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December 27, 1982 Istanbul, Ataturk airport. I always knew how to hate; I hated the stare of the travelers standing in line, ranting or laughing out loud, assured of their lawful status, and I hated the airport’s bathrooms, with half-walls … Continue reading
Last year I tried to translate the first chapter of my first novel in Persian…and it wasn’t a very successful attempt: استانبول، فرودگاه آتاتورک ۲۷ دسامبر ۱۹۸۲ من همیشه میدانستم چگونه باید نفرت داشت. بیزار بودم از مسفرانی که با خوشحالی … Continue reading
I read somewhere that the world is made of tiny stories, and it reminded me of importance of writing. A day without writing is a wasted day…and then there are those scary days when words don’t have any sound in … Continue reading