Ok

Stand Still, Time Flies.

OK. That would be my answer if you ask me how I feel about the year coming to a close. Every year end without fail, I manage to sink into a hole of ambivalence. Attempting to dig myself out of it now, I must confess that it has been quite a year. It was a year of many adventures and many detours. A year of heartaches and new found joy. A year where I gained some and I lost some. You may say that all I've done is just describe life. I agree. My only grouse with 2008 is where did all that time go? I stood still, only for a moment and time just passed me by.

Someday

On the eve of the eve,
Where shadows meet.

Shahid

For a better world

In every Iranian town, you'll see portraits of young men who died in the Iran-Iraq war lining the main roads. These men are sons of the town who left their families, friends, and lives to fight in a war which they barely understood. But a combatant's understanding of the conflict has never been a prerequisite for waging wars. They had ideals and dreams enough to uproot them, enough to make some of them walk across minefields, in the hopes of reaching a better place. These men have now returned home in figurative form as Shahids, Martyrs of the town.

On my bus ride from Yazd to Esfahan, I met a fellow traveler who was working for the UNRWA and we spent the 5 hour long bus ride talking about the refugee situation in Palestine. During that bus ride, I heard a story of Israeli bulldozers, of concrete walls not unlike that of the Warsaw Ghetto, of families separated and displaced, of third generation refugees who cling on tightly to photographs of a home that they have never seen with their own eyes nor step foot into; holding on to a dream which they believe is their birthright. His story, although not totally unheard of, is a side of the Israeli-Palestinan conflict that we do not see very often. Gradual displacement and oppression will never be as sensational as a suicide bombing. As the Israelis hammer Hamas with F16 air-strikes on an unprecedented scale, sowing the seeds for future retaliatory suicide and rocket attacks, it dawned upon me that war is waged not so much for land but for the fulfillment of dreams. There is no need for an understanding of the conflict. Besides, dreams are never logical or rational. We should at least try to understand that.

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one"

Form

If the form vanishes, its root is eternal.
I've been neglecting Layla.

Rudolph

Fork in the face or a cracker up the behind

Apart from Rudolph, I think everyone had a pretty good Christmas lunch, the lunch that stretched into dinner and supper. There was no doubt that the highlight for me and the kids was our little gingerbread house. When it comes to Christmas, I think it is the present and presence that makes all the difference.

Photos from Lunch here

Threes

Displaced in Place

Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors.
The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.
Sure of my life and my death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them.
Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.
Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.
They speak of humanity.
My humanity is a feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland is the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword,
the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.
~Jorge Luis Borges, Boast of Quietness

Piano

A tinkling piano in the next apartment

I realise I've been blogging a lot of music of late. Maybe its because it comforts me knowing that somewhere out there, there are others who have felt and are feeling the same way I do now. Perhaps its because I can't cough up my own words and need to borrow those of others. The photographs seem to do a better job, even though it shouldn't be this way. Shouldn't? Shouldn't because it is not right and its against the rules. Whose rules?

I was recently told that everything changes. Yet last night as I allowed myself to indulge in a cognitive commemoration of the winter solistice, I was reminded that there are some constants in life. There will always be the stars, the moon and of course the blinding sun; Equinox and Solistice. It may be a long night but the rising sun will surely follow. Is it really true that you don't know something except by its absence? A long night, even for a minute longer evokes a greater appreciation of the day. And now, as I again search in vain for words, a gentle breeze blows, birds chirp in the trees and just like before, the midday sun, radiant in the blue sky.

