Something is missing!

My officemate, let's call her Kay, is a petite tiny young lady; Mother of two young sons.  She dresses up nicely every day.  She is good at her job and leads the software development efforts.  She goes to gym; She brings in her homemade healthy lunch, often including a nice looking big salad with nuts and fruits.  She picks up her kids from school, has activities and makes cup-cakes in the weekends.  She even throws baby showers or weddings or what not for her siblings and relatives.  She has it all, and does it all well: organized and disciplined.

She might also be a perfectionist.  Once she brought some of her delicious cup cakes to the office, nicely put in a box with great icing, better looking that those in pastry shops. She told me how she stayed up till 2-3 am just to get that recipe right!  I asked her if her kids liked cup-cake that much! To my surprise she replied: they do not even like sweets, I like cup-cakes! She was making it for herself and relatives and she could not tolerate the ones that would come out wrong; She got it right the third round!

Wednesday was my first day back at work after being away on travel for over a week.  She was looking focused and professional as always, looking at her code with a hot cup of tea in her hand, the usual way she does (Did I say how happy I am to finally have an officemate to share my passion for tea?)  We just exchanged our regular morning greetings; I gathered she must be busy and focused at her work and should not be distracted that she did not ask much about my trip.  We often are away from our offices in labs and for meetings anyways, so it is hard to notice when a person is gone.  I went about my day as usual.

Later in the day, my friend (call her Joy), who is our next-door neighbor asks me: "How is Kay doing?", "Fine", I responded suspiciously.  "You know, last week, when you were gone, there was an ambulance here to pick her up.  Your office door was closed, and I just heard them banging at the door yelling Security!  I wanted to ask her about it but I thought maybe she likes to keep it private, maybe you can ask her".  Really? I could not believe it.  She is so healthy, organized, she exercises and eats well.  More than that, "I know she is a very tough girl.  She would not complain or call ambulance just for caution" I told Joy and she agreed; Something must have gone wrong.  So, once Kay came back to the office, I asked her.

"How are you doing Kay? I heard from Joy there was an incident here last week while I was gone, are you okay?"  She then told me the story that she was having severe stomachache, non-stop, for so long that she was almost passing out.  She was telling her husband on the phone about it that she felt like she could not continue being awake longer.  She told him she was going to hang up the phone and call 911.  That is exactly what she did.  By the time the center's emergency unit arrived at our office, she was hyperventilating.  They took her to hospital, ran all kinds of tests: blood, CT scan, etc.  They failed to find anything!  It is good she did not have a tumor or some other serious illness but troubling for her not to know what caused the pain.  She said: "I have given birth twice without epidural, so I know pain and can tolerate pain.  It was worse than that! When you have contractions it comes and goes, this was constant non-stop pain".  They had kept her under watch for a whole day and then sent her home.  Her husband thinks it was stress, reminding her that your body is shutting down on you.  You need to take it easy.

I did not see her yesterday and today in the office.  Usually she emails me and her boss if she is working from home.  Usually if I do not see her I assume she is in the lab or another building for a meeting.  Now I am so scared; I emailed her to ask how she is, and no response.  I called her supervisor to see if she had heard anything from her: nothing! Worse: her supervisor had no idea about what happened last week! Security and center's health unit did not inform her supervisor.  It was all news to her.  If my next door neighbor had not seen it happening and had not told me, I would not know about it to worry about her and ask about her condition either!  When these things happen, I am deeply saddened.  We all come and go in masses to the same campus, same building, same floor, and we hardly notice each other; I told Joy how when such things happen, and how when Soheil passed away, the governing sense of normalcy and business-as-usual on his floor and in our building bothered me.  I told her how in our culture, it would be hard to miss such news.  Here: someone should tell you or forward you an email!  People's privacy is respected.  Maybe she does not like everyone to know  about her medical issues. To respect Soheil and his family they have to keep everything untouched!  But where is the line drawn between privacy and caring? Privacy and being human? Privacy and indifference?   Well, I know they are not indifferent; They do honor individuals, their rights, and their families' rights.  They do follow some rules and guidelines.  But something just does not feel quite right to me when these things happen here in the U.S. Something is missing.

I sure hope everything be okay with Kay, and she be sitting behind a console in a closed lab coding away ignoring her emails or driving to pick her kids up.  I am worried and could do nothing but typing this.

Good Morning!

