Life, paris, thoughts

Wake up and smell the gunpowder

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I wake up but keep my eyes closed. I was having a strange dream where I was at the seaside but couldn’t find my bathing suit. I try to go back to sleep hoping to finally find my bathing suit and swim. I turn in my bed to find a more comfortable position.  Pull the cover up to stay warm. Nothing helps. I have no choice but to open my eyes and face the reality; no sea, no swimming. It’s 7:45 am.

I am looking forward to this day actually. It is a holiday and I have lots of guests for dinner. I love having my friends over. There is always a little moment that becomes a memory and gives sense to it all. I have to cook and arrange the house. I start my day in the kitchen, frying egg-plants and preparing stuffed bell papers. I wash the fruits, set the table, choose the wines, water my flowers, and put the rice in salty water to make it ready to cook. I am taking a risk and cook “shirin-polo“. I don’t know if my friends will like the idea of mixing rice with orange zests, pistachio and almond or not. We will see.

I look at my watch, it is 5:00 pm. I still have time. I decide to stick to my running program and go for the 9-minute run that I am supposed to do. Since last week I have started to run. I am an absolute beginner, so I am following a plan which increases my running sessions progressively. By the end of the month I am supposed to be running for 20 minutes non-stop. I doubt it, but I give it my best.

The weather is warm and it is very crowded around my house. After nine minutes of running I am sweaty and breathless. There is no hope for me to run normally one day. As I walk back home, I watch everybody getting ready for tonight’s big firework in celebration of the French revolution. The famous Bastille day!

It is almost 6 pm. I do the final preparations and take a quick shower. While I am choosing my earrings to match my outfit, I have a moment of longing. How I wish you could be here tonight with us. How I would love to drink a glass of wine with you and laugh at your jokes. I am curious to know if you would like my Iranian rice. I imagine our conversation – I would tell you about my running project and you would definitively give me some sort of advice: “There is no need to put pressure on yourself, go slowly”, or “Do you hydrate yourself enough when you run, it is very important” . I would then smile and you would try to keep your serious look, even though your eyes always give away your playfulness.

Alas! All these remain in my imagination. You and I will never happen …

I hear the bell ring. I leave you in my thoughts and welcome my guests. We finally open the bottle of the sweet wine that I had bought last year and never had the occasion to taste. My friends love the shirin polo and the kashk e bademjan! I am surprised. Maybe they are too drunk or too hungry and everything seems good to them.

The highlight of the night is when we all make a toast to the French revolution for giving us the occasion to be together and we pretend to sing “La Marseillaise”. This is that little moment that I will keep from tonight. I imagine my downstairs’ neighbor in her pajamas cursing at us. I imagine the time of the revolution. I imagine the battlefield and all the dead solders. The sound of the firework resonates in my head. I remember my childhood marinated with revolution, war, bombs and rockets. I think about what French revolution meant to all those countries longing for freedom.

I know, you would have loved to be here with us. I close my eyes and see you gazing at me, as you sometimes do. I laugh and sing:

Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !”