Around the university there is an alley that I call my secret hiding place. There is nothing secret about it; you just need to walk a few feet away from the entrance door, and it will be in plane sight, yet nobody seems to care there actually is another path to reach the campus beside that crowded, noisy lane everybody seems to be deeply interested in.
Whenever I feel misanthropic and dealing with people becomes too much, I run to my save haven. It is such a quiet place that it is almost surreal. Sure, every now and then cars pass by, and I see some pedestrians once in a while, but there seems to be an unspoken rule that nobody should make a noise.
The alley is wide, and the mighty trees of the autumn stand tall, their heavy branches bending, trying to reach the ground to get free of the restraint they have been bound in from birth. The fallen leaves dance with the rhythm of the wind, and I feel a shiver down my spine.
I walk along the alley, careful not to make a noise to disturb the silence. I think about everything and nothing at all and stare at the tall, dark colored buildings, wondering if they know how I feel. Sometimes I feel like one of them; surrounded by so many like me, yet alone.
My feet carry me to the stone stairs of the park at the end of the alley. They're wide and clean as if they are the stairs of a grand castle. The park is small and the highway can be seen in front of it. It is as if the park is the end of the world where serenity ends and reality begins.
There is nothing unique about the park; there are a few trees here and there and some benches that are colored red, green and orange with shiny paints. Nobody walks in there except a gardener in green that mows the yellow loan from time to time.
In the corner of the misshaped park, there is a slide for children. I calmly walk there and sit on the small steps, turning my back on the park. I rest my chin on my hands and stare at blue sky, the white clouds and the gray asphalt, the trees and the people that pass by. They do not notice me, but I watch them carefully, trying to understand what is going on in their minds. They look so busy that most of them do not even notice the park.
A glance at my old watch reminds me that my time is up. I stand up, wipe the dust from my clothes and walk back to the campus, to people and to everything that seems to matter.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Consent
The young woman tried to take in everything around her with frightened eyes. The hallway was crowded. People in white passed her without taking a glance at her; she felt invisible.
"Can I help you?"
The woman looked at the nurse and nodded. She just wanted the pain to be over. Before she had a chance to talk, her neighbor-she didn't know her much; she even didn't know why the older woman had volunteered to help-replied.
"Yes, she's having a baby." The neighbor pointed her finger at the woman. She didn't seem to know or care that the pale-looking woman was in great pain.
"All right, where is her husband? We need him to sign this form." The nurse waved a piece of paper in the air.
"Oh, he's not here. He's in the garrison. You see, he's a soldier, and he's under duty until tomorrow."
"What about her father?"
"Her parents live in another city. She's alone."
"We have to wait until her husband comes back. There's nothing we can do without his consent."
"I can't stand anymore." The pregnant girl whimpered and fisted her sweaty hands.
"You can take her to that empty room." The nurse pointed to a room a few feet away and went back to writing on a big notebook.
She felt her neighbor-she didn't even know her name-painfully grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the room. Her back hit the hard bed, and she whimpered once more. How much longer did she have to take this pain?
"Is there anyway we can call your husband?" She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the neighbor's voice.
"Well, you better try to sleep then. They won't call the doctor until your husband's here." The woman lay down on the bench in the corner of the room. She was already half asleep.
"But I can't sleep. It hurts too much." She protested as she felt the cramps. Everything was getting blurry.
"Somebody help me, please!" The woman finally screamed, tears escaping her eyes and running down her hollow cheeks. The nurse came to her room after a few minutes of agony.
"I can't take this anymore. Do something!" She was breathing heavily. A white blur came closer to her bed.
"You must be patient until the doctor comes."
"You don't understand! Do something!" She screamed as she grabbed a handful of the woman's uniform in her fist.
"What do you want me to do? It's your first child, isn't it? How old are you?"
"Seventeen," She whispered as she lay her head down on the pillow. It suddenly hurt to speak.
"You need to relax. I'll see if I can find a doctor." The nurse was gone, the neighbor was asleep and she felt abandoned. It seemed she was the only one left on the planet.
She closed her eyes and opened them, again and again. The scenes kept changing, but the pain was there. It was always there and never went away, as long as she remembered.
She could hear screams, but she could not recognize the voice; it was a stranger, but his voice was gentle and his cold hand on her feverish forehead was soothing, and he kept repeating that it was going to be all right, and everything was black and then nothing.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
She opened her eyes slowly. There was no sign of sun; rain drops were hitting against the window, making a soft, rhythmic sound.
"You're awake." She turned her head to the right; the muscles in her neck protested. She knew that woman; it was that nurse.
"Your husband is not here yet." She could not understand what the nurse meant. She felt numb and frozen.
"You have a baby boy. The doctor decided to do the operation without your husband's permission. You were dying, but you're fine now. Everything's fine. I'll go get your baby."
The tired woman stared at the rain drops and slowly nodded as she cleaned the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. Yes, everything was fine.
The neighbor on the bench was softly snoring.
"Can I help you?"
The woman looked at the nurse and nodded. She just wanted the pain to be over. Before she had a chance to talk, her neighbor-she didn't know her much; she even didn't know why the older woman had volunteered to help-replied.
"Yes, she's having a baby." The neighbor pointed her finger at the woman. She didn't seem to know or care that the pale-looking woman was in great pain.
"All right, where is her husband? We need him to sign this form." The nurse waved a piece of paper in the air.
"Oh, he's not here. He's in the garrison. You see, he's a soldier, and he's under duty until tomorrow."
"What about her father?"
"Her parents live in another city. She's alone."
"We have to wait until her husband comes back. There's nothing we can do without his consent."
"I can't stand anymore." The pregnant girl whimpered and fisted her sweaty hands.
"You can take her to that empty room." The nurse pointed to a room a few feet away and went back to writing on a big notebook.
She felt her neighbor-she didn't even know her name-painfully grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the room. Her back hit the hard bed, and she whimpered once more. How much longer did she have to take this pain?
"Is there anyway we can call your husband?" She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the neighbor's voice.
"Well, you better try to sleep then. They won't call the doctor until your husband's here." The woman lay down on the bench in the corner of the room. She was already half asleep.
"But I can't sleep. It hurts too much." She protested as she felt the cramps. Everything was getting blurry.
