yadame ke sanaz azam khast ke yeki az essay hamo vasah beferestam. khob in fekr konam ye jorayi essay hastesh. jozve yeki az 3 dasteyiye ke tooye emtahane diplom mitooni benevisi. 3 taa goorooh, critical essay, personal response o creative writing e. ino parirooz too kelas neveshtam. jozve practice diploma haa bood. bebakhshid inghad dir shod. sargarme 2khtar bazi boodam.


I remember it as it was yesterday. I was six years old. Just a kid. Not having any worries, but where, when, and what game to play, not even the constant trips to the doctors office and hospital. My mother always told me: “there’s nothing wrong with you Lohrasp, every kid your age has to go to see the doctor so his mom and dad would be sure there’s nothing wrong with him.” and I believed her. I never even bothered asking my friends if they go to the doctor’s office as much as I do. It was my weekly routine: Each week, a trip to the hospital, where they took some blood from me and a trip to the doctor’s office where he checked me from head to toe.
By the time I seven, I didn’t want to go to the hospital anymore. Our trips increased from once a week, to 3 times a week. Sometimes I even skipped school to go there. I remember the big long tunnel that they made me lie down in, and then there was this ring of light, that kept on turning around me, going up and down my body. I was not allowed to move for 15 minutes. I was always scared of that place. I always thought when they make me go in there, someone is going to lock the door and not let me out and I would have to stay there forever.
I can count every single thread of hair in my mind. One day, they made me take couple of pills and the ring of light was taking more time than usual. It did take longer in the past week, but this time, it was unusually long. We went home after, and my mother kissed me like always and told me its time for bed. I closed my eyes and wished I could spend more time with my friends and fell asleep with this thought. When I woke up in the morning, my bed was full of hair. Full of black, long hair. I was scared. I was thinking to myself where did all this hair come from. I sprinted to a mirror. I had no hair on the random places of my head. I started yelling and crying until my mother ran to me and hugged me and told me everything is going to be ok.
A month after finding all that hair in my bed, I had no more hair to lose. Not on my head. Not on my face. No eyebrows. No eye lashes. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I always trusted my mother when she told me: “everything is going to be alright” and she was saying that at least ten times a day now. I didn’t go to school anymore. In fact, I didn’t go outside our house and our hospital. Those were my sanctuaries. Every time I stepped out, people kept on looking at me as there was something wrong with me and held their kids close to themselves so they wouldn’t come near me. They even pointed me out. Other kids made fun of me too. They used to tell each other this story that I came from another planet and I was son of an alien. It was ok with me. They could make fun of me. As long as I had those white walls, white sheets and white beds, I didn’t need anyone. I talked to the nurse if I needed a friend and the doctor when I needed a father.
Another year passed. I was a little more than eight years old now. I was supposed to go to grade two. But instead, I was sleeping in the hospital six nights a week, and went home for one night. I was feeling left out by each second passing by. Nurses couldn’t take the place of my friends anymore. The doctor was not my father. The lights were nothing like sun. The books that I read were not grade two books. Everything seemed strange. I felt isolated. Those beautiful white walls seemed like bars to me now. I felt the nurse was enjoying watching me throw up everyday and the doctor didn’t do anything to make me feel better, just because he had the power. I hated everyone. I hated other kids. I constantly thought about how “stupid” they are that make fun of me. I hated their parents. Their eyes were red. They were devils to me. I didn’t want any of them, or their children near me. I was starting to understand: the place where I thought was a heaven, a sanctuary for me, was only disguised as one. No wonder they painted it white, they wanted to hide how black the walls really were and they wanted to make it look as they were trying to make help me grow my hair back. They were all pretending. The sun became boring, the books, annoying. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted them to bring me glue and some hair so I could stick it to my head and my eyebrows so I would be normal. But they wouldn’t. My mother always cried and kept on telling me everything was going to be ok. I didn’t trust her anymore. I didn’t want her to touch me, to hug me anymore. She was a liar. Nothing was ok. I was no longer living in the planet which I lived before, they threw me out. I was looking at the planet with all the humans, from space. I was Apollo 17. They threw me out to go to my own planet and I was looking back, at earth while I was going home. To my alien parents. I resented everyone. Their eyes were red. I wanted to get out of that white place and never lay eyes on that color again. But they wouldn’t let me. They kept on telling me everything was going to be ok. They were all lying.
Nine years later I woke up in the morning. Combed my hair and shaved. It was going to be a normal beautiful day, as always. The sun was shining bright. I went to my parent’s room, opened the door, kissed her and told her: “bye mom, I’m goin’ to school. See you in the afternoon.” I stepped outside. Everything was spectacular. Nothing could be any better. Little kids, walking to school, running after each other while their parents told them to slow down. Everyone smiling at me while I passed them by. And my clothes. My stylish, comfortable, good looking white cloths. I wore them three days a week now. They looked so good on me. No, no, I looked so good in them.

ye galon e pore ab. daresho beband. ye soorakhe koochooloo tahesh bezan. fekr mikoni aab azash mirize biroon?

mohem ine ke adam aftab parast bashe.

na baa dade moalem kootaah miyam, na baa khandehaaye maskhareye mardom. va residam be jayi ke bayad miresidam.

babak tooye yahoo 360 am neveshte : age adam ghadre doostaaye ghablisho bedoone va azashoon yaad kone, dige hich vaght ehtiyaj be doostaaye jadid nadare.
[ or at least somthing like that ]

mitoonin fosham bedin yaa bem bekhandin... parirooz too maashin yeki az ahangaaye ebi ro goosh dadam.. hamooni ke mige : "sedam kardi, sedam kardi,nagoo na, agar che saket o khamoosh boodi, to boodi o sedaye to, sedam kard... " va bad az chandin mah, balakhare ye zare gerye kardam.

zange kelas khord... bayad beram...
neveshtam ke begam zendam!

[ahan, rasty, ye sery adam inja behem migan :"you are always good, n so happy!" motmaenam tooye deleshoon migan, baba hade aghal ye chand baar ham asabi o narahat o afsorde besho! zendegi hamash labkhand o khande nist!

الماس حاصل بیش از حد فشار است.

فشار کمتر،بلور،

و کمتر از آن زغال سنگ(ذغال سنگ؟) پدید می آورد.

اگر باز هم فشار کم شود،
حاصل چیزی جز زنگواره یا زنگار ساده نخواهد بود.

...

«مایا آنجلو»

umadam bebinamet,
didam be dide nemiay

umadam sedat bezanam,
didam be dahanam nemiay

umadam bekeshamet,
didam be rang nemiay

umadam beshnavamet,
didam be sedat nemiay

umadam hr kari bokonam,
didam nemishe, nemitoonam

pas in chie ke hamishe daram heset mikonam?
pas in chie ke na mibinamet, na sedat konam, na bekeshamet, ne beshnavamet, vali bedoonam ke hasti??!