I was getting my morning coffee and breakfast in Brooklyn, in preparation for my long day of two back to back lectures.  The lady behind the counter tells me "Jesus loves you!", after giving me a long deep look in the eye.  I say "thank you", and thought to myself "why would not he anyways?" ;-)
She was not satisfied: "Do you know who he is?"
I told her: "Yes".  (happy now?)
She seems a bit relieved, or maybe she finally gave up: "Good! Because many people do not.  Where are you from? Russia?"
"No, Iran!", I told her (now what?).
She still continues: "You look like Russians".*
I tell her "We are close" (so what?).
Not sure if she was trying to figure something out and solve a mystery or was just interested in talking to me.
I was there just to get my breakfast before preaching some math and science, without having to tell all my life story or religious beliefs.  Is that too much to ask?


* Later that day after my talks, I went to get a cup of tea before my train left.  The guy handed me a tea cup, and asked  "ruski?" with a smile.  I guess I was Russian on that day.

Sandra

After few days of being in the holiday mode with friends and family all the time, I just got a chance to check my home phone messages. There was one from a young lady assuming to reach an institution. She left her name, number saying she was calling with regard to receiving some information for elderly care. It was a wrong number of course. She had mentioned she had called before and no one followed up. Thinking that she has an old person to take care of and is desperate, I wanted to call her back letting her know she had the wrong number. The interesting part was that the first 7 out of 10 digits that she had left matched my own number. So I assumed she by habit must have dialed the same state and local codes, or maybe the lines in the neighborhood crossed like old times; who knows?

I dialed the number she had left. An old man picks up. "May I talk to Ms. Sandra?", I ask. "Who?" he asks back firmly. "Sandra!", I try again. "No, you have the wrong number", he responds. "Oh, ..ok", I was kind of disappointed and getting ready to hang up. "Sandra?! you want to talk to Sandra?" all of a sudden he said quickly. "Yes, yes", "you want her VA number, she is not here." he said. "May I have that number please?". I can give you her last name and you can ask the operator. "Oh, ok thanks". I wrote the last name.

I could not locate her in the white pages. There is an old man alone in one of the units in my neighborhood. A man whose daughter or granddaughter visited him sometime this holiday, just to find him in desperate need of some elderly care that she cannot provide. She tried to do something and dialed a wrong number, and she left the number of where the old man lives not her own number. He is all alone and it takes him a while to remember who Sandra is.

Keep looking!

He was working hard to convince her. He could not believe her. He needed reasoning, he needed logic. "I do not know why, I just know it does not feel right", she told him. She knew he was not the one. "How would you know someone is the one? Would he have a sign on his forehead saying I am the one?", he frustratedly asked. "I do not know, I would just know", somehow she believed in that, even though she had never met the one. Somehow that was the biggest reasoning that could not be refuted. Years passed. There were times she doubted her belief system, but she kept going. Till one day, she found the one. She just knew it, and she was not alone.

"If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."
Steve Jobs, 2005.

صداقت، انگيزه، تشويق، اعتماد به نفس، ...واژه هايى گاهى غريب در آموزش و پرورش ايران

در طى تمام سالهاى مدرسه در ايران، يك سرى درس ها هيچوقت از نظر معلم ها، مسئولين، و شاگرد ها اهميتى رو كه ميتونستند داشته باشند، نداشتند، و نقشون هميشه نمره بيار و يا خراب كننده معدل ما بود: مثل ورزش و انشا. البته گاهى هم يك معلم مسئول كه كارش رو جدى ميگرفت و دوست داشت پيدا ميشد و اهميت اون درس يا حداقل علاقه ما بهش بيشتر ميشد. در سالهاى دبيرستان، با وجوديكه رشته من و همكلاسى هام رياضى بود، يك مرتبه كلاس انشا يكى از كلاس هاى با حال ما شد. شايد به خاطر جهش رشد جسمى و فكريمون بود، اينكه در اون سال ها بچه ها اولين تجربه هاى نوسان هرمون ها و عاشق شدن و كراش روى كسى داشتن رو ميكردن، و اينكه كلاس انشا مناسبترين كلاس براى ابراز احساسات در پرده شعر و تشبيه و ايهام بود.

