Everything began in my confusion and ambiguity; days that have become repetitive.
Another morning began; just like the taste of unbrewed morning tea or the taste of spoiled milk poured into a glass and its sour taste lingers in the mouth, the taste of dry bread that is too hard to bite into, the taste of arrears of payments that milk the life's juices with the utmost cruelty; the taste of loneliness; the taste of wandering in today's world of material impossibilities where money comes first, the taste of the pain of a wound that burns with excessive pain, the taste of expectant looks that wait for you to be crushed and expect failure to impose them on you, the taste of everyday life that you cannot get out of and you keep moving forward with it; how disgusting the world tastes.
The bitter taste of coffee that you are forced to drink out of extreme sadness so that the bitter taste of the world is not revealed, so that the bitter taste comes to the surface of the bitterness and finally evokes a sweet taste and says how sweet life is; how bitter it really is?! How much the world tastes like crap; how much the world tastes like nothing and how bitter the tastes of this world are, what should have been and were not.
A voice keeps ringing from within to keep going and keep going! This is not the end of the story; a voice from life that pulls you forward, like delicious and tasty food whose smell makes you drunk and hungry from its excessive deliciousness.
Where is the end?! What will happen?! What will happen?! Questions that constantly penetrate the heart of the gray cells of my brain and have them involved with each other like water and fire. You just know that you have to move forward and a happy ending awaits that is nothing more than a fantasy. This earth is a mirage, not water, we are constantly convinced that this life is a beautiful place to live; but it is not like that. A voice from within has entered my soul like a thorn that is taking me with it to the depths of my dreams.
It is as if time has stopped; the hands of the clock are frozen and have dried up like ice; it is as if their only purpose is to torment me and I have no choice but to be patient and I just have to wait and wait.
Sometimes it moves forward and sometimes it does not move forward and gets stuck and stands still, and we too are lost in this routine and constant program.
Today, for the first time, I did not look at my watch at all and saw how quickly time passes; what moments should pass and pass and what moments should not pass and repeat.
I blinked and didn't understand where I was and found myself writing my boring daily diary. I don't know exactly what happened; but it was as if I wasn't here at all at that moment. It was as if all the capillaries of time were intertwined and taking me with them to nowhere. A new place with an unfamiliar smell that seemed a little ridiculous to me and I couldn't understand it very quickly and get used to it; it was as if I had forgotten where I was and what I was doing, it was just an unrepeatable moment in which I was present and that was it.
Maybe we shouldn't live in numbers! Maybe we shouldn't measure time with a dusty wall clock in the room!
Because when we drown in numbers and our lives are summed up in numbers, we are doomed to destruction! And this itself means gradual death.
***
It's morning!
Another boring morning born of despair; Again, the tea smells stale and as if it hasn't been brewed!
The tea is sour! And it tastes bitter, as if vinegar has been poured into it.
There used to be a beautiful flower shop across the street where I worked and sold flowers until a few months ago.
The people I live with seem more harsh and cruel every day than yesterday, and no one would pay for the beautiful flowers I sold, and I was forced to leave my job and change my job, as I couldn't find a job for a long time and had to stay home and smoke sumac.
The taste of loneliness has also become famous among all tastes; a taste that is accompanied by wandering in today's impossible and materialistic world where money is the main thing; Like a wound that burns with extreme pain and the taste of expectant glances whose spears pierce the soul and destroy a person, and they only wait for your defeat and wait for it to hit you on the head like a sledgehammer.
Such conditions have grown like leeches in the heart of the gray cells of your brain.
The only way is to listen to the inner voice that shows you the way.
Hoping that it will end sooner.
***
It's morning again!
Today's tea was more delicious than yesterday's tea;
But despite this, the tea still tasted stale and from time to time, with its unpleasant taste, it irritated the tongue and mouth and ruined the mood.
This means leaving, wearing today, not making tomorrow, burning yesterday; Just like the sound of crows, it echoes through my depressed life every day; they are constantly singing and restless;
As if they have something hidden in their hearts and chests that they do not dare to tell.
Confused!!
