Polkadots

  Three different nationalities from two different countries in one city; Porto. It all started there.

  Mitra and I started our journey early in the morning, hopping on buses,planes and trains till we got to Porto. As we wandered the streets to find our airbnb, clouds kept following us but it didn't matter. We had made it.The air was fresh, the sights were new and the people were nice to us. Once we got to our hostel we waited for the third party, Eliza. From the moment we were united, plans started being made, maps and papers spread out on the table. Restaurants and drinks were planned by Eliza and Mitra and I were more than content to follow her around the city. Sometimes we had to climb up a hill for nearly an hour but we always knew it would be worth it, and it was every time. From the fanciest restaurant in Porto to the emptiest little snack place, the food was damn good. The city was enchanting. Laundry was hung practically from every window. The houses were covered with colorful tiles and the narrow streets gave it all a very homey feeling. Porto was split in half by the Douro river. The 45 minutes we spent on Douro was meditating. Eyes shut, the wind brushed your hair and the water splashes caressed your face. Porto was good to us, but it was missing a little bit of action. So after four peaceful days, we said our goodbyes to Invicta, packed up our stuff and headed to Lisbon...

  Lisbon welcomed us with a soft sunny weather. Once we arrived at our new appartment we chose our rooms. Each room was a different color; one was orange, the other blue and finally, the best for last, a green one with a double bed and the cutest little balcony I have ever seen. The green room was down the hall, away from the other bedrooms and due to complaints recieved about my snoring in Porto, we all agreed that I should be further away from the non snoring community. After settling that matter, we were ready to explore the wonders of Lisbon. We headed to a pastry shop where we had excellent Pasteis de Natas...with beer. A couple of hours later, after a few drinks and a nice dinner in a very local restaurant situated on top of a hill we were ready to discover the night life of the city. We were lucky enough to have a local drummer show us around.So we rolled down to the water side and as we walked our new friend told us stories about his city. Before we knew it we had arrived at our destination: the pink street which was literally...pink. Each bar and club was named after a big city. So we danced our way from Copenhague to Jamaica and from Jamaica to Tokyo. Once our alcohol level dropped we called it a night and headed back home. Hungover or not, the next day went on with a beautiful bright blue sky which put a smile on everyone's face. People were as nice as they were back in Porto. They welcomed you into their shops and restaurants, they thanked you whether you had purchased anything or not. One old lady even thanked us for petting her cat. By the last day we were all in love with the city. 

  And so with luggage full of cherishable memories, we said our last obrigada, left our heart in Portugal and headed back to reality.

Obrigada Portugal!

I didn't post this directly on Facebook for security reasons. This is the lyrics from the song "مستان - خدا را میشناسم از شما بهتر" "Mastaan group - I know God better than you do ". This is the very first time I've translated anything so I'm open to ANY  critisism. Hope you enjoy this as much as I did. 

                          نه از افسانه می ترسم     نه از شیطان                  

نه از کفر و      نه از ایمان

نه از آتش     نه از حرمان

نه از فردا  نه از مردن      نه از پیمانه می خوردن

خدا را می شناسم  از شما بهتر      شما را از خدا بهتر

خدا از هرچه پنداری جدا باشد     خدا هرگز نمی خواهد خدا باشد

نمی خواهد خدا بازیچه ی دست شما باشد     که او هرگز نمی خواهد چنین آیینه ای وحشت نما باشد

هراس از وی ندارم من    هراسی را از این اندیشه ها در پی ندارم من

خدایا بیم از آن دارم مبادا رهگذاری را بیازارم  

 نه جنگی با کسی دارم نه کس با من ..

. بگو موسی بگو موسی پریشان تر تویی یا من

I'm not afraid of myths, not of the devil. Not of sin, not of faith. Not of fire, not of disappointment. Not of tomorrow and not of drinking wine. 

I know God, I know God better than you do. I know you better than God...

God is different from anything that you imagine him to be. God never wants to be God. He doesn't want to be your ridicule. He never wants to be this reflexion of terror. 

I don't fear him. I'm not afraid of these thoughts. Oh God, I'm only afraid of hurting an innocent.

I'm not enemies with anyone, and nor is anyone with me.

Tell me Moses, tell me. who is more distressed; you or me...?