"Somebody help me, please!" The woman finally screamed, tears escaping her eyes and running down her hollow cheeks. The nurse came to her room after a few minutes of agony.
"I can't take this anymore. Do something!" She was breathing heavily. A white blur came closer to her bed.
"You must be patient until the doctor comes."
"You don't understand! Do something!" She screamed as she grabbed a handful of the woman's uniform in her fist.
"What do you want me to do? It's your first child, isn't it? How old are you?"
"Seventeen," She whispered as she lay her head down on the pillow. It suddenly hurt to speak.
"You need to relax. I'll see if I can find a doctor." The nurse was gone, the neighbor was asleep and she felt abandoned. It seemed she was the only one left on the planet.
She closed her eyes and opened them, again and again. The scenes kept changing, but the pain was there. It was always there and never went away, as long as she remembered.
She could hear screams, but she could not recognize the voice; it was a stranger, but his voice was gentle and his cold hand on her feverish forehead was soothing, and he kept repeating that it was going to be all right, and everything was black and then nothing.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
She opened her eyes slowly. There was no sign of sun; rain drops were hitting against the window, making a soft, rhythmic sound.
"You're awake." She turned her head to the right; the muscles in her neck protested. She knew that woman; it was that nurse.
"Your husband is not here yet." She could not understand what the nurse meant. She felt numb and frozen.
"You have a baby boy. The doctor decided to do the operation without your husband's permission. You were dying, but you're fine now. Everything's fine. I'll go get your baby."
The tired woman stared at the rain drops and slowly nodded as she cleaned the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. Yes, everything was fine.
The neighbor on the bench was softly snoring.
My Mother Never Worked
Version: Two
After hearing that my mother had to do undergo surgery on Thursday, I tried to imagine my life without having her around. I tried not to picture her running around, doing endless chores with that small smile on her face. I tried to imagine going home without her standing at the doorway, waiting for me patiently. I tried to forget the feeling of her cool hand on my feverish forehead whenever I was sick, but that seems impossible. My life without her would be empty and miserable.
Yet, it is funny that I usually don't bother to thank her for the delicious meal she has cooked or the kitchen that she has cleaned. I don't bother to ask her if she needs any help or if there is anything wrong in her life. Yes, I know you and I have taken our mothers for granted, and I'm afraid when we finally realize what a treasure they are, it just might have been too late.
People expect too much from housewives: "Be a perfect cook, perfect woman, perfect wife, perfect mother. Be perfect in everything you can think of. It is your duty! You do not have any jobs, what are you doing with your time?" Have you ever heard them complain? Have you ever seen them give up? It is just who they are: Loveable creatures who will love you until the last day of their lives.
No insurance, no payment, no holidays, it sounds insane to me; it is as if they are machines, designed to work and suffer silently; still, I believe the biggest sacrifice they make is giving up on their dreams. Can you imagine yourself doing that, giving up on something you love? But you and I know they do that every day, because to them it is the family that matters the most.
Knowing that women give all they have to make living comfortable for their family without asking anything in return, or even accepting the tragic ending of "My mother never worked" makes me certain that just because we live in the twenty first century does not mean that injustice does not exist anymore.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Nothing is true; everything is permitted.
Nothing is true; everything is permitted.
Mr. Hussein said this sentence in the critical and creative writing class. For some unknown reason, I've been unable to stop thinking about it. It somehow reminds me of Dostoyevsky's famous sentence in brothers Karamazov which was something like: "If God does not exist, everything is permitted."
In my opinion these two sentences are pretty much the same. We can say that God is the ultimate truth, right? Then if we claim that the first sentence is true, could we claim that God does not exist?
Let's forget about Dostoyevsky for a second. Can we say that there is no truth? Mr. Abednia argued that that there is no single truth. Every body sees things differently, ergo nobody can be purely objective.
I do not like this explanation very much.
Let me give you an example: In the class, I said that there is a board on the wall. Mr. Abednia asked me what the color of the board was and I did not answer, because I was aware that each of the students would have a different opinion about the color, which is exactly my point! We have different opinions! Just because I think the board is green and somebody else blue does not mean that there is no board.
I think truth is like water. If we pour it in a glass, it would be in a shape of a glass. If we pour it in a bowl, it would become like the bowl, but that does not mean that water has become something else. Water is water no matter how it looks.
Ok, I don't know what I'm writing anymore.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
What is writing and what should it involve?
Version: Two
According to some dictionaries, writing is a method of representing language in visual or tactile form. Writing systems use sets of symbols to represent the sounds of speech, and also have symbols for such things as punctuation and numerals.
Writing, in its textual form, began after accounting, calendaring and trading became too complex, and a need for recording historical events emerged. Throughout history, writing developed from ancient scripts on stone and clay tablets to parchments, to the form which we are familiar with nowadays.
Indeed, the description above seems solid and concrete, but why something seems to be amiss? Is this what writing really is?
If we accept that the definition of literacy, according to National Council of Teachers of English, is the ability to read and write and use numeracy, to handle information, to express opinions, to make decisions and solve problems, as family members, workers, citizens and lifelong learners, then we must also accept that our classification of writing is too limited.
The problem starts with the fact that along with writing, we always imagine pen and paper, and in modern times, computers and text messages, whereas I believe it has a much broader meaning. Billboards, prescriptions, restaurant menus, equations and even road signs can be considered pieces of writing that we fail to notice in our everyday life.
Let's broaden our view even further; have you ever heard people say that their life is written, or do you agree with existentialists on the fact that humans are the authors of their own destiny? Do you think that the notes on a music sheet are a form of writing, or a ballet dancer is writing something with each movement of their body?
Do you think that animals will ever be able to write? For example, do you think that if we teach a monkey the alphabet of a certain language, it would be able to write, or do you believe that writing is exclusively a human ability?
In my point of view, writing is a means of creation, and creation is a unique gift that makes mankind different from any other living thing. Creation is what brings us closer to what our souls seek, and writing is the language that helps us reveal this in different forms, even if it's something as simple as a note on a get-well card.
Considering our second question, do you believe that what we learn is enough to make us good writers? And by good writers, I mean writers that can create something valuable and original that can have an impact, if not on the world, their society or the people they associate with, then at least on themselves to show they indeed want to understand and change. Do you think that learning Grammar, punctuation and understanding what supporting sentences are is enough to make a writer out of us?
