Slow as gold cools.

It's another slow evening. I work at at Persian restaurant. I'm a hostess. I strain my smiling muscles, I make my voice like that of snow white, I wrap silverware, and make tea. Oh and I also seat our customers. If there are no customers, there is just nothing for me to do. I didn't realize how pointless my job is. I don't even have to wear nice clothes. I come in with ripped jeans and hickeys everyday.  

My father never spoke one word of Farsi to me. I am a hybrid. I am a central Texan. I am an Austinite. A very sheltered Austinite, infact. The first time I ever tested the waters at Barton Springs was back in 2008. Not too long ago. I don't even like going there. The water is always so cold. And the last time I went to Barton Springs was with completely illusional friends. I hate those people.
Well anyway, hearing my boss's choice of 50's diner music or listening to the repetitive, whining, pathetic lyrics of Persian artists in this restaurant mixed with mundane tasks always makes me want to break a lot of glass. Don't get me wrong. I love my job. I just wish it was a fast pace job all the time. I like speaking to all the different people and hearing all the different voices and demeanors  But when there is absolutely no one here I can't help but sit around and sigh. I won't do the silverware tonight. I work tomorrow morning anyway.

Uncalled for.

I remember one night in Iran, it was about 3 in the morning. I would always spend nights up by myself after I would say goodnight to my grandmother sleeping in the next room. She would take out her hearing aid at night so I don't think she heard me talking on the phone as much as I did those evenings. I would call my friends and give them unwanted updates on how I was doing. I knew an Iranian boy in my school that would always push me away from being friends. We were the only two Iranians in the whole school and I had always wondered why he was so cold to me. Sometimes I would be too oblivious to take the hint. I had hoped to be friends with him in school, and maybe even speak Farsi with him during lunch hour. On that night by myself I decided to call him. I saw that some how I had his cell phone number in my American phone. So I dialed and I reached him.
"I'm calling from Iran right now. I was just thinking about you. I wish you could see everything I'm seeing.How are you?"
"Oh, ok. Well I'm doing dishes."
"Doing dishes? Why? I thought you would be relaxing and stuff,"
"I really should get back to doing the rest of my chores. I'll talk to you later."
"Really? Well when can I call you? I'm free almost all the time. It is vacation you know."
"--Bye Maryam."
I didn't hear the sound of water running or the air in his back ground anymore. "Bye..."
Some people really have issues. I'm probably not one to talk. But that right there, that was really rude. It's kind of hilarious how some people are absolutely repelled by kindness.

Poor years

Man, am I worlds away from where I was the last time I posted here. Graduated, visited Iran a few times. Went through a few relationships. Was kicked out of my parents house a month ago.
I don't think I deserved that.

I seemed to be doing fine. But I'm just incredibly on edge at the moment. I'm kind of going crazy. No TV, no music, no art, no domesticated animal could ever make me feel better right now. I don't want all of those people to be right. All of those people told me that I won't actually be happy where I am now. I have shelter, and a person who cares about me, I have freedom, I have some grass, I even have a cat. I wanted to ride a motorcycle. I even bought one.
Just the weight of that machine threw me off and sent me rolling on my hips upon the asphalt.
I never understood how an inanimate object could bite you in the ass until now.

Maybe someday I can ride in the hill country with my two wheeled screamer from hell.

With the world I used to know in pieces around me, dreaming seems to help me move through the silent moments that everyday includes. And it is the silence that distracts me the most.