خلاصه كلاس انشا جذاب شده بود. همه سراپا گوش ميشدند تا انشاى همديگر را بشنوند و غرق تحسين يك قطعه ادبى شوند. چند نفرى بودند كه نوشته هاشون سحرنگيز و رويايى بود. همين كه شروع به خواندن ميكردند من به دنياى ديگرى ميرفتم و با تمام كردن انشا خواندنشون به كلاس برميگشتم، مخصوصا انشا هاى يكى از بچه ها به نام مريم برايم معمايى بود. او چطور به اين زيبايى مينوشت؟ چطور چنين تشبيه هايى به ذهنش مى آمد؟ چطور با چنين احساسى از زندگى ميگفت و شكوه ميكرد، انگار ده ها سال، و نه فقط 16-17 سال تجربه زندگى داشت؟ يعنى زندگى او خيلى پيچيده تر و پر بارتر از من بود، يا در خانواده اش تجارب متفاوتى داشت؟ نميدانم. فقط ميدانستم كه هر چه كلمه قلمبه سلمبه و تشبيهات و استعارات پيچيده بود، در انشاى او بود، و هر چه اين متن ها پيچيده تر ميشد، معلم ادبيات بيشتر خوشش ميامد و نمره بهترى ميداد. من اما ساده مينوشتم. توصيفى و تشريحى، هر چى هم زور ميزدم مثل اونها بدون كپى بردارى از آنها بنويسم، نميتوانستم. پذيرفتم كه آنها طبع ادبى و شاعرانه اى دارند و ادبياتشان بهتر است و من با همه علاقه ام به ادبيات استعداد نگارشى و ادبى مثل آنها ندارم. از انشاهاى آنها، كلمات جديد قلمبه سلمبه اى كه استفاده ميكردند، و تشبيهاتشان ياد داشت بر ميداشتم، بلكه به من كمك كند. متوجه شدم كه خيلى وقت ها يك سرى اصطلاحات و عبارات رو در چندين انشا تكرار و استفاده ميكردند.

اين گذشت. كه يك بار تابستان بود و نمايشگاه كتاب بود و من يك جلد كتاب مجموعه اشعار شاملو را خريدم. چند شعرش را خواندم و لذت بردم و ادامه دادم. تا اينكه به شعرى بر خوردم به نام "شعرى كه زندگيست". شروع كردم به خواندن تا رسيدم به:

"موضوع شعر
امروز
موضوع ديگريست

امروز
شعر
حربه خلق است
زيرا كه شاعران
خود شاخه اى ز جنگل خلقند
نه ياسمين و سنبل گلخانه فلان

بيگانه نيست
شاعر امروز
با دردهاى مشترك خلق:
...
...
"
و من فهميدم كسى كه آرزو و حسرت نوشتن به مانند او را داشتم به واقع احمد شاملو بود. عصبانى بودم. نميدانم كدام دردناكتر بود: تقلب و كپى بردارى دوستم، يا داشتن معلم ادبياتى كه اشعار شاملو را نميشناخت، و يا بدتر، ميشناخت و بروى خودش نمياورد، و يا اعتماد به نفسى كه توى سرش خورده بود؟

من آن روز خودم به خودم دلدارى دادم كه حداقل نوشته هاى تو خوب يا بد ميدانى مال خودت بوده، و چه بسا الان ادبياتت، با دانستن اين شعر شاملو، بهتر از معلمى باشد كه دلت ميخواست تحسينش شامل نوشته هاى تو شود. من از آن روز به بعد به خودم ايمان جديدى آوردم، و فهميدم كه به اين راحتى خودم نبايد توى سر استعدادهاى خودم بزنم، هر چند به ظاهر همه از من خيلى بهتر باشند.

What will it be?

This morning I have been watching videos of different planets, stars and galaxies. I saw surface of Mars, from Viking imagery to those of Spirit, Opportunity, and MOLA among others. I saw its mountains and valleys, its bays and volcano, all in 3D too! I saw Titan from Cassini. I saw a comet from Deep Impact.

It was break time. I opened Google reader. I saw images of water festivals, in color, on the other side of our planet! We have discovered new territories! Congratulations to us. Maybe now we know there can exist laughter, color and joy in our own streets, as ice could on Mars. There were some other stuff on Google reader too. I did not dare to scroll down to see. I could not handle the truth.

It is night time; I am watching the day's news before calling it a day. I see brutality in Syria. People are dropped into rivers as if they are lifeless useless objects on the only place we have abundance of precious life, while others are searching for any molecular evidence of any form of possible life millions of light years away! Here on Earth, the only home we have, people are treated like nothing.

I am being stretched and torn between two extreme opposite worlds, yet on one planet. I feel the pain of a dying star wondering what destiny is awaiting her: will we become a massive Neutron star, with our very own strong magnetic fields, standing proud and powerful living forever, or will we surrender and turn into a black hole just to be sucked into it? Are we embracing eternal life or ensuring absolute death?