The answer is no. Of course, these are some of the tools we need to have, for if we create something that is full of flaws, our efforts would be fruitless and the disadvantages would be much more than the benefits, but by no means are they enough.
In order to be a good writer, first, we need to develop our understanding of the world, our ways of thinking, analysis and criticism, and learn to voice our objections and support them when needed. We need to see and read well, gain knowledge, evaluate the information and finally write something-it doesn't necessarily have to be on a piece of paper-that shows that we indeed want to change the world for better.
I do realize that my definition of a good writer appears idealistic or even impractical, but then again maybe that is why we are here. Perhaps we need to bend some rules, break some others and pay a price to make humans, even if it is just ourselves, into writers they are meant to be.
Version: Two
According to some dictionaries, writing is a method of representing language in visual or tactile form. Writing systems use sets of symbols to represent the sounds of speech, and also have symbols for such things as punctuation and numerals.
Writing, in its textual form, began after accounting, calendaring and trading became too complex, and a need for recording historical events emerged. Throughout history, writing developed from ancient scripts on stone and clay tablets to parchments, to the form which we are familiar with nowadays.
Indeed, the description above seems solid and concrete, but why something seems to be amiss? Is this what writing really is?
If we accept that the definition of literacy, according to National Council of Teachers of English, is the ability to read and write and use numeracy, to handle information, to express opinions, to make decisions and solve problems, as family members, workers, citizens and lifelong learners, then we must also accept that our classification of writing is too limited.
The problem starts with the fact that along with writing, we always imagine pen and paper, and in modern times, computers and text messages, whereas I believe it has a much broader meaning. Billboards, prescriptions, restaurant menus, equations and even road signs can be considered pieces of writing that we fail to notice in our everyday life.
Let's broaden our view even further; have you ever heard people say that their life is written, or do you agree with existentialists on the fact that humans are the authors of their own destiny? Do you think that the notes on a music sheet are a form of writing, or a ballet dancer is writing something with each movement of their body?
Do you think that animals will ever be able to write? For example, do you think that if we teach a monkey the alphabet of a certain language, it would be able to write, or do you believe that writing is exclusively a human ability?
In my point of view, writing is a means of creation, and creation is a unique gift that makes mankind different from any other living thing. Creation is what brings us closer to what our souls seek, and writing is the language that helps us reveal this in different forms, even if it's something as simple as a note on a get-well card.
Considering our second question, do you believe that what we learn is enough to make us good writers? And by good writers, I mean writers that can create something valuable and original that can have an impact, if not on the world, their society or the people they associate with, then at least on themselves to show they indeed want to understand and change. Do you think that learning Grammar, punctuation and understanding what supporting sentences are is enough to make a writer out of us?
The answer is no. Of course, these are some of the tools we need to have, for if we create something that is full of flaws, our efforts would be fruitless and the disadvantages would be much more than the benefits, but by no means are they enough.
In order to be a good writer, first, we need to develop our understanding of the world, our ways of thinking, analysis and criticism, and learn to voice our objections and support them when needed. We need to see and read well, gain knowledge, evaluate the information and finally write something-it doesn't necessarily have to be on a piece of paper-that shows that we indeed want to change the world for better.
I do realize that my definition of a good writer appears idealistic or even impractical, but then again maybe that is why we are here. Perhaps we need to bend some rules, break some others and pay a price to make humans, even if it is just ourselves, into writers they are meant to be.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Alienation and Superstitions
Alienation: Dr. Sharyati has given a fine example of alienation in one of his articles: He mentioned Charlie Chaplin's movie "modern times", in which the tramp changed from a human being who was capable of feeling, expressing emotions and being human to a factory worker whose job was just to screw nuts. In the movie, the tramp lost himself, and that is what alienation means.
Religious alienation: "is nearly the most common of all forms of alienation. For by putting forth clearly defined moral rules that often conflict heavily with natural human instincts, religion tends to guarantee that those who follow their gut instincts become sinners and thus alienated. The majority of people in a religion were socialized as children in it, and this is a clear case of involuntary exclusivity. The socialization process in regards to religion reaches to such a deep extent of the human psyche that years after deviating from the most rational people still feel as though they are sinners, deep down."(Alienation definition by Alexander Chapman and Leoy Chan)
I believe religious alienation is exactly what some of our people are suffering from. This alienation prevents them from seeing the truth, and unfortunately, there are some people who are benefiting from this. Prison does not have to be a confined place. This is a prison in its worst kind." A prison that you cannot smell, taste or touch, a prison for your mind."(The Matrix)
So you see, our problem is much bigger than what it looks like. Is anyone surprised that some people believe in some silly superstitions? As long as this problem exists, not much is going to change.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
AN: This is a reply to Mr. Naghipoor's nice article "more superstitions".
Religious alienation: "is nearly the most common of all forms of alienation. For by putting forth clearly defined moral rules that often conflict heavily with natural human instincts, religion tends to guarantee that those who follow their gut instincts become sinners and thus alienated. The majority of people in a religion were socialized as children in it, and this is a clear case of involuntary exclusivity. The socialization process in regards to religion reaches to such a deep extent of the human psyche that years after deviating from the most rational people still feel as though they are sinners, deep down."(Alienation definition by Alexander Chapman and Leoy Chan)
I believe religious alienation is exactly what some of our people are suffering from. This alienation prevents them from seeing the truth, and unfortunately, there are some people who are benefiting from this. Prison does not have to be a confined place. This is a prison in its worst kind." A prison that you cannot smell, taste or touch, a prison for your mind."(The Matrix)
So you see, our problem is much bigger than what it looks like. Is anyone surprised that some people believe in some silly superstitions? As long as this problem exists, not much is going to change.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
AN: This is a reply to Mr. Naghipoor's nice article "more superstitions".
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Responsibility
I'm scared these days.
The Election Day is getting closer and closer.
Some are defending the candidates they want to vote for, some others are bashing the other candidates, and there are some who prefer to sit in the back seat and do nothing at all.
I feel like I am stuck in the middle. I try to keep an open mind. I try to consider every aspect before making a decision, but it is easier said than done.
