Rizwan, the self proclaimed believer, recounting my encounters with the clouds, only to hear in response the words “yeah, I get you” uttered in their dullest and hollowest tones, as he consumed his presence ordering an Uber to avoid a short beautiful walk, even though the air was most sublime.
I hope that when you find that gold, that you keep it. Not so that you can sell it after its price soars when America nukes Iran, and not so that you can lick your wounds once false rationality and hope kick in, and its price tumbles. But because in life you’re always digging towards hell searching for diamonds, only to run into that same piece of gold at deeper and deeper depths.
Tsunami's Hungry 
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