Solistice

是谁说过不 再回头
还是让你 淹没了我
想放弃却不能甘心放手
留你在梦中 却苦痛了我

Franz

I love the sound of you walking away

I cannot turn to see those eyes
As apologies may rise
I must be strong and stay an unbeliever
And love the sound of you walking away
Mascara bleeds into my eye
I'm not cold I am old
At least as old as you are
As you walk away

快乐

人群中哭着你只想变成透明的颜色, 你再也不会梦或痛或心动了
你已经决定了你已经决定了
你静静忍着紧紧把昨天在拳心握着, 而回忆越是甜就是越伤人了
越是在手心留下密密麻麻深深浅浅的刀割
你不是真正的快乐,你的笑只是你穿的保护色
你决定不恨了也决定不爱了把你的灵魂关在永远锁上的躯壳
这世界笑了於是你合群的一起笑了, 当生存是规则不是你的选择
於是你含着眼泪飘飘荡荡跌跌撞撞的走着
你不是真正的快乐你的笑只是你穿的保护色
你决定不恨了也决定不爱了把你的灵魂关在永远锁上的躯壳
你不是真正的快乐,你的伤从不肯完全的癒合
我站在你左侧却像隔着银河
难道就真的抱着遗憾一直到老了然後才後悔着
你不是真正的快乐你的笑只是你穿的保护色
你决定不恨了也决定不爱了把你的灵魂关在永远锁上的躯壳
你不是真正的快乐, 你的伤从不肯完全的癒合
我站在你左侧却像隔着银河
难道就真的抱着遗憾一直到老了
你值得真正的快乐,你应该脱下你穿的保护色
为什麽失去了还要被惩罚呢
能不能就让悲伤全部结束在此刻, 重新开始活着

Corner

A Different Corner

Take me back in time maybe I can forget
Turn a different corner and we never would have met
Would you care?

I don't understand it, for you it's a breeze
Little by little, you've brought me to my knees
Don't you care?

No, I've never come close in all of these yearrs
You are the only one to stop my tears
I'm so scared of this love

And if all that there is, is this fear of being used
I should go back to being lonely and confused
If I could, I would, I swear

Past

Squarely on time

I like the Mondrian-esque arrangement of this photo, sans couleur. The focus here is squarely on time, as if time is so easily contained. Ironically, the inverse is true. We are confined by time. And so we find ourselves working in the present, with an awareness of the past, for a future that is unknown. A present that is elusive and an unknown that unnerves. Only the past anchors.

Welcome

是谁说我天生爱孤独？
双栖动物也需要哺乳动物的伴。

Shiraz

Group shot with Mr Froggy.

I can't decide who looks more out of place in this photo, Mr Froggy or me. I really do think that the best photos from Iran are those taken by my camera's timer. Shiraz was a grueling 15 hour bus journey from Tehran, a journey that I thought would never end. Although it is a desert town, Shiraz is home to the most beautiful gardens in Iran. It was autumn when I was in Shiraz and the trees were a beautiful shade of golden brown. For some strange reason, this reminded me of the Septembers of Shiraz by Dalia Sofer. It is truly amazing how rose gardens can grow in the middle of a desert, a reflection of the ingenuity of desert cultures. Shiraz is also the hometown and final resting place of many a great Iranian poets such as Hafez. It is said that in Iran, every household must have two items, the Quran and a book of Hafez's poems.

I met Hamid and Zahra at the tomb of Hafez which is situated next to the Shiraz University. Hamid is currently pursuing his Phd at the Shiraz University and Zahra, his wife, is a Masters student at the Shiraz University too. They offered to bring me around the University which was a real treat as Universities are off limits to non-students. We had dinner at the university cafetria followed by tea and fruits at their apartment. It was an insightful evening as I soon learnt that Iranian uni students live a life not very different from ours. Come to think of it, I don't even know why I should find the similarity startling to begin with. Iranian hospitality will never cease to amaze me. We talked and talked until it was too late. At the end of the evening, I felt ashamed that I had nothing to offer in return but an email address.

More photos of Shiraz here

Bedroom

Talking in bed ought to be easiest,
Lying together there goes back so far,
An emblem of two people being honest.
Yet more and more time passes silently.
Outside, the wind's incomplete unrest
Builds and disperses clouds in the sky,
And dark towns heap up on the horizon.
None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why
At this unique distance from isolation
It becomes still more difficult to find
Words at once true and kind
Or not untrue and not unkind.
~Philip Larkin

Feet

My feet hurt.
Maybe its time,
to stop running.

Hajj

Journey with and to the word

I've always wondered what it would be like to embark on a pilgrimage. To journey in search of a greater understanding of oneself and through that God and life at large. On a pilgrimage, it is truly the journey and not the destination that matters. Thus far, all my travels have been inspired by curiosity or for my own selfish reasons. Perhaps that is why even though I've seen so much I understand very little about life, especially my own.