The biggest problem is that I do not know how to get to know the candidates. Frankly, I do not trust what people say. It is worse when it comes to newspapers and the media. I get so frustrated sometimes. Why does politics have to be so complicated?
And I am scared. I am afraid that I might make the wrong choice. I know it sounds silly. It is just one vote after all, but it is all I can do for my country at the moment, and making a wrong choice sounds like betraying my people to me.
Voting is a big responsibility, isn't it?
The Election Day is getting closer and closer.
Some are defending the candidates they want to vote for, some others are bashing the other candidates, and there are some who prefer to sit in the back seat and do nothing at all.
I feel like I am stuck in the middle. I try to keep an open mind. I try to consider every aspect before making a decision, but it is easier said than done.
The biggest problem is that I do not know how to get to know the candidates. Frankly, I do not trust what people say. It is worse when it comes to newspapers and the media. I get so frustrated sometimes. Why does politics have to be so complicated?
And I am scared. I am afraid that I might make the wrong choice. I know it sounds silly. It is just one vote after all, but it is all I can do for my country at the moment, and making a wrong choice sounds like betraying my people to me.
Voting is a big responsibility, isn't it?
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Cumulative Sentence
He is a strict man, tall and thin with long hands and legs and a straight back, not much hair, eyebrows that are closer to his eyes than they should be, a large nose, a mustache that has turned gray and a straight line on his face that never bends upwards.
The Freight-train Style
I stand on the edge and I spread my arms and the wind is blowing on my face and the stars are shinning above my head and the cars are passing by beneath my feet and they are whispering my name and the gravity is bringing me down and I know I will be in their hard arms soon.
The Segregating Style
She threw the glue out the window.
The teacher walked in and shut the door with a loud bang. The markers fell from their place. He walked towards the chair with angry steps and threw his worn-out bag on the white desk. He glared at anything his eyes could reach and sat on the chair.
Everybody smiled.
He was not going to leave that chair anytime soon.
The teacher walked in and shut the door with a loud bang. The markers fell from their place. He walked towards the chair with angry steps and threw his worn-out bag on the white desk. He glared at anything his eyes could reach and sat on the chair.
Everybody smiled.
He was not going to leave that chair anytime soon.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
A Paragraph in Segregating Style
The hands of the clock stopped on twelve: It was midnight.
The man turned the key in the lock, and the door opened with a loud click. He walked in slowly. The moonlight cast a long shadow on the cold floor. He paused for a moment, then started to walk towards the bed, where she sat trembling.
He was holding something in his gloved hands.
The man stood close to her and stared at her wide eyes. His heavy breaths filled the silence of the room. He stretched out his hands, and the key fell on the floor. Its metallic sound hit the walls and echoed in the room.
She gasped in surprise.
He smiled then, put the box on her lap and whispered, "Happy Birthday."
The man turned the key in the lock, and the door opened with a loud click. He walked in slowly. The moonlight cast a long shadow on the cold floor. He paused for a moment, then started to walk towards the bed, where she sat trembling.
He was holding something in his gloved hands.
The man stood close to her and stared at her wide eyes. His heavy breaths filled the silence of the room. He stretched out his hands, and the key fell on the floor. Its metallic sound hit the walls and echoed in the room.
She gasped in surprise.
He smiled then, put the box on her lap and whispered, "Happy Birthday."
Friday, May 15, 2009
Puzzle
Life is like a jigsaw puzzle; it is made of hundreds of irregular pieces, and we are here to put them together. Some puzzles are simple and easy; some others are difficult and complicated. Some of them are black and white; some others are bright and colorful. Some are small; some are big; nevertheless, they all need to be done.
We put the box lid picture in front of us so as to use it as our guideline. Then we spread the puzzle pieces and start organizing. We make the border line, and then we work on the inner pieces.
Sometimes we get impatient. We want it to be over. Sometimes we get frustrated and throw the pieces away, but we end up picking them up and starting all over again. Sometimes we get stuck, and we seek help of the more experienced ones. Sometimes we insist on doing it alone. Sometimes we get tired and decide to let go, but we always end up coming back.
Some people finally give up and their puzzle will always stay incomplete, but some people finally put it all together and nothing is as beautiful as that picture.
After it is done, some puzzles are undone and another person starts putting it together again, but some others are framed and hung on a wall, and they will be remembered by all for all time.
We put the box lid picture in front of us so as to use it as our guideline. Then we spread the puzzle pieces and start organizing. We make the border line, and then we work on the inner pieces.
Sometimes we get impatient. We want it to be over. Sometimes we get frustrated and throw the pieces away, but we end up picking them up and starting all over again. Sometimes we get stuck, and we seek help of the more experienced ones. Sometimes we insist on doing it alone. Sometimes we get tired and decide to let go, but we always end up coming back.
Some people finally give up and their puzzle will always stay incomplete, but some people finally put it all together and nothing is as beautiful as that picture.
After it is done, some puzzles are undone and another person starts putting it together again, but some others are framed and hung on a wall, and they will be remembered by all for all time.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
If I Were to Die
There is something interesting about thinking about death; it makes you understand what you care about the most, what you will regret losing, and whom you will miss not seeing anymore. What if I were to die?
If I were to die tomorrow, I would tell my mother how much I love her. I would thank her for the delicious meals she cooked, and the nights she took care of me when I was sick. I would tell her she is the best friend that I have ever had, and if I were to choose my mother, I would choose her all over again. I would tell my father that he is the one who taught me discipline and strength. He is the one who showed me how to handle setbacks, and gave me everything I needed without any complains. He is the one whom I admired the most.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would tell my brothers that even though we didn't get to live with each other in the same house for a long time, I still consider them as the best brothers anyone could wish to have, any they are the ones whom I always looked up to.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would visit my old grandmother, and listen to the tales of the old times. I would kiss her hands, run my fingers through her soft hair and tell her how much I would miss her kind smiles.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would pay a visit to my best friend and talk about all the good and bad times we had together. I would tell her that she is the one who gave meaning to my life when it had lost its meaning to me.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would spend some quality time with my nephews. I would play soccer with them and we would eat delicious ice-creams together. I would spend some time with my lovely niece and tell her that even though I never had the courage to say it, I love her as if she were my own sister.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would spend some time with my old classmates with whom I spent seven years. I would tell them they are the ones whom I will miss the most, and I would ask them to go to a restaurant together for one last time. Hopefully, the owner wouldn't throw us out this time.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would visit my roommates and tell them they are the ones from whom I learnt tolerance, co-existence and cooking to some extent.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would thank all of the people who thought me how to think and grow as a person. I would thank all the people who inspired me and helped me achieve my dreams.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would go to our cherry garden, the place in which I have wonderful memories. I would sit on the wooden benches under the green branches of the tall trees and remember all the good times I had with my family. I would play a last game of chess with my brother and eat a plate full of red cherries. I would play badminton with my niece and walk down to the dried river with my mother. I would watch the Matrix and listen to the Black album. I would spend the night under the clear sky and enjoy the silence for the last time, and then I am sure I would die in peace.