كار دنيا

يه زمانى كه اينترنت نبود، ماهواره تازه رايج شده بود و ما هيچ وقت نداشتيمش، تلوزيون 2-3 كانال بيشتر نداشت، مجله دانشمند فهميدنش برام خيلى سخت بود، نيم ساعت اخبار علمى فرهنگى رو عصر ها سعى ميكردم از دست ندم، بلكه يكى دو جمله از آخرين اخبار برخورد شهابى با ژوپيتر رو بگه*، ببينيم بالاخره ژوپيتر كن فيكون شد يا نه، چقدر سوراخ شد، واقعيت با پيش بينى ها جور در اومد يا نه. يك موقع هايى هم همت ميكردم، اوتوبوس ميگرفتم تا كتابخانه حسينيه ارشاد، كه مجله هاى اخير انگليسى مثل نيوزويك و تايمز و ريدرز دايجست را داشت. اگر توى قسمت علمى روزنامه ها يك پاراگراف درباره اخبار ماموريت هاى فضايى چاپ ميشد، روزم ساخته ميشد. اگر هم يك موقع مقاله هاى بريده شده از واشنگتن پست طبق سفارشاتم از برادرم با مسافر يا پست به دستم ميرسيد كه ديگه توى بهشت بودم و كارم هم در اومده بود: بايد براى فهميدن هر يه جمله هزار بار ديكشنرى باز ميكردم. لجباز هم بودم. اول ديكشنرى انگليسى به انگليسى، بعد اگر نفهميدم (كه شامل نود در صد مواقع ميشد)، ديكشنرى انگليسى به فارسى رو باز ميكردم. يك مرتبه ميديديد من يه صبح تا شب بين يك مشت كاغذ و جلدهاى مختلف ديكشنرى هاى كلفت غرق بودم.

خلاصه فاصله ها دور بود، و اطلاعات در دسترس نبود و تازه اگر به دست ميرسيد با تاخير بود. حالا كار دنيا بر عكس شده. جاها عوض شده. صاف رفتم تو دل منبع خبر. تمام عقده هاى نوجوانيم رو خالى ميكنم (نميدونم چرا فقط تموم نميشه). روزنامه ها، تلوزيون ها، وب سايت ها چشم دوختند به ما، منتظرند آخرين اخبار و دستاورد علمى رو از ما بگيرند چاپ كنند. ما هم ميگيم، داريم روش كار ميكنيم بابا، به خدا داريم روش كار ميكنيم، هنوز همه داده ها نيومده. من هم تو دلم ميگم، حالا شما يك صبر كنيد!

* A brief introduction is available here. You can also see the
related NASA press release at the time. Interestingly enough that made another interesting July.

پ.ن. اين هم يك نشونه ديگه از اينكه كارهاى دنيا بر عكس شده: متن هاى فارسى با زير نويس انگليسى توضيح داده ميشوند، به جاى اينكه متن هاى انگليسى به فارسى ترجمه بشوند!

Please stay with us! We will go anyways !

Tired and exhausted last night I stopped by my local grocery store to buy some usual stuff: milk, bread, fruits,.... As I entered, it was as if I entered a store of a city that was hit by a tornado, or famine. More than half of the shelves were empty, whatever fruits and vegetables that were left, were not of good quality. Maybe they just had a delay in restocking? It was not winter to blame a storm or fear of a storm for empty shelves. Then, I paid more attention. Flower stands were gone, magazine stands were gone, .... it was just so sad. As I went to the cashier I asked: "What is happening?", hoping to hear we are remodeling, renovating, ... not wanting to hear what I heard: "We are closing!". Why? How? I have been coming to this store for seven years at least once a week. I know so many people who work here. I knew where everything was, did not have to search for anything. It is a mile a way from my place. That shopping center had everything I needed: my bank, grocery shopping, Starbucks, insurance company, pizza place, ice cream place, drug store; it used to have Blockbuster too, but I blamed Netflix for their closure; What is Giant's excuse? "Not enough income!" How can that be? All the houses and units in this neighborhood are not enough for them? Where is everybody shopping from? I actually felt betrayed by my community. And how did I not see it coming? There were no signs or announcements or did I just not pay attention?

As I did my last shopping there and came out, I looked behind the store door. There was an announcement. This location closes at 6:00 pm on Thursday. We appreciate your patronage! .... and I thought "Do you?".

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
p.s. I had not seen him in a while there. I was actually happy for that. It probably meant that he moved to a desk/in-door job, or was just busy with college. I understood the happiness of Chuckie in Good Will Hunting when he knocked at Will's house and finally got no response one day.