 After a short yet emotional visit back home, my life started to change in Strasbourg. Sun shone, new friendships formed and my love life renewed itself. Daily schedules were modified to spend more time with these new characters in my life. There was so much to talk about, so much to discover and so much to comprehend. We were basically taking turns in learning about eachother's past.

 One day, when it was my turn, my beau took me to his brother's flat. It wasn't anything formal, we just dropped by to say hi. I had already learned that his brother had a son of age 4 and a daughter who was even younger. I must admit, I was already terrified to meet the brother, and knowing that there was the possiblity of kids being around added to my terror. I've never been quite good around kids, never know what to say or what not to. As we were welcomed in, my eye caught the sight of a little boy sitting a the dining table, his back to us. He didn't bother turning around to welcome the guests as he was very much enjoying the crepes in his plate. So I was introduced to him by my boyfriend. It struck me as a bit inappropriate to be introduced as a girlfriend. I mean, would a 4 year old even know what that means? Does he know any other title a part from mom and dad and sister? As I stood there uncomfortably with the biggest smile my facial muscles could possibly manage, the men went off to a corner to chat and I was left alone with a 4 year old who was observing my fake smile. He immediately understood that he had to be the conversation starter since I was almost paralysed. He came up with the simplest question : "what's your name". I felt stupid. I could have come up with that. I managed to bend down on my knees to his height. I kept my smile, just in case. He was much more at ease with words than I have ever been in my life. He spoke to me about his cat, his sister, his childhood (haaah) and his daddy. Next thing I know he's throwing his arms around me and laughing with all his being. He had me right there and then. I was in love with this little creature. He kept close, he felt my face, apparently my lips amused him the most. He pinched them softly together with both hands and asked me to try to speak. My mumble made him laugh to tears. He threw himself in my arms again. I held him tight this time and laughed along with him. I looked around the room; no one was paying attention to what was going on between me and him. For a second there I wished my parents were in that room. I wished for them to see a child in my arms. 

  I love stangers. I honestly do. I love first impressions and oh how I love that first conversation you have with someone you have just met. So here is a list of all my favorite strangers. (no names will be given but know that you will eternally be remembered by me.)

The Gentleman
  The very first american I ever met in life was a true gentleman. He would always offer you his coat if there was a breeze, he'd pull up your chair, he'd carry an umbrella for you and get soaking wet himself. One might think he did all of this intentionally, as men often do these days. But my friend only asked for a thank you, or a smile in return. He was, by all means, a gentleman.

The one from Acropolis
  Around the same time i met The Gentleman I met the embodiment of ancient Greece. A young curly haired boy from Thessaloniki who studied philosophy and had a thing for porn. He didn't care for smartphones, or social networks. He chose his words with care, and he didn't always feel the need to say something clever in a group's conversation. He'd observe most of the time. I had some of the most interesting conversations with him.

The German Stereotype
 In the same group of friends there was a girl. The sweetest of girls and with such beauty; inside and out. She came from Hamburg, Germany. She lived for horseback riding and she didn't like cars, nor beer. So much for the german stereotype.

The Baker
  One of the most valued friendships I made happened in french class. Our friendship only formed because we were both disappointed with the class we were put in. Everyone was either married or simply boring. So we stuck together even though our personnalities were completely different. She would critique pretty much anything and I'd be amazed by a fly on the window. She saw the less I saw the more. Maybe that's what made our friendship so special. We both needed eachother in a way. I needed a touch of reality here and there and she needed to dream. We did share one passion though: food. She was an amazing baker and I am an excellent eater.

The Professional Beer Drinker 
  I briefly got to know a young british boy. I used to sit behind him in class and stare at the back of his neck. He was much too handsome for me and so it took me a while to gather up the courage to talk to him. But one day I finally grew the balls and asked him out. He spoke passionately about rubgy...and beer. Beer was our only common interest, so we drank a lot of it together. Our aquaintance was brief but I'll never forget about him.

The Japanese Heritage
  For a long while I didn't meet anyone interesting. I had almost forgotten how much I longed to meet strangers. When my 20th birthday came, I got a new best friend as a present; a boy from New Zealand. Once again the english language made the bond instantly between us and soon we discovered that we shared the same passion for being different, daring and weird as hell. 