And I always wonder why I cannot do all those things now.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would tell my mother how much I love her. I would thank her for the delicious meals she cooked, and the nights she took care of me when I was sick. I would tell her she is the best friend that I have ever had, and if I were to choose my mother, I would choose her all over again. I would tell my father that he is the one who taught me discipline and strength. He is the one who showed me how to handle setbacks, and gave me everything I needed without any complains. He is the one whom I admired the most.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would tell my brothers that even though we didn't get to live with each other in the same house for a long time, I still consider them as the best brothers anyone could wish to have, any they are the ones whom I always looked up to.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would visit my old grandmother, and listen to the tales of the old times. I would kiss her hands, run my fingers through her soft hair and tell her how much I would miss her kind smiles.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would pay a visit to my best friend and talk about all the good and bad times we had together. I would tell her that she is the one who gave meaning to my life when it had lost its meaning to me.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would spend some quality time with my nephews. I would play soccer with them and we would eat delicious ice-creams together. I would spend some time with my lovely niece and tell her that even though I never had the courage to say it, I love her as if she were my own sister.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would spend some time with my old classmates with whom I spent seven years. I would tell them they are the ones whom I will miss the most, and I would ask them to go to a restaurant together for one last time. Hopefully, the owner wouldn't throw us out this time.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would visit my roommates and tell them they are the ones from whom I learnt tolerance, co-existence and cooking to some extent.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would thank all of the people who thought me how to think and grow as a person. I would thank all the people who inspired me and helped me achieve my dreams.
If I were to die tomorrow, I would go to our cherry garden, the place in which I have wonderful memories. I would sit on the wooden benches under the green branches of the tall trees and remember all the good times I had with my family. I would play a last game of chess with my brother and eat a plate full of red cherries. I would play badminton with my niece and walk down to the dried river with my mother. I would watch the Matrix and listen to the Black album. I would spend the night under the clear sky and enjoy the silence for the last time, and then I am sure I would die in peace.
And I always wonder why I cannot do all those things now.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Living in Fog
Imagine a twelve-year-old boy who has lost his parents. Imagine a twelve-year-old boy who has lost his parents and is supposed to take care of his three siblings who are all younger than him. Imagine this family in a remote village in Kurdistan where there is no clean water to drink and not much to eat.
Living in fog is a documentary about that boy. There are some things that will stay with you forever, and this was one of them for me. The hardship he had to endure to make money so his sister could study, the place they called their house, and the way they were living…it was somehow impossible to believe.
What I felt though, was not pity. It was admiration and respect, and I felt ashamed; ashamed because of who I am and how ignorantly I am living; ashamed because we have everything we need, and yet we do not feel responsible. Of course we are responsible! We are in charge to make world a better place, and look how busy we are making money and spending it on luxurious cars and expensive carpets!
What I saw in that young boy's eyes was freedom, and what is reflected in our eyes is confinement. We are imprisoned in our worldly needs, and we go on living, unaware and oblivious. We drown a little bit more everyday, and one day when we finally open our eyes, it will have been too late.
I pray to God to give me the power to close my eyes to the ornaments of the world and open them to the truth. I pray to God to help me be a better person, and I know that with your help my dreams will come true.
............................................................................................................................
Inspired by Ramin Nourbakhsh's article "A Bubbling Spring"
Living in fog is a documentary about that boy. There are some things that will stay with you forever, and this was one of them for me. The hardship he had to endure to make money so his sister could study, the place they called their house, and the way they were living…it was somehow impossible to believe.
What I felt though, was not pity. It was admiration and respect, and I felt ashamed; ashamed because of who I am and how ignorantly I am living; ashamed because we have everything we need, and yet we do not feel responsible. Of course we are responsible! We are in charge to make world a better place, and look how busy we are making money and spending it on luxurious cars and expensive carpets!
What I saw in that young boy's eyes was freedom, and what is reflected in our eyes is confinement. We are imprisoned in our worldly needs, and we go on living, unaware and oblivious. We drown a little bit more everyday, and one day when we finally open our eyes, it will have been too late.
I pray to God to give me the power to close my eyes to the ornaments of the world and open them to the truth. I pray to God to help me be a better person, and I know that with your help my dreams will come true.
............................................................................................................................
Inspired by Ramin Nourbakhsh's article "A Bubbling Spring"
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Existentialism
Origins
The term "Existentialism" has been used by many philosophers such as Friedrich Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Heidegger and also some very famous writers such as Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Kafka. Although these people have helped a lot in the Existentialism movement, Kierkegaard has been named "the Father of Existentialism".
After the Second World War, Western societies were in dire need of new leaders and new ideas, and this school of thought gained respect and popularity thanks to the help of philosophers like Sartre and Camas.
Existence VS Essence
Existence comes from the Latin word "existere" which means "to stand out". Existentialism is based on the fact that everything has essence and existence. What is important to note is that in every creature essence precedes existence. To elaborate on this a little, imagine a painter with a white piece of paper. The piece of paper is blank, but the painter has the idea in his head. He has the picture in his mind and he knows exactly what he is going to draw. That "idea" is the essence.
Human beings are an entirely different matter. Humans first exist and then they "define" themselves. They are born and through time they learn to make their own essence. The positive side of this belief is that people can be anybody they choose to be. You can be a good person instead of a cruel one; your faith is in your own hands.