Sitting in a corner of the house, I wonder what will happen. Outside the house is a war; not a war between people, but a war between personal beliefs and ideals. No one fights for the interests of others.
Behind everyone's desires, there is a slight selfishness that mocks our main goal.
I got up and went to the refrigerator; I opened the refrigerator door; my refrigerator is even emptier than people's hands, I am grateful that there is a slice of pizza from last night that my friends had come here and brought with them; I think that cold slice, like a brick, will be enough for my lunch today.
Loyalty may be a stranger to some of my friends; They all come here to take advantage of me; I have no friends left except for the few friends I have left. They only seek their own personal gain.
They are not even worth thinking about, the best thing to do is to cut off contact.
And they don't care about me at all; I just have to say once that my pocket is empty and none of them will even come to me; my only way when facing them is to smile, to hide everything behind my smile and not to say anything, and to be like a clown who only laughs at problems and doesn't talk and has to show his performance with a smile as much as possible; just like a clown whose subjects smile at his pain.
One by one, people disappear from our world or from our hearts; the only thing that remains is ourselves and ourselves.
I couldn't sleep well last night; because the sound of the upstairs neighbor's argument that echoes through the house every night caressed my ears. Again that couple; again the constant fights; They have a two-year-old child who whines when they fight and is unhappy with their living conditions. The man is very sad about the small salary he receives from the theater for his two-part roles and does not share their expenses at all. The child’s mother wakes up every morning and bathes the child, sends him to kindergarten, and then goes to work, and at night, secretly, away from her husband’s eyes, stands by the street and looks for cars looking for day laborers so that she can earn money to make a living and inject it into the dried colors of their lives; let alone what bad things happen to the woman in these people’s house.
The cruel landlord has also paid them back and has given them only a week to find a new shed; The man is so tired that when he gets home at night, he falls on the scrap couch inside the house out of exhaustion and closes his eyes there, and wakes up in the morning and goes to work, and again day after day.
I keep going from here to there like a listless man; I feel that a phenomenon called death, which is very scary for humans, is a great blessing and a boon for me; because it frees me from all the filthy evils of this world and gives me freedom. I am impatiently waiting for the moment of my death to see where I am going to go and what awaits me in the end.
It seems like I hear a sound, a disgusting and at the same time heartbreaking sound that bothers my ears; I went to the small window of my room; I don't know what exactly the sound could be?
The closer I got to the small rusty window of my room, the more that heartbreaking sound buzzed in my ears and made my ears itch more.
I glanced at the old house next door; it was a beautiful house; but it was dusty and old, and you could smell the nostalgic smell and old memories in it.
The shouting was coming from this very house; I tilted my head towards the house to see what the story was. The owner of the house, who was a stupid and stiff-necked old man, was constantly shouting at his dog why he had stepped on the flowers in the garden and kicked them. The dog kept staring at him, dropping its ears and moaning in a victimized tone and expressing regret; the old man was not at fault; because the flowers in the garden were very precious to him; Because his wife had planted them before she had to leave this world.
On the other side of my dilapidated apartment building, there is another clean house with the brick color of its walls shouting from afar;
The window of this house opens exactly to the window of my room. The owner of this house is a lonely girl who sits in a wheelchair and has no one and never leaves the house; I don’t know what happened to her that she is like this?
From time to time, she comes to the window panes and kisses me and when I look at her, she steals her gaze from me; or she passes by with a smile and goes behind the window.
I love the colorful vases in front of her window and every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is to see if this girl’s colorful vases are in their previous place or not; If she herself is busy watering the pots, these two sights caress my eyes even more.
Every morning, looking out through the rusty old window of my house and seeing her makes my heart happy; as if if I don't see this view one day, my day will not be night.
I think this girl loves me and would like to see me one day. It's a pity that my heart and nose don't match and my heart is somewhere else; but if I were in a better mood, I would go see her and talk to her to see what the reason is for those charming smiles and those furtive glances.
I wish I understood and realized this story, whether she loves me or not?
But I am a black and gray person, and if I go to visit her, I will affect her good mood and she will lose that half of her hope for this life.