Female Marco Polo
  I was drinking at the Irish Pub one night and three girls just came up to our table and sat down with us. I was a bit too drunk to care so I welcomed them with all the hospitality I could gather. One of them was from The States and of course the conversations immediately began. After that night I didn't think I'd ever see her again because we were both a little bit more drunk than sociability would allow and I didn't expect her to remember my name. But the next day she invited me to have a cup of coffee. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The Salsero
  I don't know what is it with me and americans. Maybe I attract them. Or maybe I am just determined to show that a girl from Iran can make friends with someone from America. Anyway, I met my next favorite stranger in salsa class. Even though he claimed to not know how to dance as well, I had great pleasure dancing with him. Could that man make me laugh...

Van Gogh
  When I was in Amsterdam I came across a very flirtatious fellow from North Carolina. He had the most interesting visage; short red hair, a beard of the same color, oval shaped head and blue eyes. Remind you of someone? He looked just like Vincent Van Gogh...and did he know it. His flirting however dropped as his alcohol level rose.

The Storyteller
  I had heard a lot about a certain girl from Female Marco Polo and a longed to meet her. She had been described as beautiful and crazy. When I finally got to meet her I found out she was underestimated. She was jaw-dropping gorgeous and absolutely out of this world. I didn't get to see her many times but once as we were drinking at the pub I tried to make conversation with her. I asked her about her day and she told me she had rode her bike to Offenburg and back. When I asked why she responded : " Because I wanted to have a story to tell my grandchildren someday"...

Future Potential President
  The melange of Japan and Spain was something beautiful. She had the eyes, the hair, the charm, the elegance...and to top it all off, the wisdom. Guys would be at her feet and she wouldn't notice. She was too busy obsessing over an article she had just read.

Justice of America
  I am still getting over this last stranger in my life. He was a father, a friend, a lover... . We connected on so many levels and even though I knew our encounter wouldn't last long, I enjoyed every moment of  the conversations, stories, singings and even silence. He will forever be listed as one of my guardian angels.

  I made a friend yesterday; a 9 year old friend.
  I had volunteered to help out children with their homeworks after school. Yesterday was my first day and I was a bit nervous. My theme songs during the bus ride were all up beat and hopeful. As I wandered the streets to find the primary school the songs faded, and as i approached the school yard a whole new sensation came over me. It had been so long since I had been on the play ground of a school. Kids running, screaming, standing in corners. I was introduced to the other volunteers and after a few words were exchanged we headed to class. Kids walked up the stairs two by two (girls stuck together and boys didn't really care to be in pairs, they wanted to go solo).
  In class, after the children had put their coats away and had been seated, we were introduced to them as the "Help". They examined us carefully, some girls even smiled at us, boys didn't. We were each suppose to take care of one or two kid and help them out with their homework. I was pretty sure none of the boys would be too open to letting me help them, some even refused to let the volunteers sit with them. So I played it safe. I went up to a desk where a little girl was sitting and she was already taking out her notebooks. She looked more independent than any of the other children. I asked her what she had to do and she told me she had math homework. Great! I thought to myself, what could be easier than 3rd grade math. So I pulled up a chair and sat down. She had only one page to do and it was fractions. Okay, easy enough. She began reading the first question out loud and then looked at me. She was wearing a pair of glasses that made her eyes two times bigger. Her hair was pulled back but now it hanged a bit loose, probably from running around and playing during the day. I understood that she was waiting for help. I started explaining the question and she continued staring at me. Her head tilted a bit to the side, looking at my hair, examining my face, looking at my hands, basically any part of me except where words were coming out. When I was done I realized she had not captured a single word. By the look on her face I bet she thought I was from planet mars. I panicked and gave her the answer. I was intimidated by a 9 year old just by the look she was giving me. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this job. But after the first question she started to do the rest all by herself. She didn't even ask me if it was right or wrong. She had dove into her notebook. I was relieved.
  I got up to pick up my scarf and glasses, and when I sat back down she touched my scarf , and she told me it was pretty. When I put on my glasses she commented on them too and told me they look nice. I suddenly understood something; the look she was giving me earlier was admiration! This little girl admired me. I felt more at ease after solving that piece of puzzle.
  Next on the list of homeworks was french. She had to learn puncuations and I had no idea how to help her. Thankfully she saw that. She told me I can write down sentences and then she will put the puncuations. Seemed like a reasonable suggestion. I wrote down a few phrases in her notebook. As I wrote she had to sit up to be able to see me write. My guess is she wanted to see my handwriting. Before I knew it two other girls were looking at my hand twist and turn the pen to write words as well. Even a little boy joined in for a second but then got bored and decided to pull one of the girls hair. 
  After the homeworks were done and most of the children were running around the classroom I sat there looking at my little friend. She was the calmest of all. She seemed to have no interest in engaging in any sort of violent messy activity with the boys. She pushed up her glasses with her index from time to time which I found absolutely adorable. I started imagining her future. A pretty, serious, mature 9 year old like her was bound to have a great future ahead of her. Maybe a mathematician, or a lawyer, or a president. As I was in my planet, she came up to me and asked if I wanted to play a game. I accepted the invitation. In my mind I was still seeing her as the future president and I was assuming she's gonna want to play Lawyer or Economist(Okay I admit at that moment I was maybe on planet mars where children want to be lawyers and economists at the age of 9). She pulled out some books from her backpack and put a few pencils and papers on top. And she started sliding the on the desk and making a sound everytime an item passed a certain point: Beep. My future lawyer was playing...cashier.... 