Reason
Existentialists are against definitions of human beings as "rational". Sartre believed that what you "feel" is right is the right thing to do. What has meaning to you is the rational thing to do. He recounts that:
Once one of my followers came to me and said that he wanted to go to London to help and promote Existentialism, but his mother was very sick, and if he left her, she would die. He wanted to know what the right thing was. I asked him what he wanted to do, and he replied that he wanted to stay with his mother. I told him it is the right thing to do. If he had chosen to go to London, I would have said the same thing.
Responsibility
Defining yourself is indeed a very big responsibility. That is why philosophers believe that Existentialism values man kind more than Marxism, Naturalism or even Liberalism. This issue though, brings up another matter which is known as "angst".
Angst
The fact that you have to make your own essence, and you are responsible not only for your own life, but sometime for others' too (Assuming that human beings define themselves, when one does something right, that will inevitably becomes a "Value" that others would want to follow), Puts people in an extreme state of anxiety. According to Sartre, this anxiety is different from the angst Nihilists feel. This kind of anxiety is constructive and important to make men grow.
Loneliness
People who follow certain religions believe that men have a part of God with them. Naturalists believe that men are a part of nature, but Existentialists believe that humans are something entirely different. This belief has made them lonely. There is nothing in this world they can relate to, and worse that that, there are no morals. There are no goods and evils. Radicals do not believe in God either, but they believe in something common in men that stops them from wrongdoing and that is called "conscience", but without God and conscience, what is there to stop them from Cruelty?
My Opinion
I believe that after the failure of communism, Radicalism and Naturalism, Existentialism can be considered a very strong school of thought based on logic and reason. Its weakest point though, is the lack of what we human beings need the most these days, and that is morality. Without Morality, living is almost impossible and for this very reason, Existentialism is weak.
Author's Note: this is a summery of what I have understood from Existentialism. I could be very wrong about the things I have written. If I have made any mistakes in concept or Grammar, feel free to correct me. I would appreciate it.
The term "Existentialism" has been used by many philosophers such as Friedrich Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Heidegger and also some very famous writers such as Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Kafka. Although these people have helped a lot in the Existentialism movement, Kierkegaard has been named "the Father of Existentialism".
After the Second World War, Western societies were in dire need of new leaders and new ideas, and this school of thought gained respect and popularity thanks to the help of philosophers like Sartre and Camas.
Existence VS Essence
Existence comes from the Latin word "existere" which means "to stand out". Existentialism is based on the fact that everything has essence and existence. What is important to note is that in every creature essence precedes existence. To elaborate on this a little, imagine a painter with a white piece of paper. The piece of paper is blank, but the painter has the idea in his head. He has the picture in his mind and he knows exactly what he is going to draw. That "idea" is the essence.
Human beings are an entirely different matter. Humans first exist and then they "define" themselves. They are born and through time they learn to make their own essence. The positive side of this belief is that people can be anybody they choose to be. You can be a good person instead of a cruel one; your faith is in your own hands.
Reason
Existentialists are against definitions of human beings as "rational". Sartre believed that what you "feel" is right is the right thing to do. What has meaning to you is the rational thing to do. He recounts that:
Once one of my followers came to me and said that he wanted to go to London to help and promote Existentialism, but his mother was very sick, and if he left her, she would die. He wanted to know what the right thing was. I asked him what he wanted to do, and he replied that he wanted to stay with his mother. I told him it is the right thing to do. If he had chosen to go to London, I would have said the same thing.
Responsibility
Defining yourself is indeed a very big responsibility. That is why philosophers believe that Existentialism values man kind more than Marxism, Naturalism or even Liberalism. This issue though, brings up another matter which is known as "angst".
Angst
The fact that you have to make your own essence, and you are responsible not only for your own life, but sometime for others' too (Assuming that human beings define themselves, when one does something right, that will inevitably becomes a "Value" that others would want to follow), Puts people in an extreme state of anxiety. According to Sartre, this anxiety is different from the angst Nihilists feel. This kind of anxiety is constructive and important to make men grow.
Loneliness
People who follow certain religions believe that men have a part of God with them. Naturalists believe that men are a part of nature, but Existentialists believe that humans are something entirely different. This belief has made them lonely. There is nothing in this world they can relate to, and worse that that, there are no morals. There are no goods and evils. Radicals do not believe in God either, but they believe in something common in men that stops them from wrongdoing and that is called "conscience", but without God and conscience, what is there to stop them from Cruelty?
My Opinion
I believe that after the failure of communism, Radicalism and Naturalism, Existentialism can be considered a very strong school of thought based on logic and reason. Its weakest point though, is the lack of what we human beings need the most these days, and that is morality. Without Morality, living is almost impossible and for this very reason, Existentialism is weak.
Author's Note: this is a summery of what I have understood from Existentialism. I could be very wrong about the things I have written. If I have made any mistakes in concept or Grammar, feel free to correct me. I would appreciate it.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Knowledge for Knowledge
Have you ever noticed how the meaning of science has changed? The change has been so subtle and gradual that most truth seekers of our time might have overlooked it, but it has changed, and that is the sad truth. The knowledge that used to be for finding the truth has turned to the knowledge for seeking power.
Magnificently, science took religion’s place with the promise of a better world, and now it is making more money than any kind of business. Students gain the knowledge, and superior countries and famous companies buy them for their own profits. Irony is in the fact that these people do it with no shame and no hesitation. This is the science that exists today. Our modern science has lost the holiness it once proudly possessed, and truth that used to show us “the right path” has changed to the truth that is all about economy and entertainment, and this is how ideology changes to technology.
Science is betraying the mankind, and an ideologist who is not aware of this is a betrayer himself. Men and science left the sanctuaries to substitute technology for love and make heaven on earth. This heaven though, is made of only one substance: money; a kind of heaven in which love, honor, beauty and art do not exist.
Now science is in the hands of people whose worth is based on the money in their pockets; People who value the beauty of art by hanging master pieces on their living room walls, and make science the play toy of their children.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Inspired by Dr. Shariaty’s article “Freedom”
Magnificently, science took religion’s place with the promise of a better world, and now it is making more money than any kind of business. Students gain the knowledge, and superior countries and famous companies buy them for their own profits. Irony is in the fact that these people do it with no shame and no hesitation. This is the science that exists today. Our modern science has lost the holiness it once proudly possessed, and truth that used to show us “the right path” has changed to the truth that is all about economy and entertainment, and this is how ideology changes to technology.