“Chuckie: .... Let me tell you what I do know. Every day I come by to pick you up. And we go out we have a few drinks, and a few laughs and it's great. But you know what the best part of my day is? It's for about ten seconds from when I pull up to the curb to when I get to your door. Because I think maybe I'll get up there and I'll knock on the door and you won't be there. No goodbye, no see you later, no nothin'. Just left. I don't know much, but I know that.”

Horrible real stories

Being trusted as a confidant is not always that good. Sometimes you wonder how much you can take in. What else are you going to hear that you have never heard before? How much can humans endure and yet survive? The more you hear, the more you get surprised by this weird creature called human.

I had seen her several times in various dinners and movie nights of our mutual friends. She is usually very silent, and recently she was skipping several events. I thought she had broken up with my friend and was not dating him anymore. Last time she mentioned to me that she has Lyme disease, and that her treatments exhaust her and oftentimes she does not have enough energy to come out. I did not know much about that disease. I asked her for more information. She described how no insurance considers it a legitimate illness and no insurance covers her treatments. How she was a successful engineer in our center and she ended up quitting her job. I felt so sad and sorry for her. Imagine living your life happily and successfully and one nice day, walking out doors, or maybe camping, you get bitten by a tick and your life changes forever. So, that was the extent I got to know her: she was an engineer, originally from Vietnam, who now has Lyme disease.

I saw her again last night. Naturally, I asked her how she was feeling, and how her treatments were going. She told me she is getting ready for a treatment. The fact that doctors think she can now go through it means her body is strong enough to endure it, and that after the treatment she would be better. So, she was happy about that; but the process itself is painful and drains all her energy. The topic of costs and insurance companies came up again. I asked how she has been managing all these years without working.

She mentioned "I had a good job; I was moving up. I was a manager when I quit. I was lucky that I was not the kind of person who has to buy many things or spend so much money to be happy. I had a lot of savings and had bought a house. I had to sell my house to afford treatments. I have been living off of that money. I was so sad when I sold my house. You know for us you work so hard to prove yourself in a new country, being young, a woman, and immigrant all works against you, and to lose all that, I was very sad". She said how she was in bed shaking from illness when she was signing the papers to sell her house, that she could not even move downstairs behind a table or to the agent's office; that she had no friends or family to help her.

Just as I thought I had heard it all, she kept going. You know I had worked very hard for my house; It was my blood and sweat. I was four when I came here. Before that, I was arrested in Vietnam. They put me in prison. They tortured me for information about my parents and relatives but I did not know anything. A four year old kid? I could not believe it. They gave her electric shocks? No .....she kept going. They made boys have sex with their mothers and made her watch it ... it was hard just listening to it. How could a kid go through this? How come she is all of a sudden saying all these things to me? It is as if she had found someone to talk to after so long. "How did you get over all that?", I asked. "With a lot of therapy", she said. She went on how she was here with no parents, and lived with an old aunt that she had to take care of, and she had no one to look after her, and how she was a target for many guys who wanted to take advantage of her. I knew she was very religious too. She said my faith and my sense of humor got me through. I could have become very bitter. No kidding, I was surprised she was not. How could she not? and how could she pray to a God who watched all this happen to her and did not do anything about it? I would be an angry bitter atheist to say the least. Well, I am glad it helped her survive and keep her sanity.

I suggested now that she is not working, maybe she can campaign for Lyme disease so that insurance companies accept its treatment costs. She said she does. She is an activist for that cause. I thought she could write her stories too. It has historic value. You see movies or read books and you think such things belong to many many many years ago, ... and then you get to know someone you thought you knew; It was beyond my wildest dreams hearing her stories. You hear stories of such people struggling with one thing or another all their life and making it through somehow without being angry or bitter to anyone.... and you realize you have no excuse not to enjoy life and all its blessings or to treat anyone unkindly.

خوش به حال دخترك

دخترك سه ساله با پدرش آمده بود تولد ناتالى 12 ساله، چون پدرهاشون دوست و فاميل بودند. دخترك با فارسى كتابى و شيرين حرف ميزد، و به خاطر اين هنر برترى داشت به ناتالى و ويكتوريا كه همه حرف هاى او را نميفهميدند. در جواب سوالات ميگفت بله. لباس زيبايى به تن داشت، و يك پاپيون قرمز بر سر. كلاسيك ترين تصويرى كه ميشود از يك دختر سه ساله ايرانى داشت. چندى نگذشت غريبى كرد. مامانش رو خواست. "بابا، بريم. بابا بريم خونمون. بابا شب شده، بريم خونمون."

