Quest Above

I migrated to Canada along with my immediate family in 1983.

Though, at the time being young, I did not realize or predict the repercussions of such an indelible mark on my own history along with its future scars and scabbing, I now whole-heartily recognize the inevitable consequences.

Migration as a voluntary or involuntary act is very symbolic in its nature for the innate sentiments it invokes: illusory senses of belonging to a geography bearing ones primary and unmatched memories.

As much as the memories are tangible and profound, the illusion of "belonging" carries a perpetual nostalgia for the foregone or forsaken objects, relations, loves, and lifestyles.

However, "Belonging" can only exist when there is no mutual transformation; belonging suggests fixation, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual. It is an elusive sense of a frozen state: only possible when ones birthplace stays unchanged and when one remains untransformed.

Aside from the illogic of such assumption, even scientifically nothing (energy or matter) maintains its original state.

There is no status quo in this animate world; even the dead decay and decompose into dust. The magical and yet extremely subtle gift that an immigrant is offered through personal journeys is the wisdom of disillusionment; the gift of not floating above water, but having to take an insightful dive into an underworld of exotic appearances and disappearances.

A sense of "conscious detachment" makes one aware of all the undiscovered elements in life. Belonging infers the existence of elements known by experience.

There are hardly any surprises in a sense of belonging and of course as an unconscious pre-knowledge, this creates a sense of eternal security, invulnerability, and reassurance. As most of us, Iranians, who have resided outside of our homeland for years, we are familiar with the feeling of the immense nostalgia towards even the pettiest details. Sometimes, we may miss "noon-e-sangak", at other times, the ability to listen in on pointless conversations in taxis, or eating chelo-kabab on Friday afternoons.