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It is easy to be nostalgic about childhood,
for these were years when we were building our identities, asking the questions, and listening
for answers to help us figure out the world. For
those of us that were child-immigrants, or born of immigrant parents or into multi-ethnic families, our young identities were
complicated by questions such as "which half am I?" "which
country is home?" and "how do I fit in here?"
Persianchyld is an exploration in to these questions.
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Iran is more than
my muse, it is the foundation of my memory, the beginning from where all things sprung. I began with
only a few snapshots in my mind, colorful, tactile flashes of memory that, the more I lingered over them, grew to full scenes.
I was only three, so the world was big, new and exciting. From inside the safety of my grandmother's garden walls, I learned
about my Persian half during early morning breakfasts and adventures in the bazaar. |
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Iran in the early 1970's was another world, noisy yet serene, foreign yet friendly. Before we left the U.S., as
a tiny, moon-faced three-year-old, my concept of travel had been long, boring bouts in the back seat of my father's Mustang.
Life was simple, predictable: long climbs up the winding stone staircase to our house, trips to the supermarket, and barefoot
mornings at nursery school. My world was small and I moved confidently in it.
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