Where the sun is.

We’re sitting in the back of this old-school Land Rover. It’s my dad’s: a bumpy ride, with a super loud engine. I’ve got my two older sisters with me. One is sitting in front of me, and the other is on my right. Ear-to-ear smiles on all our faces. One more bump: our heads almost touch the roof.

I’m singing the notes to this bitter-sweet song from an Indian movie. We must’ve seen it twenty times by now -about a singer lover-boy who karate-kicks ass too. It’s a bitter-sweet moment for us. Parents, sitting in the front, mom driving, and dad in the passenger seat, have just gotten back together. And dad, who we just picked up from the hospital, has his left arm extended on the back of the seat, reaching my mom’s shoulder. And he’s playing with her hair. A rare sight for us to see indeed.

This won’t last however. We know it, but we don’t know it yet. Dad drinks. Works himself into a frenzy over the span of days and weeks. Fights ensue. Arguments, self-righteous posturing, walking on eggshells, silence. And fear. Then, a short stay at the hospital “to calm the nerves,” followed by a getting-back-together. Rinse and repeat, no doubt. We know.

A rare moment to relish nonetheless. We’re holding hands and singing together, through the deafening roar of the engine. We’re looking forward, through the windshield of the old-school Land Rover, into the bustling streets of Tehran, where the sun is. And even further, through to a yet unclear distant future. Hoping that there, just like in the ending of our favorite Indian movie, things will be alright.

[April 2023]