( Theme song : "In My Life - The Beatles" )

  Breathing far too heavily and getting my head dizzy. That's something I did often this summer.

  As I lay on the lumpy beach of Newport with no sunscreen and no sunglasses I thought of how to stop the time. Freeze it right there. Maybe if I held still for long enough..there...frozen. But the heat made it hard for anything to freeze. I sat up and picked up my drawing pad. That summer I had planned to draw a lot. Anything picture worthy could be drawn. Of course later on, after a few failed attempts, I realized that I am not quite qualified for spontaneous drawing. But at that moment since freezing time was not an option I decided to capture it. And so I drew. I drew the over sized umbrellas and the over sized hats and over sized sunglasses that old ladies wore. Well atleast I tried.
  As I was putting away my stuff and preparing to lay down again a man walking out of the water caught my attention. For no good reason really. He wasn't my age, or even good looking. None of that. I mean I guess he could have been an attractive man if he still had his youth. I guess it was just his red and unnecessarily tight swimsuit that caught my attention, or maybe his very red skin. It was obvious that he had spent much time at the beach trying to get a tan and well, the results weren't that good. When he got closer I realized that maybe I had been staring for too long, because apparantly I had drawn attention too and he was looking straight at me. But what I didn't expect was the following:
"Hi"
"Hi..."
"Whatchu drawin' there?"
"Um.."
"It's Pretty, like yourself"
"Thank you"
"Are you from here?"
"No. Just visiting a friend"
"What's your name?"
"Nadine"
"Nice to meet you Nadine" 
   And he winks at me. He winks at me? Was that a flirt? He's probably as old as my dad! He probably has a wife! He's probably filthy rich...
Okay, it wasn't the first time I had gotten a compliment from a guy but never from a guy that old. And I have to shamefully admit I felt a bit flattered. I felt like in the movies, as I often do. I was a beautiful young tourist and he was, well, old and rich. The plot speaks for itself. My mind was browsing hard for a good background song for the moment as I lay there with a grin on my face. And I hit play : "Unforgettable - Nat King Cole"

The music starts. He puts his hand on your lower back. He holds your right hand in his in a way that you're holding on. . You feel secure. You're locked to eachother for a few seconds. The introduction doesn't take long, not more than 10-12 seconds. And it's on. He synchronises his body with yours.  He's not sure how far it can go, how much you can handle. He tests you. He takes a step back, allowing you to do your thing. That's your moment. You show off...just a little. He's impressed. He takes you back in his arms. He's not quite ready to show you what he's capable of yet. He guides you. You count on it.You're more at ease as the rythm gets faster. You're in motion. It goes on till he feels comfortable enough to let go. Now it's his turn. He throws a hand up in the air. His face is serious, he means business. He tries once, you resist. He likes a challenge. He takes another try at , leaning on you, pressing his hand on your shoulder for support. The message is sent: he needs you. The contact makes you hesitant. But you decline again. Now he wants to win more than ever. You're alert. He continues to find a way to reach you, to have you...until you're so mixed in the game that he's playing that you lower your protection and he gets his shot at you. He laughs at your naivety.  The game's over and he's won. He shows you off to the rest of the world. He owns you. Thing's slow down. You're closed in again.He gets clever. His hand feels tight on your back. He's holding your right hand close to his face. For a moment you're not breathing. You've done it too much since it all started. Now it's time to pause, to savour, to remember. Cause it's already over.

