Headlines and politicians sometimes make us think the world is tearing itself apart. But this is not truth. We are, in fact, rooted together. Atlas scenes; linked by stitches far stronger than the separateness of the images that form our world.
To me, never is this more evident than now, with the arrival of Spring. This time of year, I miss Iran more than ever. Unable to return to my soil, to show my children these roots, to share first-hand the warmth, architecture, and history of this nation. It saddens me that this beauty is nearly invisible from abroad – lost in the clouds of Iran’s political oppression and regional conflicts. So I cling, with the help of a phenomenal life-partner and friends, to what I can. I try to bring NowRuz into my home and community. To share it with those who do not know it. To remember my childhood through the daily wonder of my children’s eyes.
In Iran, it is tradition to buy new clothes for NowRuz. I see the photos of Iranian street fashions on social media. I see the seams that fasten us together through the seas, mountains, and weapons that separate us.
And suddenly I’m back in my kitchen. Four little half-Persian kids tug at my shirt and hang on my arm to tell me the day’s adventures, while their dad chastises them to “take it easy on Mommy.” My mom has moved on from the brittle to dishing the herbed rice and smoked fish for dinner, as my dad pours milk for the kids. And I think, if I have managed to paint my American portrait with at least a little of my traditions, it is something to celebrate. That, and our togetherness.
NowRuz Mobarak to you all.