Khastegi

Man, Woman and TV

The Tan family trooped down to the Art House this afternoon to catch Khastegi, which is part of the Asia-Pacific Festival of 1st Films 2008. Set in Tehran, the film is a documentary about seven Iranian Transexuals and how they survive in the patriarchal and conservative Iranian Society. Khastegi really brought out the tension and loneliness that Tranxesuals face on a daily basis in a society which pretends that they do not exist. Even simple acts like taking the bus or finding a job becomes a torturous event. In Iran, sexuality is taboo. Although not every lady in Iran wears a chador, in fact most just make do with just a scarf losely worn over the head, there is a clear divide between male and female, as this photo clearly shows. Those that fall in between are treated as outcasts. Although the documentary was rather raw, there was a certain poetic calm about it perhaps brought about by the sense of acceptance juxtaposed with the amazing strength which these Transexuals showed for the right to affirm who they are. Even though the documentary is about tranxesuals, there is an underlying theme of searching for an identity, something that we can all relate to.

"I like the rain, especially walking in the rain. Its the only time I feel like a woman, when the rain washes away all my masculinity and I become who I really am"
~Sogand

Rainbow

One day, Next time; the Bridge between.

Would you believe me if I told you that I saw both ends of this rainbow? No, there wasn't a pot of gold at the end. The treasure's always in the bow, not the end. I snapped this photo en route to Yazd. It was the first time it rained in the desert this year. What are the odds of it happening on my watch? My driver was overjoyed that it was raining at last. I was a bit dismayed as I had desert activities planned. Two different people with two different sets of feelings, yet moving in the same direction. The only unifying point was this rainbow we saw when the rain stopped. I comforted myself with the thought that one can always hope; even with diverging outlooks and feelings hope bridges the divide.

I watched a movie last night or just now that featured a rainbow. It reminded me of a beautiful sunset that I saw out the back of a 3-tonner; of the beautiful seaside, where I spent a night being lulled by the waves. I remember watching fishermen cast their rods into the sea. The rhythm of their actions in sync with the waves. Unity. As they fished, I picked up a rock, as my catch, because I had no camera with me. My biggest fear is forgetting. I remember that July sun, and being blinded by it.

Arno

By the river I came to rest
to listen to what my heart
had to say about this and that.
I sat and waited, all was silent
but for a comforting beat
strange yet familiar.

Now the crowds stream in and
car horns blare in the distance
Drawing closer and closer.
Soon this moment will
be snatched from me.
A silence stolen.

Picnic

Mehdi, Breakfast, Lada and Me.

Blue skies, sunshine and cool crisps air. A hearty breakfast of home made bread, feta cheese, veggies and of course tea. There's always a time and place for tea in Iran. That day, Mehdi drove us some 400kms in his trusty 25 year old Lada. I casually remarked that it was a Russian car and he corrected me, it was a car made in the USSR. The Lada served us faithfully and it was so well maintained that it would put many a younger cars to shame. I love travelling on the roads, the constantly changing landscape and long roads that seem to go on forever. Perhaps therein lies some form of escapism, that as long as there is no end in sight, there is always hope.

More photos from Abyaneh, Kashan, Natanz and the Road.

Strawman

偶尔抬头看天空
心还会有一阵阵难过
当我习惯寂寞
才是自由的时候

Vasteras

Words ebbed out by time, Boarding Pass Blue.

Over the weekend, I packed up my room and table. It was something that I've been putting off for a while. Besides, ritualistic packing purges, reassuringly. In the midst of my packing, I found this boarding pass. The ink bearing the details of the flight has already faded away. But I can still see the details of this boarding pass and recall that little airport in the middle of nowhere, the early morning rise on a dark winter's morning to catch the flight, the flight that would take me to a place I used to call home, and still secretly do. I placed this boarding pass on my keyboard to take this photo, not realising the irony of it all, that in spite of being surrounded by letters, not a single word was formed to recall this memory. The failure of words.