Some help procrastinating

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I know I haven’t been writing much, and it is mostly due to being a grad student and how much writing and reading I have to do.  Honestly, I am not one to hate on reading, as it is one of my favorite things to do, but after years of novel reading, all this academic reading is EX. HAUST. ING.  Brain hurts.

We had a paper due a few weeks back, and I turned on my expert procrastinating skills and basically avoided writing it until the last minute.  Although my 20 year old self laughs at my current form of procrastination, cause unless you are writing your conclusion with 22 seconds left to spell-check, print and turn in the paper after 3 consecutive sleepless nights, then you are turning it in early.  My 20 year old self thinks I am currently an overachiever, and my current self wonders where exactly I had all the energy at the age of 20.

That said, I have many more papers to write about subjects that are overwhelming to me to even begin addressing, and I thought it would be nice to share some of my procrastinating tools with you.

Best procrastinating blog ever — Odycycle.

When we moved to England, we were excited to hang out with old friends of Pedram’s – Sam and Francesca, who hosted us in London when we visited before.  But they had other plans.  They quit their jobs, emptied their apartment, and took a road trip from London to Shanghai.

On bike.

Their voyage is brilliantly depicted on their blog, written with sharp wit and great humor.  You have to start from the beginning, from their trek through Europe, tracing family ancestry, Eastern Europe, and eventually, to a place they had been already.  Iran.  They started in Kurdistan, and traversed the country.

The pictures are breathtaking.  Here is one of Iran I had to put on here — a vision of Iran that I would never see otherwise:

Camping in Iran. From Odycycle

Sam and Francesca have moved on beyond China, they are now exploring Southeast Asia, and potentially beyond that.  I am so jealous of their adventure, although I am aware that I would never be able to do what they are doing…on bicycle.  As much as I can’t wait for them to come back so I can pick their brains about their voyage, another part of me wants to encourage them to continue on their adventure for as long as possible, and keep allowing us to live vicariously through their posts.

Suddenly, everything is different

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Talking to my grandmother a few weeks ago, she informed me that she had a dream where Pedram’s uncle came to visit her and offered her beautiful gold jewelry.  This, to her, meant that I was pregnant.

(the story is that my grandmother, an unrelenting romantic, met Pedram’s uncle when she was young, and developed an intense crush on him.  This crush was brought to the forefront of her many unrealized loves when Pedram and I started dating.  She often says that our marriage is some form of ‘justice’ for her unrequited crush).   Now that Pedram’s uncle has passed away, he often comes to visit my grandmother in her dreams, occasionally bearing gifts.

Pedram, who overheard this conversation on Skype, chimed in, asking Bibi why she was dreaming of his uncle rather than her own late husband.  My grandmother chuckled, and then replied that Pedram should be ashamed, being outdone by my sister’s husband.

You see, Nava’s husband had gotten her pregnant.  Therefore, in my grandmother’s eyes, he has won the race to being the bestest groom of all.  In her opinion.  On the other side of the planet, my 9 month pregnant sister, bloated to the point where her characteristic dimples no longer bespectacled her face, was bemoaning her misfortune to me at all times of day and night.  She was uncomfortable, unable to sleep or even sit comfortably, and was constantly guiding me to never ever, ever, ever, become pregnant.

Yesterday, she gave birth to her little baby boy.  Her water broke in the morning, and she made sure she had her hair done before heading to the hospital.  This was a great decision by her, as her hair was almost as fabulous as the kid in the post-birth pictures.

I know I whine alot about being far away from my family, but these times are the hardest.  I can’t drive over to the hospital and hold my nephew, I can’t hop on a plane and be there in two hours.  I can only facetime with my sister and my mom, and get to see the little nugget through video.  Which is still amazing, considering.  But there is something so unsatisfying about being so far removed from the action, you really feel like life is passing you by, and you are missing all the highlights.

My sister having a baby is a major highlight.  It is the first birth for both sides of my family, the first great-grand child of the baby loving Bibi Soltan, the first new branch of the next generation on the family tree.  I am not sure what it is like for other people, especially people who are not very close to their siblings, but for me, suddenly, everything has changed.  My older sister, who I have known my entire life, whose face is engraved in my mind as a delicate child, is now a mother.  My parents, who have always been the all-knowing authority figures of my life, have now shifted to grandparents.

The book is continuing, but we are all on a new chapter.  And it is crazy, how one little guy, so helpless and fragile, could make it change overnight.

Hi Friend

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Hey Barns,

Can you believe it has been a year since we last talked? I remember our last conversation so well — remember how Pedram and I were in the car going on a hike and we stopped at a Tim Hortons drive through and I asked them if they had “frites” and you laughed and told me that Belgium really played a number on my food taste?  Then you and Pedram made fun of me, like you always do together.

