Sevda Khatamian | Blog
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Mountain and Mist

All the paper work was done, the crazy rush was over, and I could now walk slowly. But I didn’t. It could’ve rained any second. It’s been misty and foggy all morning. Oh, how I miss the morning mist of these highlands! I looked to my right. Thrilled as one could be, almost got the goosebumps, as if I was seeing the view for the first time. Although I’d lived here for a long time. I used to live down this street, just a couple blocks away. My magical apartment and I, and the ATM machine up the street where I paid rent through it the whole time I was unemployed. I’d seen this view many times before, but my eyes had never sent the right signal to my brain. I’d simply turned my head around, looking for something more interesting than the view of a mountain in the distance. Perhaps I was taking that for granted, thinking that it’d be there tomorrow anyway. And the next day, and the day after. Every day would be different, I should’ve known better. The mountain beyond the city, covered in white mist and dark blue clouds barely holding the rain. Everything about the view was comforting and enjoyable. This street suits its name perfectly right.

Lazy Letter: The Post Office

 P.S. Seems like it’s turned into a routine now; I visit every post office in the neighborhood I reside. I sometimes find myself writing to more people than I actually have physical contacts with. Traveling long-term had another aspect that I would have never anticipated; loneliness, and there’s no getting away from it. Is it sad that I’m getting used to it?! My mother believes so. “You’ve been living alone for too long” she complained the other day. I’m mostly surrounded by friends and magnificent people, but guess she’s right, I really am alone. I try to contribute more as long as I’m staying with my family. I just got off the phone with her, asked her where the post office was. I couldn’t remember, although I’ve lived in this neighborhood all throughout my childhood and teenage life. Funny how I also wrote letters back then. And how I’m back to this fine habit again?! Who’s to tell? What was I influenced by? Or do I do this simply because it feels right?! Because I’m lonely? It’s rather old-fashioned, I must admit, it drags me back in time. Around the twenties perhaps. A bit terrifying when it comes to filling the address at the back of the envelope. What if I make a mistake?! I’m so good at making mistakes!READ MORE

The Small Child

I was waiting for my parents in the car. It was sunny, so I had to roll down the windows. My parents were grocery shopping. Later I found out that dad sells the eggs to that supermarket. Some of the eggs go to the small supermarket in the village, the rest is sold to this one in the town.

Just a few steps away from the supermarket, a little kid was standing by his mother. Or maybe her mother. It was hard to tell whether the child was a boy or a girl. But I think he was a boy. He was looking in my direction, so I waved at him. He gave me a blank look. Assuming that he didn’t notice me, I waved again. He blinked, frowned for a second, and cracked a smile; he seemed interested. I waved with both hands this time, mixed with a little bit of dance move. His smile was wider now. I opened my mouth, and made a funny look to make him laugh. He didn’t laugh, although, his little round white teeth were perfectly visible. He looked around him, and bent to pick something off the floor, or out of a box or something. I couldn’t see what was by his side. He stood back up, and raised his arm to show me what he’s got. A potato; he was showing me a potato. I laughed. I looked at him again, and laughed even harder.

His mother noticed him and the little game going on between us. She smiled too, although she couldn’t make sense. She asked him something. He was too young to speak.

Lazy Letter: The First Time They Purr

 It somehow reminded me of the night where I was sitting at the bar alone. Sipping water, I was trying to avoid beer or any other alcoholic beverage as long as I could. I was drinking rather more frequently back then, and it didn’t have a pleasant effect on my body. It’s one of those habits I dislike the most, yet can’t really keep away; I’m tricked by the evil power of alcohol every time. The only help it does is that it passes by the time more happily once everybody’s consumed a good amount of drinks. Well, for most of the times, most of the times.

You must’ve been busy with something or one of your friends, you weren’t at the bar, so you didn’t realize when that drunk girl sat next to me. She was half drunk, she said she’d just thrown up. She ordered a beer, and asked me to go dancing with them. But there was zero alcohol in my system at the moment, and I was too chilled to move my person. READ MORE

Lazy Letter: The Soup

We were on our way back home, to the village, and Marzi was behind the wheel. The plan was to get back home before it got dark, but the sun had already set about an hour ago. My grandma recommended this thermal pool near by, three hours away. So we decided to take a daytrip, enjoy the landscape and relax in the hot pool. It was the perfect idea, and the views were priceless. Mom was taking the backseat.

We weren’t hungry, it must’ve been for the weather, and that we were surrounded by new tastes and smells. I had an urgent craving for Ash-e Dugh. It’s some type of traditional soup with wheat and chick peas and yogurt drink. You can add meat if you want to, and some garlic for taste, but I’m not sure which green herbs they put in; I need to ask my mom some day. We should’ve traveled all the way to Astara to have a bowl of the real deal; I once ate this soup there when I was very young; can still taste its sourness in my mouth. We couldn’t travel to Astara, but lucky for us, this neighboring town also had a reputation for its hearty Ash-e Dugh. We took a half tour around the town to see if we could find any restaurants, or some kind of buffet which served the soup. There was none, and it was late enough to make us give up. We’ll have it another time, another day, we promised ourselves, although there was a chance it might never happen again.READ MORE