Happiness Has a Violent Roar

Cuz she was his Wendy, and he was a lost boy...
Cuz she was his Wendy, and he was a lost boy…

My absence from Purple Sessions was of pure M.I.A essence and not of an AWOL nature. The main reason would have to be the inauguration of a new job at SAP, where I write. Journalism if you may. My creativity would be spent during the day and by the time I got home I could not wait to get into my big bed, with honey dissolved in Persian tea and chocolate muffins. It took me a good four weeks to settle into the pattern. I am in no way complaining. After all now I am being paid to do what I did for free and for fun. Although I believe inspiration is unlimited, it does feel strenuous to blog after a whole nine to five day of writing.

Another reason can be that not a thing any different from previous posts occurred. My Christmas birthday imprisoned me at home, giving me the opportunity to try my hand in some Persian dishes I had never dared cook before; Fesenjoon being one of them. Since my last couple of posts were about food and cooking, and since I am a self-confessed no-food-lover, I could not stomach another post about my new experiences in the kitchen, I am sure my readers couldn’t either. I now know what to ask anyone coming from Iran to bring me; pomegranate sauce and a good old fashioned pestle and mortar, preferably marble.

After being called a “Diva” and “Drama Queen” in the same week, (in my defence I had a rather unlucky week, and these comments came from the same person), I have decided not to moan and groan about the events that have taken place. For instance the fact that my laptop died a sudden death one hour before an assignment was due. I bought a new one the next day, not bad one would say. Try convincing my neighbour who I woke up to use his laptop in an ungodly hour just to send in the assignment. I will soon knock on his door with a few steaming warm brownies or a slice of chocolate cake as an act of gratitude.

My hectic life has helped surface signs of early Alzheimer’s. The most absurd thing that has become a habit is me forgetting to get off the train. No, I’m not distracted, and no I’m not asleep, I don’t even have my headphones in, I’m not texting either. I simply forget. Some blame it on exhaustion. Some may accuse me of being in love. Others believe it to be results of too many things on my plate. Pun intended. That goes to the friend who thinks I eat too much during lunchtime at work. His idea of a joke is to take pictures of my plate(s) and guilt me into eating everything. Tell that to my mother who thinks my protruding collarbones being visible on the monitor while Skyping is a sign of malnutrition. Going back to the story of my love for staying on the train until I literally reach the end of the journey; this seems to be an entertaining anecdote for the student co-workers over lunch. “I’d understand if you’d miss a couple of stops, but why do you have to get off at Bruchsal?” one Nigerian colleague asked taking the mikey out of me. Yes yes, if that’s funny to you lot, have your laugh. Though I must admit, meeting other students who work with me nostalgically takes me back to the undergrad days, where we were dumb and happy and would laugh until our cheeks and stomachs hurt. The average age has increased yet the silliness is the same, if not raised. Any grad student would know that it’s just not the same. You have more unfinished assignments and more responsibilities. My blast from the past couldn’t come to me with better timing. I was convinced that the best years of my life are slipping through my fingers and some experiences never repeat. It amazes me that laughter stays the same, no matter who it is with and what it is about.

I find it astonishing that at times at the peak of a febrile life, with deadlines and responsibilities and physical exhaustion, one can find pure contentment and peace. Peace… For what is life and love without peace?

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