five weeks at OUP Canada. i should have a 'foot in the door,' so to speak...

i can't help feeling as if it's the wrong foot

عيني وأنا شيفو

i think there is no limit to the amount of garbage i can listen to in arabic and persian, both

the first-upon-return

f's witticism-of-the-month:

no, you're not a visible minority; you're an invisible minority. you're so small, you can be seen only through a microscope

with the rush to find a full-time job (and the slight panic of actually finding one), i had very little time to make the psychological transition out of school. so when i found myself back on campus last week i felt an unexpected blow to the stomach..

long, and sharp, and awful.

عزیزم

گریه نکن

برگرد به من

a few nights ago, a dream -

i stood in the kitchen of an empty, renovated home, with a man. we circled around each other, conscious of the attraction.. neither of us willing to make a move.

he took my hand, as if making some decision, and led me to the bedroom..

**

i woke up with the deep regret that i could remember no more than half-glimpses of what followed

politically-motivated or not.. there was a catch in my throat after obama's announcement; i feel privileged to have witnessed it

the heart is a lonely hunter

that morning - a lone duck, crying for its flock, flying frantically in the direction of home

that afternoon - a blue balloon, drifting over the subway tracks