خوش به حال دخترك، هر وقت ميخواست كافى بود به باباش بگه، باباش هم بغلش كنه و با هم برن خونشون كه همين نزديكى است پيش مامانش. خوش به حال دخترك كه نميداند ويكتورياى كوچك وقتى هم سن او بود چه ميكشيد وقتى دلش براى مامانش تنگ ميشد و نميتونست همون موقع بره پيش مامانش. خوش به حال دخترك كه نميداند آدم بزرگ ها هم با همه بزرگيشان نميتوانند هميشه هر وقت خواستند بروند خونشون. خوش به حال دخترك كه با يك كيك همه مشكلاتش حل شد و خوشحال شد و بعد هم رفت خونشون.

A. W. Williams

It is a four level u-shape building. Computer engineering, electrical engineering, and computer science graduate students, faculty, staff, and post-docs live there. If you ask the PhD students, they will say it is dark, depressing, dirty, and smelly, not to mention the air is stuffed and does not flow well. If you ask the faculty it has spacious offices, with good view, specially the corner offices. I think they all agree it is colorless and dull. I think gray is the word. Yes, it is gray. I always associated A. V. Williams with gray. Its view even though the bricks try to distract you from the gray sides, its dirty carpets inside, the depression and pressures floating around, it is gray all over.

There has been many efforts to change this grayness throughout the years. Fancy coffee lounges were opened on first and forth floor. A place for students and faculty to escape their cubicles, chat over a cup of tea or coffee, and maybe play some Foosball to release some stress. Some more improvements occurred after my time there. They painted the walls of the first floor red and yellow, for the school colors. They have put fancy monitors showing the directory of the building. They have tried so hard to add color and excitement to this gray building. Somehow, I think it still lacks life, it misses natural light, natural air, and natural happiness despite all their efforts.

You see, every inch of this building is holding so many memories and sacrifices of so many people over the years that no amount of paint can cover. Many came through the doors of this building for the first time after a very long journey, from far places like China, India, Iran, Germany, Turkey, Korea, Greece, Albania, Bulgaria, ... . In fact I knew someone who flew for the first time in his life, crossing the oceans just to get there. They came with such high hopes, leaving behind their loved ones, everything they knew, risking it all for a better life, education, and knowledge.

It was not long before this building betrayed them. It became a prison separating them from the life that was continuing happily behind its walls. It separated them from their loved ones. It deprived them of everything as vital and necessary as light and air. Then, little by little they started adapting, defining, and forming their own lives there. They fell in love there. God knows how many girls appeared behind an office door just to exchange greetings with that guy as he was done with his office hours or coming out of a lecture. How many guys went in and out of the lounge in a short period of time over and over, every time with a different excuse, just to grab a chance to talk to that girl who was taking a break over a cup of tea with her friends or was trying hard to work on a homework problem with her classmates, only if he could let her to. How many times he checked her through the half-closed door of her office to see if she is still there or not, who she is talking to, when will she leave so that he accidentally bumps into her. How many times he audited a class just so that he could borrow her notes, discuss homework and projects with her. How many notes, little chocolates, and candies were left on the keyboards to pleasantly surprise that cute girl or guy. You see, everyone was going crazy in that building. Such a small area, so much young, fresh, intelligent passionate energy. In fact, one student almost had a heart attack when unlocking her office door only to find her lab mate making out.

The hopeless romantics that they were, they were soon heartbroken in the same building. It would not take long for him to see her going home with another and ignoring him. In fact, he could see flowers she received on Valentine's Day strategically placed on a table in front of the door. Oh, and how many shed tears in the bathrooms, behind the monitors in their very own cubicles, their precious territory as little as it was, when they sensed the look they were looking forward to had died; or when a mother had sent her baby away with the grandparents for a few months back home just so that she could finish that dissertation. She could not stop crying in the office; cursing and blaming herself for what she did. Or when he heard his father was in bad condition and he better get home soon if he wanted to see him one last time. People's hearts were constantly broken, and those walls, those dirty couches, those nasty carpets witnessed everything.

Love, hate, jealousy, sadness were not the only emotions that people felt and lived through there. One of the big ones was Fear. Hundreds have been questioned and answered behind closed doors of each of the meeting and conference rooms there. They were not defending just a thesis there. They were defending and claiming years of their lives, the sacrifices they made, losses they had endured, justifying the pain they went through. What if it all was not worth it? What if they do not find it worthy? Fear of rejection, from love, from all those things you gave up to be accepted at this last critical point, from passing through this final destination.