Science is betraying the mankind, and an ideologist who is not aware of this is a betrayer himself. Men and science left the sanctuaries to substitute technology for love and make heaven on earth. This heaven though, is made of only one substance: money; a kind of heaven in which love, honor, beauty and art do not exist.
Now science is in the hands of people whose worth is based on the money in their pockets; People who value the beauty of art by hanging master pieces on their living room walls, and make science the play toy of their children.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Inspired by Dr. Shariaty’s article “Freedom”
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Bread and Cheese
Sometimes you are waiting for happiness to come to you. What you do not know is that it is waiting for you right around the corner. You can find it when you are hungry and complaining to your friends of your tiring day. You sit with them on the floor with nothing to eat but bread and cheese, and then it suddenly happens; you feel lighter than before, and you find yourself laughing as they make you eat cheese with halva (I do not recommend it at all.). Time passes by quickly, and you stare at their eyes shining with hope and joy. You look at your reflection in those sparkling orbs and for a few minutes, just a few minutes, reasons, beginnings and endings do not matter anymore. You eat bread and cheese, laugh with friends, and you tell your self this is how simple life is, and this is how life is meant to be.
Monday, April 20, 2009
of Animals and Their Instincts
Of Animals and Their Instincts
I recall that when I was still a kid, there used to be a lot of cats in our alley. I remember they used to be quite scared of people. Their favorite places were under the cars and on top of the trees, so nobody could see them. I remember whenever my grandmother made a “phisht” sound, they would run away and never come back again. The same rule applied to birds. I rarely saw them on the ground.
Things are quite different these days. I do not know what has happened, but it seems like that their instincts have changed somehow. There is a cat living near my brother’s house. When he tried to kick it with his foot, the stubborn animal clung to it and didn’t let go! And Birds! It seems like they are living on the ground now, and they stare at you as you pass by! Is it possible that they have learned to adapt to our world? If it is so, is it a good thing or not? If it goes on like this, I am afraid they may actually attack us one day!
I recall that when I was still a kid, there used to be a lot of cats in our alley. I remember they used to be quite scared of people. Their favorite places were under the cars and on top of the trees, so nobody could see them. I remember whenever my grandmother made a “phisht” sound, they would run away and never come back again. The same rule applied to birds. I rarely saw them on the ground.
Things are quite different these days. I do not know what has happened, but it seems like that their instincts have changed somehow. There is a cat living near my brother’s house. When he tried to kick it with his foot, the stubborn animal clung to it and didn’t let go! And Birds! It seems like they are living on the ground now, and they stare at you as you pass by! Is it possible that they have learned to adapt to our world? If it is so, is it a good thing or not? If it goes on like this, I am afraid they may actually attack us one day!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
An Apology
Has it ever happened to you when you are not sure if you are awake or still dreaming? It is more like sleep walking. You walk, talk, and shake hands with people, but you are only vaguely aware of it. It is not a pleasant feeling, especially when your friend has to repeat the same question three times.
Unfortunately today (Yesterdays to be more accurate) was one of those days for me. I do not know how, when or why it happened; I just realized I could not concentrate on anything. I am telling you all this because I may have forgotten to say hello to a few of you or may have said so more than necessary to a few others. So if I have ignored, offended or bothered anyone today, please accept my sincere apology for I was not myself.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
A.N: Due to Mr. Forghan Parast's insuperable aversion to exclamation marks, all of them are removed from this piece of writing.
Regarding Punctuation
Now I know by looking at this title you are all thinking, “What a shoe licker. She’s writing this just to attract Mr. Forghan Parast’s attention.” Believe me when I say that is not the case at all.
A few years ago when I was still a sophomore in high school, I registered in a site which was for a group of young writers. After a long time of reading stories, I decided to post a story (which was pretty lousy by the way). The next morning I was really eager to read the reviews to see what they thought of it. What struck me as odd was that not many people cared about the plot. Instead there were tons of reviews regarding punctuation. They were mostly like, “Do you even know how to use a comma?” or “The idea is good, but the punctuation…”
A few of them recommended that I should get a beta. A beta is a person (usually a native English speaker) who has a fairly good understanding of English grammar, spelling and punctuation (especially comma). It was with my beta’s help that I learned to write a little, but I have to admit that I used to use the comma to the point that she would threaten not to correct my mistakes anymore.
I have written this to sincerely thank Mr. Forghan Parast because after a long, long time, I might be able to impress my beta (If not with the plot, then at least with the punctuation.).
Unfortunately today (Yesterdays to be more accurate) was one of those days for me. I do not know how, when or why it happened; I just realized I could not concentrate on anything. I am telling you all this because I may have forgotten to say hello to a few of you or may have said so more than necessary to a few others. So if I have ignored, offended or bothered anyone today, please accept my sincere apology for I was not myself.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
A.N: Due to Mr. Forghan Parast's insuperable aversion to exclamation marks, all of them are removed from this piece of writing.
Regarding Punctuation
Now I know by looking at this title you are all thinking, “What a shoe licker. She’s writing this just to attract Mr. Forghan Parast’s attention.” Believe me when I say that is not the case at all.
A few years ago when I was still a sophomore in high school, I registered in a site which was for a group of young writers. After a long time of reading stories, I decided to post a story (which was pretty lousy by the way). The next morning I was really eager to read the reviews to see what they thought of it. What struck me as odd was that not many people cared about the plot. Instead there were tons of reviews regarding punctuation. They were mostly like, “Do you even know how to use a comma?” or “The idea is good, but the punctuation…”
A few of them recommended that I should get a beta. A beta is a person (usually a native English speaker) who has a fairly good understanding of English grammar, spelling and punctuation (especially comma). It was with my beta’s help that I learned to write a little, but I have to admit that I used to use the comma to the point that she would threaten not to correct my mistakes anymore.
I have written this to sincerely thank Mr. Forghan Parast because after a long, long time, I might be able to impress my beta (If not with the plot, then at least with the punctuation.).
Friday, April 17, 2009
Problems
The moment you start talking about a problem, it becomes much more than that. It doesn't matter what kind of setback it is; it could be an argument with a friend, a subject you have trouble understanding, or it could be something trivial you have lost.
