ASYNCH TUESDAY: “Blank”

12:06 PM

I probably should have woken up feeling incredibly happy today. My morning class was canceled so I was able to sleep in. I stayed at my house rather than my dorm last night and for the first time in a while woke up to sunlight shining on my face from the giant windows next to me. However, that was not the case.

“Itchy…constrained…uncomfortable…gross”

Last night, I had fallen asleep on the couch with my laptop in my lap as I was doing homework. At some point in the a.m, I dragged myself to bed. I’m still wearing the baggy jeans, t-shirt, socks, and messy bun from yesterday. I can’t stop fidgeting. My body feels itchy from wearing the constricting clothes for so long. I rub the sides of my eyes because they hurt from not sleeping enough. Sleeping on my necklaces has left deep imprints on my skin. The tag on the collar of my shirt tickles my neck unpleasantly. My scalp aches from the weight of the bun tied atop my head. I fantasize about finishing this, taking a shower, and not feeling gross anymore.

“Still… calm… silence… soft…blank”

At the same time, I feel incredibly calm. No one is at home. It’s been a long time since I’ve been alone and it’s nice. No one is here to perceive me or judge me for waking up in this state. I am in the comfort of my own home with the soft, Snoopy robe my mom gave me wrapped around my body. It’s completely still. The silence makes me think of the word “blank.” Like the day in front of me. I can change it however I please.

5:13 PM

“Alone…soft…warm”

I’m alone again but this time in my dorm room. Since the morning, I’ve taken a shower, changed, picked up food, drove to school, and now I sit here with my soft, freshly washed hair today flowing against the perimeter of my face. The temperature here is perfectly comfortable. My plush blanket is draped around my body to keep me warm and insulate me from the oscillating fan blowing cool air around the room behind me.

“Tension… rings… pressure… Ritz… salty… hungry”

When I check in with myself I notice that there is an undeniable tension in my hands so I immediately slide off my two rings. My temples ache as well. I think I’m dehydrated. I haven’t had any water today. I did just eat a Ritz cracker right before this and I can still taste the buttery saltiness in my mouth. The lingering flavor teases me as I’m incredibly hungry. I guess it was overly optimistic to think that the smoothie I drank earlier would keep me full until dinner. My friends want to eat dinner together later so maybe I’ll make some instant mac n cheese to hold me over until then. I’m eager to see what the rest of the night will offer. Hopefully dinner… soon!

3:21 AM

“Silent… warm…glow… “

It’s silent again. I’m not alone this time because my roommate is sleeping across from me. I sit on my bed, primarily in the dark. The warm glow of my sunset lamp timidly illuminates the short story I’m supposed to read for my English class tomorrow (well today), which lays on my lap in front of me.

I’ve always loved the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning. It is at these times where my anxiety subsides and I feel most capable of being productive. I think it’s because no one is awake at this hour. Therefore, no one can distract me from my work and, more importantly, there is no expectation to be productive like there is in the day. Ironically, the expectation to be productive in the light hours makes it incredibly difficult hard for me to do so.

There’s also something comforting about darkness. When I look at myself in the mirror when it’s dark I don’t have to see the full extent of my dark circles or the redness of my eyes. I can just exist.

“Determined…tired… sore … heavy”

Not too long ago, I woke up from an accidental nap. I can say confidently that I don’t recommend falling asleep on your bed while sitting with your head against the wall. My sore neck concurs.

All night prior to the accidental nap) I‘ve been determined to keep doing schoolwork, but now my eyelids are getting heavy and my battery is running low. I’m going to be so tired in the morning. I can’t do this again.

I can’t change what has already been done, but tomorrow is a new day. A blank page. This time I’ll write it differently.

Dear Monir Joon,

I’m sorry.

When I lived at home you called the landline all the time. You called so often, in fact, that every time the phone rang my sister, Niki, and I would be surprised if it wasn’t you on the other end.

You always said you wanted to talk to my mom, but for some reason, at the times you would call she was never home. Sometimes, I wonder why you didn’t just contact her cell. Maybe it was because you wanted an excuse to chat with my sister and me.

Every conversation sounded roughly the same. After learning that my mom wasn’t home, you would ask how my studies are going, if I’ve eaten yet, and proceed to bless me and my future family with happiness and health for the next 2 minutes. My responses were short and delivered in broken, heavily- accented Farsi. At times, the Farsi was interlaced with English. “When are you coming to visit?” you’d say. “Soon” I’d reply. We both knew that wasn’t true.

Looking back, I feel terrible about not fully matching your enthusiasm. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you. It’s that I had so much I wanted to say and couldn’t. There’s always so much more I want to say to you on a regular basis:

I love your monochromatic outfits. Especially when you wear lime green from head to toe.

I adore how you make the most delicious food, but are unable to give any semblance of a recipe because you eyeball everything.

I smile every time you ask us to take pictures of you when you’re all dressed up.

I laugh so hard whenever you put on the Iranian music video channel solely to roast the artists in front of our whole family.

I wish I could express myself in ways you could understand.

Oftentimes, trying to remember the words to communicate what I’m thinking in Farsi feels like searching for small objects in the dark. I know they are there, but it will take a while before I find it. That’s why I didn’t make too much of an effort to visit you on my own once I had a car. What would I say? How many times would you chuckle at my mispronunciation of words?

Truthfully though, I’ve come to realize that those are all excuses. I can and should do my best to speak with you even if my grammar and pronunciation are incorrect and I’m missing some vocabulary words. There’s no use in being insecure in the way I speak. My pride is worth nothing in comparison to showing you how much I care. The more I put in the effort to speak the language, the better I’ll become at it and the closer I’ll become to you. I have so much left to learn.

So once again… I’m sorry.

Or actually…“bebakhshid.”