There was another worldly type of fear too. When you are coding away and working hard and you receive an email saying there is a gunman in the building, asking you to close the office doors and not get out until the next email. A gunman who could not tolerate all the grayness anymore; who blamed the professors and was angry at every authority in that building. When a sniper is loose in the area and you are afraid to move to/from that nasty building. The fear of thieves stealing a laptop that cost God knows how many weeks of your salary. Fear of not being able to afford the school, to graduate, fear of being trapped in that gray building forever.

A. V. Williams; you can check in, but you can never check out. Many ghosts, fairy tales, horror and success stories float there.

از دهى در خراسان تا ...

از دوستان اقوام ما هستند، خودش و خانمش هميشه با سكوت و وقار بيشتر شنونده هستند. كمتر به ياد دارم حرفى زده باشند به جز سلام و احوالپرسى هاى معمولى. البته بندگان خدا گناه ندارند، بين دعواهاى سياسى و مذهبى و فخر فروشى هاى عده اى به عده ديگر، سكوت پيشه كردن بهتر است. من معمولا به بچه هاى برادرم كه سوزنشان روى "عمه" با اون لهجه شيرينشون گير ميكنه پناه ميبردم، كه آنها هم نبودند. از قضاى روزگار آدمهاى بحث برانگيز هم كمى رحم كرده بودند و سكوت پيشه كرده بودند، و باعث شد من و اين زوج مسن با هم صحبت كنيم و بهتر بشناسمشان. واقعا خيلى جالب هست آدم ها از كنار هم ماهها و سالها رد ميشوند، بدون اينكه همديگر را خوب بشناسند.

حرف سر آمريكا آمدن افراد بود، و اين آقا ركورد دار جمع بود. گفت سال 1964 به آمريكا آمده. 1964، خيليه ها! اون موقع داخل ايران هم كمتر كسى براى درس خوندن به شهر ديگرى ميرفت. اما نقطه تعجب فقط زمان آمدنشان نبود، بلكه از كجا به كجا رفتن و رسيدنشان بود. خودش ميگويد " ما در ده بوديم." اسم دهشان يادم رفت، اما نزديك بجنورد در استان خراسان بود. ميگويد "من اولين كسى بودم كه در دهمان كلاس ششم را تمام كردم". كلاس ششم، نه حتى ديپلم! پدرش مكتب رفته بود، يعنى نزد آخوندهاى ده سواد ياد گرفته بود. همين سواد براى او كافى بود كه دنيا را به او بشناساند. ميگفت پدرم تمام كتابهاى درسى من را از اول تا آخر ميخواند. اگر من در امتحان علوم يا تاريخ 14 ميشدم، پدرم اگر اون امتحان رو ميداد حتما 20 ميگرفت. پدرش كشاورز و زمين دار بود، و مشترك چند روزنامه رايج آن زمان شده بود. روزنامه ها از مشهد با پست براى او ميامدند. همان سواد مكتبى در دنيا را به او باز كرد. پسرش را به شهر براى درس خواندن فرستاده بود و پس از ديپلم به او توصيه كرده بود براى تحصيل به خارج برود. اين آقاى داستان ما ميگويد در آن زمان عده اى از دوستانش داشتند كارهايشان را ميكردند كه به آلمان بروند. او در تهران سرگرم تدارك كارهاش بوده كه تلگرافى يك خطى از پدرش كه به مشهد براى فرستادن آن تلگراف رفته بود ميگيرد: "آلمان نرو، آمريكا برو." با خود هاج و واج فكر ميكند تك و تنها آمريكا بروم كه چه، من با دوستانم ميخواستم سفر كنم، اما حمايت مالى پدر زمين دار و كشاورز براى آمريكا رفتن بود، نه آلمان، و اين طور شد كه اين آقا با ثبت نام در كلاس انگليسى در ايالت نيويورك ويزا ميگيرد و به آمريكا مى آيد.

او امروز مهندس راه و ساختمان موفقى است. دو سال پيش به خاطر وضع بد اقتصادى كمپانى كه در آن كار ميكرد عذر عده اى از جمله او را خواستند. زمان باز نشستگيش هم هست اما به دنبال كار گشت و در اين بحران اقتصادى در يكى از بزرگترين كمپانى هاى تكنولوژى كه با وزارت هواپيمايى آمريكا قراردادهاى فراوان دارند كار گرفت. صبح ها ساعت 4:30 بيدار ميشود تا قطار ساعت 6:15 را بگيرد. دوست ندارد صبح ها عجله كند و الا اين همه وقت لازم ندارد براى رسيدن به ايستگاه. از شمال مريلند قطار ميگيرد تا پس از يك ساعت به ايستگاه مترو مركزى واشنگتون دى سى برسد، و بعد با مترو به كار ميرود. هر طرف مسيرش 2 ساعت طول ميكشد، يعنى روزى 4 ساعت در راه است. اما اصلا گلايه نميكند، ناراضى نيست، كارش را دوست دارد، خوشحال است كه كار دارد. وقتى من در مورد راه دورش گفتم كه بايد خسته كننده باشد، گفت نه، من دو سال كار نداشتم، خيلى بد بود. قطار راحت است، چشمهام رو روى هم ميذارم تا برسم. خانمش در تاييد خوشحال بودنش گفت وقتى خونه ميرسه اصلا خسته و ناراحت نيست.