In addition to the noisy upstairs neighbor, there were other things that kept me awake at night; headaches and wheezing also bothered me, and it felt like a broken toothpick was being stuck in my lungs; I still have a slight pain in my chest.
All of this pain is a cancerous sadness that I have been struggling with for years.
Another couple had ended their fight; the man left the house in the morning for work; I think the reason for their fight was that the man had found out that his wife was going out to work out of his sight, and perhaps the main reason for that was money; can you imagine what happened?!
Most fights end up being about money, and the main reason for many of these disputes is money! The lord of my city, money, money, money.
Perhaps if I were in his place, I would also get angry and not recognize myself anymore and, like the man from the upstairs neighbor who is a theater actor, I would go out into the streets, light a cigarette and return home; in any case, my situation is not very defined; I also lived on the ground floor of this family, in a dark and dingy unit that I inherited from my grandfather and until recently I was busy paying off his debts and debts.
My grandfather used to live in this same apartment and after he died, he incurred so much debt that he was unable to pay off any of these debts and I alone had to work from morning to night to pay off my old grandfather's debts and promises.
All the furniture in this apartment is my grandfather's old and dusty furniture, which is so covered in dust that it looks as if a truckload of garden soil has been dumped in the middle of the room; I am sure that soon we will be able to use these things instead of a garden and plant plants on them.
Black, dull and grey; three words that make sense in this building.
Another small unit is located next to my earthen unit; in this unit, a young man of about twenty years old lives who has returned from the abyss of death; and God has brought him back to this life; but he insists on dying and wants to return to the world of the dead!; I do not know what he saw there that was so attractive to him that he wants to return to the world of the dead; I say, when we live in the world of the dead with the people around us, what is the use of knowing about the world of the dead!
I saw him just a few days ago talking to his small hand mirror; from the appearance of the mirror, you could tell that it was a woman's mirror; it was quite obvious that it was one of the mirrors that are found in women's cosmetic bags.
He just blinked rapidly and looked in the mirror, constantly whispering and repeating this sentence to himself;
"I'm sick of this life of slumber"
Last Tuesday, when I saw him down the stairs and we happened to bump into each other, he quickly ran to the roof without answering me and left the door of his house half open.
Whenever you want to find him, you can open the roof door and find him alone, in the corner of the roof with his feminine hand mirror; with the same repeated and constant sentence; "I'm sick of this life of slumber".
I don't know much about his life; but I only know that he probably had a hard and difficult life in the past; my downstairs neighbor said that he loved a certain fairy in his youth; But they didn't give him that girl and treated her like a piece of trash and threw her away; he ruined his life because of that girl.
Really! I forgot about the neighbor downstairs; she is a lonely old woman, her old and stupid husband has been dead for almost five years; after her husband's death, this old woman has become even more lonely than before; her only pleasure is to sit behind the brown window facing the kitchen and ask the neighbors when they come and go, where and with whom they go; just like the managers, she beats the clock for passersby; playing with the aunt and all that.
One of her other hobbies is to sit in front of the house with the fat old women in the street and start a game of aunt Khan's baji.
My situation is so good that everyone on earth envies it, I wish I were you.
I lost my parents in an accident many years ago, and after losing them, I became even more alone than before.
A lot of time has passed since that accident, and I still haven’t been able to forget that painful day when my father was suffering from cancer. At least with the accident that led to his death, he was able to avoid the pain of chemotherapy and find peace sooner.
It seems strange! This time plays strange games with each of us; just when you least expect it, it deals you a fatal blow and knocks you down.
The people in my city no longer smile like they used to; it seems like everyone is hiding in their own shells and is unaware of the events around them, and their only thoughts and memories are to be like sparrows, looking for their sparrow’s day, and to go to work every day like chickens, and they don’t think about anything except work; I live in a world where love has no meaning or significance; People don't fall in love here, they hate each other; this whole life is mixed with a certain hatred.
