Moving

Moving is not my thing whatsoever. It seems that my destiny consist of nothing but lots of moving.
We lived in Booshehr until I was 6. Although I was a kid, I do remember our alley, our neighbors and my friends, the house, my room, the yard with the swing that my father had made and the backyard which we only used to make Kabaab. Everything is carved in my brain clearly.


Kimi & sis 1364(1985) Booshehr


Then we left the house of memories, moved to Tehran, and my first year at school was in Tehran. I was lucky that I wasn’t a fan of school and education whatsoever since the beginning otherwise I would have problems to leave again the place I love. After two years when the schools got closed in the middle of the year because of the war and bombards, we moved to Bandar Anzali.
My mum’s family are from north of Iran, so when we were in Anzali, we have been close to some relatives, and also everything sounds familiar. The accent and dialect was just like how I used to hear my grandma spoke. This made me love everybody around and finally feel like home and happy. The apartment we were living in was huge. Three over-sized bedrooms with a vast hall with tall windows. The view of the kitchen was sea. Gorgeous.
We spent 5 years in this city and I was old enough to memorize all the details. I had made hundred of friends and I would say that it was the first place that I really felt I belong to. The smell of the city and Saturday market would be the smell of home for me forever.
I was 13 and once again we moved to Tehran. That was the time I noticed the importance of having a big house. Our house in Tehran was small like a prison. The moving this time was rather hard for me. Moving from a small city to a huge city is tough for a kid. I got used to a school with 1 class (20 students) for each level, where the teachers, principal and students all know each other. Then in Tehran, I went to a school with 17 classes (40 students) for each level. It was gross. Nobody knew you and you hardly know your own classmates. I start to have very bad marks. I totally surprised my parents with my results. They were only trying to encourage me by saying that math and physics are important that you got good marks. After about a year I found myself back in track.

We stayed in Tehran since then and 11 years passed very quickly. I was following my parents until then but from 2 year ago I began to move on my own and it is just so darn hard. First big decision was to move to Sweden to study; after a year I could stay in Sweden to do the thesis, but I chose to be adventurer so I moved to Canada. (Fool girl). Now I am here, and the thesis is done. I have the opportunity to stay here for PhD and work for NRC, which sounds awfully good from resume point of view. However, I have the thoughts of moving again. Once more, I should pack my life to go again to nowhere, where I know nobody, nothing. Start over again.

Moving is exciting but when you move alone, it becomes exhausting because you need to think about everything alone, minimizing expenses, canceling contracts, packing ( choosing what you want to take with you and what you want to throw away). You no longer find time to think about the interesting part of moving. Missing friends and getting alone again is another tough part of the moving.

Making some decisions are hard and risky. We move toward something that we believe it is the best but only after years we can hardly understand whether it was or not. Previously, I had another theory. I believed that both ways in front of us are happy ended no matter what you choose you’ll be fine if you are a man of being successful. Yet, now I believe that in some paths we are located in higher level of potential energy than the happy end. We can only slide easily on the path with no pausing inertia.