the women

 My friend Patrick once told me that he thought
Persian women are the most beautiful women in the
whole world.  I think I can I agree with him.  It’s
amazing.  As I gazed up from my seat at these women
dancing with each other and eyeing each other sultrily
(there were two men on our entire bus), I noticed that
every single one of them had such striking features to
their face.  Most Persian women have the deepest brown
eyes that can go on forever if they let you look at
them long enough.  They are like two dark and
mesmerizing vortexes in the middle of their face.
They rarely have too thick or too thin lips; but they
often gloss them over with some natural color that
makes them look unreal, like in a magazine ad or
something.  They all have these seemingly perfect
bodies if you can imagine them under all the clothing,
but to look so good underneath so much has got to be
quite the feat anyway.  And they are always smiling
and laughing…this is probably most attractive.  I
think it’s because they are never alone.  It is
imperative that they always be with friends or family,
as well as that they always have a good time.  When
they are not laughing or smiling however, they look
impermeable…or rather, like they could take
anything.  Their eyes turn to stone or something.
Maybe I feel this way because I know they can take
anything.  I think their strength, to be able to stand
up to life here, and their softness, to be able to
enjoy it, is incredibly attractive.
 
 As I turned my thoughts and attention to what lay
outside of the bus window, I noticed the traces of
life scattered over these deserted mountains and
valleys.  Here and there peeked unsuspecting holes in
the mountains – caves, which were obviously created
as dwellings from another time – as well as the
tattered remains of adobe fortresses.  These ruins
would surely be exploited as some sort of ancient
attraction anywhere else, but here, in this country so
old that it is believed to house the original site of
the Garden of Eden, they remain untouched and passed
over, merely as pebbles in the mountainous range of
Iran’s history and culture.  Birds which I have
never seen before, beautifully striped in vibrant
black and white, stood out against the browns and
greens of the untouched landscape, and trees, tall and
swaying in the wind, appeared to be standing in line
to await the night.  As we were passing a stretch of
completely bare desert, there in the middle of
absolutely nowhere, lay a ‘“K” line’ train car
abandoned on its side and rusting.  What the hell was
it doing there?  I had to laugh as I used to sit in my
car in Jack London Square waiting for those cursed
train cars to pass when I was already ten minutes late
to work.  Why was it in the middle of nowhere, with
not a house or building in sight, not to mention a
train track?  And how did it get all the way over
here?  I took it as a truce, a sign of good faith from
somewhere, and a reminder that there will always be
home, even if it’s slightly different.  But why
worry about it from all the way over here?  I stopped
being sad then.  There’s nothing I can do about
anything over there from here and if things are
different when I return, so be it.