Life has become strange! I just have to get by on my father's meager salary that the insurance company gives me every month for his retirement. The factory is going to cut off this hefty salary soon; because their only argument is that your father is dead and doesn't need this money anymore. With the cut off of this salary, I won't be able to do anything anymore; because they want to cut off the salaries of everyone who worked in the factory and the fact that my father is dead has become an excuse for them; let alone the little money they pay there, it's not even enough to pay for a cup of coffee.
Anyway, with this smileless and depressed life, you have to build and nothing else can be done.
As the world changes, people become more and more dumbed down in the dry, gray sound of the city and, without realizing it, they drift apart.
They know each other; but they are strangers to each other; this world is full of fruitless violations that lead to nothing; people are thirsty for each other's blood.
Maybe I am where I shouldn't be now! Maybe I should be where I am not now!
Maybe these people are wrong, not me! I don't know!
Maybe I am wrong! Maybe I shouldn't be here or maybe they shouldn't be here and bother me.
It's strange! I see these people and nothing comes to mind and it's as if my mind suddenly becomes empty like a box; I don't know what the story is. Maybe nothing is worth thinking about; except you.
I used to think that if the circumstances changed, everything would be fine and everything would go back to the way it was and the people of my city would smile again; but that didn’t happen.
Maybe it’s always the people who need to change, not the circumstances!
There comes a time when all the truth fades and disappears. All these scenes seem to have happened to me in the past; when I was talking to my old friend about this, he told me that these are all déjà vu, which in French means a dream that you have seen in the past and you don’t remember it at all; but after a while you see a scene that is familiar to you and it is the same dream that you have seen and the reason is not clear at all; you don’t know where these dreams come from in the first place!
But what I realized was that I have seen all these scenes; Like a movie I'm watching over and over again.
The love for Lasso still burns within me, and I still love him.
Lasso also loves me passionately; I can't forget the last time I saw him.
He brought me a white rose, which I placed inside the book "The Nation of Love," which I was reading at the time, and dried it so that I would always remember him.
That day, I took him to the flower shop where I worked, and I plucked a rose from a branch of red roses and gave it to him; I know that Lasso also dried that flower inside one of his books.
I will never forget the moment I gave him the flower; his cheeks were flushed, and he gave me a sweet smile that made mine blush too, because of the intensity of his cheeks.
It's a shame that we had to close the flower shop because of the sullen people of our city who don't buy flowers at all and for whom kindness means nothing; otherwise I would have thrown all the flowers in the shop at his feet; the shop owner had to close the shop because of this.
Anyway, I have the lasso now and these things don't matter at all. The work will get stuck somewhere and I can somehow live this life until then.
That day he said to me: Samyar!
Samyar: Dear Samy
Lasso: Do you remember that autumn day, when we were walking on that beautiful boulevard?
Samyar: Yes, dad, how can I forget, that beautiful day when the leaves crunched under our feet when we walked.
Lasso: Do you remember what I told you that day?
Samyar: Yes, I remember it completely.
Kamand: So if you're telling the truth, what did I tell you that day?
Samiar: You told me that day that I love you very much.
Kamand: Well, that's what I always say; no, it wasn't that at all.
Samir: So what was it?
Kamand: You see, you don't remember!
Samiar: Okay, okay; I don't remember.
Kamand: That day I told you never to leave me.
Samir: Oh! I remembered, my dear, I'm always with you; don't worry about me!
Kamand: You know I'm not worried; I'm afraid, I'm afraid I'll lose you one day.
Samiar: My dear, dad, I'm not going anywhere; I'll stay with you forever; if you don't leave me, I won't leave you either.
Kamand: Okay, okay; we'll be together forever.
It was here that he extended his little finger towards me and said: "So promise me."
I also pointed my finger at her finger and promised her that I would stay by her side forever.
It was snowing heavily that day. Winter had covered everything in white.
Lasso is my only hope in this life! If this hope is taken away from me, I have no hope of continuing my life.
I am more afraid of being around people; that day when I left Lasso, I got on the bus, the bus was smoking a lot; it was smoking so much that I felt like my lungs were filled with ten cartons of cigarettes. This bus that I saw, if ten people were pushing it at the same time, it still wouldn’t move.