At first it is just a feeling. You feel uncomfortable thinking about it. It bothers you to some extent, but it is nothing more than that. When you start talking about it, it turns into something monstrous, especially if the listener agrees with you. Then you can't stand it anymore. It becomes the only think you can think of, and you won't rest until the matter is solved. The horrible thing is, the more you struggle with it, the harder it becomes to handle it, and something so small suddenly becomes the first step of all the bigger troubles to come, but I have learned my lesson the hard way. I will never talk about my problems again.
At first it is just a feeling. You feel uncomfortable thinking about it. It bothers you to some extent, but it is nothing more than that. When you start talking about it, it turns into something monstrous, especially if the listener agrees with you. Then you can't stand it anymore. It becomes the only think you can think of, and you won't rest until the matter is solved. The horrible thing is, the more you struggle with it, the harder it becomes to handle it, and something so small suddenly becomes the first step of all the bigger troubles to come, but I have learned my lesson the hard way. I will never talk about my problems again.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
of Heroes and Outcasts
The reason why we like to watch movies and read novels so much is because the heroes, and sometimes the anti-heroes, are somehow unique. They are beyond the everyday life of common people. The way they think, talk, behave and live is not what we expect, and that is why they pull us in; they do not tire us. In every page, in every scene, they have something new to say, and that is what we love the most about them.
The funny thing is if we happen to have an opportunity to meet one in real life, our reaction will be quite different. In real life, we do not want people to behave differently. We do not like extraordinary; We do not like unusual. It scares us; it sometimes makes us question all the decisions we have made so far, and that is something we do not need.
I have a roommate who, according to other roommates, is weird. She seems to do things in a way no one expects her to, and I have to admit that it is sometimes very frustrating. It could be a weird way of washing the dishes, an odd time for studying, her love for Napoleon, or the way she answers questions by means of poetry. Some others don't like her. She annoys them; she makes them angry, and that's why they call her an outcast. They treat her as an inanimate object. I find her fascinating. I find her a new movie to watch. I find her an unending book that never gets boring, and I'm grateful for having her as a roommate because the least she has given me is a new subject to write about.
The funny thing is if we happen to have an opportunity to meet one in real life, our reaction will be quite different. In real life, we do not want people to behave differently. We do not like extraordinary; We do not like unusual. It scares us; it sometimes makes us question all the decisions we have made so far, and that is something we do not need.
I have a roommate who, according to other roommates, is weird. She seems to do things in a way no one expects her to, and I have to admit that it is sometimes very frustrating. It could be a weird way of washing the dishes, an odd time for studying, her love for Napoleon, or the way she answers questions by means of poetry. Some others don't like her. She annoys them; she makes them angry, and that's why they call her an outcast. They treat her as an inanimate object. I find her fascinating. I find her a new movie to watch. I find her an unending book that never gets boring, and I'm grateful for having her as a roommate because the least she has given me is a new subject to write about.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Belief
Imam Ali has said a beautiful sentence about belief: "The person who believes in water will never stay thirsty." Allow me to elaborate on this a little.
Imagine two men in a remote desert. They are very thirsty, but they have never drunk water in their entire lives. They have just heard that somewhere on this planet water exists, and if they find it, they will be able to quench their thirst. One of these men decides to believe in the existence of water and starts to search for it while the other one thinks why he should believe in something he has never seen? What if they have lied to him? What if this is all a joke? What do you think will happen? The man who simply believed in the existence of water will eventually find it and he will stay alive, and the other one…will die.
I think the very same rule applies to us. There are a lot of things we have not seen, but we are told to believe in them. We have to make a choice. We have to be one of those men. I do not know if what I am told is the truth. I do not know whether this path I have chosen will have a happy ending or not, but I know even if I do not find what I am looking for, hope will keep me alive.
Imagine two men in a remote desert. They are very thirsty, but they have never drunk water in their entire lives. They have just heard that somewhere on this planet water exists, and if they find it, they will be able to quench their thirst. One of these men decides to believe in the existence of water and starts to search for it while the other one thinks why he should believe in something he has never seen? What if they have lied to him? What if this is all a joke? What do you think will happen? The man who simply believed in the existence of water will eventually find it and he will stay alive, and the other one…will die.
I think the very same rule applies to us. There are a lot of things we have not seen, but we are told to believe in them. We have to make a choice. We have to be one of those men. I do not know if what I am told is the truth. I do not know whether this path I have chosen will have a happy ending or not, but I know even if I do not find what I am looking for, hope will keep me alive.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Black and White
Agent Smith: Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world where none suffered? Where everyone would be happy? It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire Crops were lost. Some believed that we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect worlds, but I believe that as a species, human beings define their realities through misery and suffering…
These are Agent Smith's words to Morpheus in the movie The Matrix. I don't like agent Smith any more than any of you do, but these words somehow attracted my attention. It's frightening how true they are. Misery seems to be a part of Human's nature.
Let's go back to the time of Adams and Eve. They were in heaven. They were living in a perfect world, but why would Adam make that legendary mistake and descend to earth? Why would he choose the misery of living on earth instead of paradise? He was lucky God forgave him, but then again maybe sin and forgiveness are two sides of the same coin. Maybe he had every intention of sending Adam to earth, the house of misery and struggling as Imam Ali beautifully describes it.
Would any of us accept to live in a perfect world? It seems amusing at first, but imagine no problem to solve, no one to help, no sadness, no tears…it's unbearable. We need misery to survive. When you're completely satisfied, you're dead, and that's the magnificence of black because without it, white would be just another color.
These are Agent Smith's words to Morpheus in the movie The Matrix. I don't like agent Smith any more than any of you do, but these words somehow attracted my attention. It's frightening how true they are. Misery seems to be a part of Human's nature.
Let's go back to the time of Adams and Eve. They were in heaven. They were living in a perfect world, but why would Adam make that legendary mistake and descend to earth? Why would he choose the misery of living on earth instead of paradise? He was lucky God forgave him, but then again maybe sin and forgiveness are two sides of the same coin. Maybe he had every intention of sending Adam to earth, the house of misery and struggling as Imam Ali beautifully describes it.
Would any of us accept to live in a perfect world? It seems amusing at first, but imagine no problem to solve, no one to help, no sadness, no tears…it's unbearable. We need misery to survive. When you're completely satisfied, you're dead, and that's the magnificence of black because without it, white would be just another color.
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