سواد خواندن و نوشتن براى يك كشاورز ايرانى كافى بود كه تصور و آرزوى تحصيل در آمريكا رو براى فرزندش بكنه و اون رو محقق كنه. بايد قبل از اينكه دير بشه باهاش درباره پدرش، تجربيات سفرش، خاطراتش مصاحبه اى كنم. اينها جزيى از تاريخ معاصر ثبت نشده ايرانند. اصلا ما ميدونيم اولين ايرانى كه به آمريكا اومد كى بود؟ كى اومد؟ چرا اومد؟ انگار فقط همان 2500 سال پيش برايمان مهم است.

You can run, but you cannot hide!

Negar was waiting in Dulles airport for arrival of a family member. All of a sudden, she felt the weight of someone's stare on her back. Those that make you naturally turn back to look. She saw her. Was it her? It has been about six years since the last time she saw Naima. She was not sure. She turned back quickly. They were checking each other out for a while from a distance. Both of them were not sure and their uncertainty and doubt itself reassured them they must be right in recognizing each other. Negar checked the announcement board. A flight from Saudi Arabia had just landed. It must be her, waiting for a family member, she concluded.

Naima was cute and flirtatious in graduate school. She used to wear clothes in see-through fabrics, short cuts, showing a decent amount of skin. She had created such a soap opera in a male dominant department. She used to go out with different guys, break up with each after a short period, and use the next one to make the previous one jealous. There was a tense atmosphere every time she entered a lounge or classroom. Soon she started having problems with her adviser. A department staff, an old lover of hers who was heart broken, quit his position after many years of service. Soon, it was not her place to stay anymore either. She left the program with a Masters, accepting a job that could sponsor her work visa.

Now, six years later she was in a colorful scarf, jeans, and a nice long sleeve shirt. Later at home, Negar googled Naima. Yes, there she was at the most prestigious technical university of the U.S., as part of a program for empowering Saudi women. Her photo shows her in Islamic cover. Negar tried hard not to judge her. Maybe she is truly religious now. Maybe she does not care for a prestigious certificate and high paying position in Saudi Arabia. Maybe she does. Why should she care? Ah, she remembered. Her heart was among the many hearts Naima had stepped on while trying to climb a mountain. Negar had forgotten all about that. She must have gotten a whole new heart. One that Naima cannot break or touch anymore. How good it had felt passing her by freer than ever.

A Smiley Heart , Behind A Smiley Face!

It was a busy day, full of meetings. I hardly could sit and concentrate on doing work. We also had our annual community day, with different activities and festivities. The weather was a record breaking 100 degrees. I probably could not walk much even if I wanted. I saw a boot with a long line. People were waiting to get the autograph of an astronaut. I saw our secretary in line. "I have only 5 minutes till my next meeting", I said sadly to her. "I can get you an autograph if you like", she says. "Sure, thank you!", and I left happily.

Our secretary is in her early twenties. She takes care of all our administrative needs. She books our flights and hotels, takes care of their reimbursements, and fills out all sorts of forms for different things. Next week she is getting married. Some colleagues were planning to collect money to get her a gift.

I went and made my contribution and signed the card after my meeting. "Do you know what you are going to get her?", I asked the lady who was collecting the money. "I think we are just going to give her the cash", she replied. Then, she went on explaining how our secretary had told her she wanted to stay in a nice hotel on her wedding night but it was too expensive for her. It was heartbreaking. I felt so bad having given her the receipts for my most recent trip before she takes off for her wedding. I felt bad because she always does her best to make us happy, without any sad or negative feelings. You would have never guessed her situation from her positive attitude and always-smiley face. There I was staying at the nicest hotel for four nights for work and she could not afford to do so at her own wedding night. I could not resist increasing my contribution after hearing her sad story, wishing her her dream wedding night.

I was in these thoughts that my phone rang. "Hi, I got you that autograph you wanted, it is in your mailbox!". I go and pick it up. She even made him spell my unusual name. It tells me "Reach for your star!".