I really remember it so well.  I hold on to it.  Maybe that is not good.  Maybe we should have talked about other things.  But it all seemed okay then.

Oh God.  Here I go again, crying.  Sorry about that.  It just happens sometimes.  I’ll try to control myself so that my friends and family don’t think I am a basket case.

So much has happened in this year.  I am living in your country, and now finally two months later I don’t think everyone sounds like you.  But in the beginning, they all did, and that was hard.  Wayne Rooney has grown out his hair, so he doesn’t even look like you anymore.  I think you would like our place, and Brighton in general.  I walk along the seaside everyday which is very therapeutic.  I am back at University, and I keep thinking that my program is missing a genius like you.  I’ve read some good books.  Pedram is working hard, and he is back to playing squash, although he is already injured.  The rugby World Cup is on again, although I am not watching it as much as we did 4 years ago in Brussels.  England lost to France recently, that would have bummed you out.  Mina is pregnant, although you probably already know that.  It is getting cold already in England, although last weekend it was hot.  This morning when I walked the dog, there was dew on the grass.  What does that mean?  What exactly is dew?  Did the grass freeze overnight, or is that frost?  You couldn’t see the dew, it was only when I noticed my feet (and Rusby’s) were wet, that I realized it was there.

I’ll keep this short.  I just want you to know that I still think of you often.  And although it isn’t like it used to be, I mean, last year I was a mess, and now this year I am able to see things differently and take everyone’s advice and not blame anyone and let you go like a balloon or whatever.  But you are still with me.  Like the dew in the morning grass reminds me that something happened the previous night.  I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know something happened, and it was magical, and it was good.

That is all here.  Hope you are good.  I miss you lots, but know that you are in peace.

M.

a Student

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I have now finished my first official week of my Master’s program, and am already buried underneath a huge pile of reading and a paper due on Monday.  Somehow I thought the first day of “getting to know each other” would last a bit longer.  My group, which focuses on the role of business and trade on development, is small — about 15 people, from Japan, the States, Western Europe, South Africa, India, Zambia, South Korea and Nepal.  There are about 200 Master’s student in total, and together, we come from 47 different countries/cultures.  There are at least five different languages surrounding me at all times.  I have met an Iranian, a Farsi speaker from Afghanistan, and a Wolof speaker from West Africa, so I feel like all the corners of the globe I know of are represented.  I have met two other Baha’i's from Denmark and India which isn’t surprising considering the subject matter we are studying.

The reason I chose this Institute over the other places I applied to in London is that it is so close-knit in this way.  It is not a typical University program.  Our teachers are technically research fellows and we call them by their first name.  As a result, we have a very relaxed relationship with them — we are invited to go on hikes, to eat lunch together, and help them with their research if possible.  It is very casual, very informal, and incredibly inspiring.  The focus isn’t about grades and classes, it is about participating in seminars, networking, and learning from each other.  Both my small group and the larger group are filled with people who genuinely fascinate me.

If I had attended the other Universities, I would have paid the UK rates for tuition since I am a spouse of an EU citizen (thank you Europe!).  But IDS is considered a private Institute, so everyone pays a high tuition, regardless if you are EU, American or even British.  It is about 3x the cost I would have paid elsewhere.  Also, IDS does not have any scholarships or grants.  This wasn’t a decision I took lightly, and I am very lucky to have found the source of money to do so (and to be  encouraged by Pedram, aka sugar daddy).  While I am meeting everyone else, I am much aware that the path here for many other people was not so simple.  Someone from an African country told me about his repeated requests for funding being denied until finally, three years later, he was able to come here.  Another person told me about the savings their family had to put together in India to send them to IDS, and how their spouse is still in India.

Nobody takes this program for granted.  Everyone is fully trying to get the most out of it.  It has been an exhilarating week, but I am so grateful for this opportunity.  I think of my family in Iran who cannot get a higher education, regardless of how much money they have or their brilliance.  I think about how lucky I am to be able to spend my days talking about way to make a positive impact in the world with people who are truly making a difference.  I reflect on how wonderful it is to be a student again.  Learning.  Full time.

People say that education is a basic right, which I agree with.  But for me this experience is almost sureal, and it seems like such a privilege.  One that I won’t take for granted.

This is going to be an amazing year.

Heatwave

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I had already purchased a new sweater and dusted off my boots when the great European heatwave hit.  We took advantage of it, going to the beach, swimming in the frigid waters of the British riviera, biking along the coast, taking long sunset walks in low tide.  Rusby got over his fear of waves and joined us in the water.  We ate gelato, it was good.