That is the game you play when you dance cuban salsa. That is the story that you incarnate.

Growing up in a muslim country, I spent all my teenage years in an all girls school. I should mention that that was not by choice it's just simply how it is. Boys and girls have no contact until they graduate from highschool and so basically they develope none of the social skills such as asking a girl out, or flirting, or just hanging out with the opposite sex. So yes, I was in one of these highschools but since my family members are all highly intelectuel, I was exposed to multiple cultures. The american culture was my favorite. The 50's movies and musicals, the "perfect family" image that they all gave made me want to live it. I wanted to have breakfast like them, go to school like them, have the same friends, write in diaries and gossip on the phone and make cupcakes and brownies and have slumber parties. I was able to do all of those, but there was one thing I never got to experience; an american highschool moment. Like having a crush, or having a locker with silly pictures taped in it, or going to a ball. But eventually I grew up, university started and the dreams faded.
That is until I was persuaded by a friend here in Strasbourg to accompany him to a dance class at the university. The classes were for couples and contained various rhythms such as the Waltez, Rock and a bit of latino. In the middle of the semester there was talk about a ball organized for the students of this class. I wasn't very eager to go, I guess i had already forgotten that I had once actually wished for an opportunity like this. Once again my friend succeeded to manipulate me into going. 
The ball was at 8:00PM on Friday night. We had decided to do some classy drinking at my place before leaving for the ball. We also practiced our steps a little in my tiny living room. Once we arrived at the gym where the ball was taking place, it suddenly hit me. This is a wish come true. It looked just like it. dimmed lights, baloons, tables with plastic cups and cookies on them, all the girls in red and white and black dresses and the guys so handsomely in white shirts and black trousers. No jeans in sight. I felt overwhelmed. And of course as I was in my world still baffled from the excitement, they play "Summer Nights-Grease". Rock was my least strong point in dancing but I didn't care, I danced as if it was summer, as if it had happened so fast and we had had a blast. Magic was being distributed with every word. There and then, that was The Moment.

As someone who wishes to be a blogger everytime I sit down to write something I feel like it has to be profound and meaningful. But life isn't always those things and so neither is this story. This post is absolutely egotistically about me and my new house.

I've been in search of a new flat since September and I finally found a winner. As I had to start from scratch and get everything new, I was on a budget. And since I am a student my flat is a tiny one. So I had to work with what I have; a small but spaceful charming little flat with a heck of a view. Durring the process of making it into a home I thought a lot about my home back in Tehran and how my mother would always take pleasure in redecorating it and doing touch-ups here and there everyday. I wondered if I'd be the same, even though my house is no bigger than 20 square meters. After many trips to beloved IKEA and some researches on the net, I had some inspiration of what I can do with the place. I also got a lot of ideas for my dream house which I cannot stop thinking of. A big white house decorated in black, white, grey and green. With two cats and a dog. and a room that I can turn into a greenhouse and grow plants and keep flowers in it, not too mention my lilly's garden. 

But for now, I give you, my home :

It was one of those few times where almost all my cousins were united. My uncle had came from Romania to stay with me for the weekend, one of my cousins flew in from Canada and the other two were already here.We were all invited to have lunch with one of my uncle's closest friends.Now anyone who knows my uncle would know better than to expect him to be on time for anything....anything. Already 30 minutes late to lunch and my uncle insisted on stopping at this turkish shop -one of the only shops open on a Sunday noon in Strasbourg- to buy some appetizers. As I waited in the car I saw this scene; a young lady about the age of 23, all dressed up and pretty is walking by...and a pigeon is following her at the same pace. A pigeon who is walking that fast to keep up with a girl...that's when scenarios started forming in my head. Since my whole life is based on Disney, I automatically thought of the pigeon being a prince trapped in a bird's body, who was probably begging that young girl to kiss him or maybe planning the perfect time to poop on her to break the spell. Or maybe it was a princess trapped in there yelling "KISS ME BITCH". I find both scenarios very plausible