Melika's blog

Iran, freedom of expression: Who told me?

Melika — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 03:09:54 +0000

For the Iran,
freedom of expression series.

If the newspapers couldn’t write about it,
If the state radio and television would cover it up,
If the journalists and bloggers who talked about it were imprisoned,
tortured, exiled and silenced,
If the witnesses were rounded up and tried and executed

Then, how do I know?
Who told me?
Who showed me?
Who dared to get the word out?

Dear P.O.S.

Melika — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:07:39 +0000

Dear Piece of Shit:

My heart almost leapt out of my throat when I saw your email arrive, the one with the subject line of “Howdy!” At that moment when the email arrived, I realized how much I really cared for you and I was so happy to hear from you again.

My heart melted when I read you address me as before and say:

Exit 86B

Melika — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 10:36:13 +0000

The green digits showed 1:24. How had I missed my exit? Instinct and habit had been shut off through distraction and vision had been blurred through the tears.

Writing love: the petunia message

Melika — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 01:50:21 +0000

A part of the Writing Love series.

Iran, a hope: forgiveness

Melika — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 09:00:41 +0000

For the Iran, a hope collection.

Into the fog

Melika — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 09:08:20 +0000

Iran, a reflection: Superman

Melika — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 18:56:36 +0000

My response to invitation to write.

Everyone knows I am no Superman, everyone except me.

I sit at the dining table, feverishly clicking, pausing, sobbing, clicking.

Inside my bubble

Melika — Sat, 30 May 2009 09:34:02 +0000

The performance hall lights dim. The low chatter of the audience turns into a hush and ends. The curtains pull back to reveal the orchestra in the middle of the stage.

I think I imagine his left knee touching my right. I pull my knee inside my little bubble in my chair. The conductor signals the first group of musicians to start the sweet and sad first movement.

Another goodbye

Melika — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 19:30:14 +0000

So it was time to go. The last few minutes had expanded in my mind where every move, every look, and every word counted as many, dragging on like a movie in super slow motion. The head bent to light up the last cigarette, the smoke-filled room, the unsaid words, the ordinary words, the pauses and silences filled with millions of important and urgent sentences, paragraphs, and books.