I didn’t think I would see the British summer in August and September, but yet it made an appearance in October.  And suddenly, our decision to live by the water makes so much sense.

Wish you here…

Kindle is my best friend

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I have had alot of time and have read alot of books in the past two months.  One could say that my Kindle is my best friend.  I take it everywhere with me.

I won’t comment on each one, but I would definitely recommend Barney’s Version (great book, okay movie) and Norweigan Wood (which left me crying in the Calgary airport for two hours), and American Pastoral (which reads as one long run-on sentence sometimes).  I quoted parts of these books to Pedram, and still think about them and their message.  Most of the other ones I enjoyed for various reasons, either the plot or the writing style, or the way that they made me feel once I was done.  I would NOT read State of Wonder or Sarah’s Key again.

I am starting my Masters in Globalisation and Development this Thursday at the Institute for Development Studies.  I am very excited about the program, although all of the pre-reading material has overwhelmed me.  Thanks to Stiglitz and his ability to teach modern economics, my academic engine is slowly coming back to life.

A weekend trip

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We rented a car and drove to Luxembourg this past weekend.  For my geography challenged friends, this means that we crossed a body of water by car.  However, we did not take a ferry, we took a train, and went under the body of water, a la European.

A view of the euro tunnel train for cars, from our car

The train ride is brief, only 35 minutes, and incredibly convenient.  We did this because it is the only way Rusby can enter the continent.  Two hours to the border, a 35 minute train ride, and another 4 hours until Luxembourg.  Pedram wouldn’t allow us to stop for a pee break until we entered Belgium.  And then all of us got to relieve ourselves, including Rusby, who left a little present for Belgians, the same way many Belgian dogs had left me presents when I lived there.

Notice the cows in the background

We did take a 90 minute detour to enter Brussels, where we quickly decided that we should eat dinner at Pedram’s favorite snack place near Malibran that makes amazing durums.  It has been awhile since we had eaten a good durum, and Pedram was salivating at the chance.  He quickly goes into Brussels mode — double parking the car in the middle of the street, running in, ordering two chicken durums, one with frites inside (me), one with frites outside (him).  Then he ran back into the car and we drove to the Abbey de la cambre to enjoy the durum on a park bench so Rusby could continue to bestow many many gifts to the Belgian public.

In Flemish, please poop here

It is at this moment I realized my husband is a freak of nature.  I snuck one of his fries out in the car, and he practically swerved into traffic while yelling “NO!  You cannot eat the fries like that!!  Do not eat my fries!”  Then, at the park, while I was thoroughly enjoying my durum, I saw that Pedram was only eating his fries.

“I don’t like my fries inside the durum, cause they get soggy.  I prefer them separate.  I get the samurai sauce on the fries, which is spicy, and then I eat all the fries, and then I get the garlic white sauce on my durum, which I only eat once I am done with the fries, and the garlic sauce is so good with the chicken, but my mouth is still feeling the spice from the samurai sauce.  Only once I am done with the durum do I drink anything.”

Ummm….okay, whatever.

Luxembourg was what Luxembourg always is, a good deal of eating (Pedram’s mom tries to ensure that we all get our favorite meals) and hanging out, and walking among cows.  Rusby was loving the extra attention and Pedram’s dad affection and the long walks.  He did not appreciate when Pedram’s brother’s dog, a bisexual french bulldog beast, continually tried to rape him.

Luxembourg is a nice country and although I could never live here, I do tell everyone I know about the things that make it a wonderful place to live.  But on this visit, the feeling of superficiality in such a rich country was more apparent than ever.  I think Rusby was the only dog in all of Luxembourg that didn’t cost more than 1000 euros.  Pedram’s mom joked that it was embarrassing to walk through the city center with such a mutt when everyone else was showcasing their prim and proper thoroughbreds.  Perhaps the most embarrassing part was when Rusby decided to take a dump on the busy Grande Rue.  Everyone is looking each other up and down, judging the watch on your arm, the car you are driving, the handbag you are carrying.  People make more money in Luxembourg than anywhere else in Europe, but they are still hoping to have more because everything in Luxembourg is so ridiculously expensive.

Me: Wow, that car looks expensive.  Where are the door handles?

Pedram:  That car is worth more than our apartment.  The doors slide up, they do not open.

We were clearly out of our element, which is made even more clear by our excitement watching our dog poop and the giddy feeling one gets when you realize, I don’t have to pick up his poop.  In Luxembourg it just evaporates or turns into gold with which the government buys everyone Mercedes with doors that have no handles.

Am making gold right now