Holiday Blues

I have holiday blues. Yes, there’s such a thing. I Googled it.

WAH.

Seriously though, I feel so blue tonight. I am pinning it down to these:

Over-scheduling (see previous post)
You see, I only have 2 weeks left in Japan which is why I’ve been really pushing myself to see and do everything. Also, to keep my blog fresh and up to date. Because I truly enjoy it, it is my passion and of course to keep with my hot-shot writing dreams. However, amidst all the hustle and bustle and adventuring, I seem to have forgotten I’m not superhuman. I am exhausted. But here’s the problem. It’s not like I have anything else. I do a bit of free-lancing here and there but it’s not enough to occupy an entire day. And I know you all wish you didn’t have to work a 9-5 day and/or look after your needy significant other and/or rowdy children so that you could have even a spare moment to read a novel, go for a run, drink a coffee in silence, paint your nails etc but I swear, human wiring comes with the disease of always always wanting what we don’t have.

Holiday food
My general diet for the past year and half of Japan life has been a challenge. You can read about it here. Or in short, it’s been challenging learning to shop, cook and eat for one. I miss sitting around a table and eating with others. When I do eat with others here, it’s usually eating out. Which is exciting yes, and I feel should be done cos like when else am I gonna be in JAPAN to eat this authentic soba?! But at the same time, it’s not the healthiest. And even though I try to choose the healthiest menu items and exercise everyday (sometimes walking or cycling 10+ ks), it’s still not the same as eating and living on a normal schedule in the comfort of your own hometown. All this holiday food then, is starting to make me feel bad about my body image and myself.

Unrealistic expectations of myself
A quote I’ve mentioned several times here, “comparison is the thief of joy” by Theodore Roosevelt. During holidays, we meet countless faces. In Japan, most are settled in good jobs with babies and husbands. My current life is much much different in comparison. Again, it seems instinctive of human wiring to compare. I keep forgetting that this won’t be my life forever and that I too am chasing my dream/working towards a good future. When I compare my very undetermined life with theirs, I feel sad.

Lack of sleep
A combination of the above.

I know I’m probably being too hard on myself but I, 1. needed to get this off of my chest and tell someone seeing as I’m all alone in this wah and 2. wanted you to know that it’s not all castle and croissants and that there is depth to the pretty pictures.

Last, am going on a money and food diet.

1…2…3… (a goal-starter countdown I’ve always done as a kid for which my father would always mock me)

Meet the Kazemis

This was not staged. I walked into the lounge, saw this cuteness overload and snapped it.

I’m having a bit of a hard time. Going through a rough patch. Perhaps it’s the winter blues. It’s cold, it gets dark at 4.30pm and all the leaves have fallen off the trees. Or maybe I’m tired of routine…plus, the earthquakes back home aren’t helping. I really worry for my family. You know, hence the gloomy poetry. Sorry, I feel I’m still rhyming.

So the one thing (but this thing is so darn significant that it’s OK to be A thing) that has kept/is keeping, me going is the thought of reuniting with my parents after what seems a century. Also, I miss speaking Farsi. As in real-life Farsi instead of Soulja Boy through the phone styles. I dunno, something to do with my roots, maybe.

This post “Meet the Kazemis”, inspired by Meet the Patels (hehe) is the first of the many (not too many) blog posts that shall be documenting their soon-to-come time with me.

My parents are the best people in the entire world and I honestly wouldn’t be who I am today and where I am today without them. And I don’t mean that in a cliched way, although that’s probably one of the most cliched statements eva. I mean that 100% wholeheartedly. Perhaps someday, you’ll read about it in my *fingers crossed* published memoir but for now, I’ll just say, they sacrificed a whole lot (friends, family, basic comforts) to migrate from Iran to NZ, a country where they didn’t know a word of the language or a thing about the place and they did all this, solely for the sake of me and my sister. So that we could be permitted higher-education and so, have a better and broader future.

This is one of my most favorite photos ever. Can you guess why? I’m going to tell you anyway. In the foreground, mum is posing, like seriously posing while dad is being dad, oblivious of everything, having the time of his life enjoying the waterfall splashing on his back.

So, without further adiue, meet maman Afsoon (Kaviani). I don’t know why she keeps her original last name. She’s the one who instilled the passion of healthy eating in me. She’s the one I’ve been crying on the phone to when things here have been excruciating and not surprisingly my blog’s biggest fan. And by that, I mean she likes EVERYTHING on Facebook and Instagram without actually ever clicking the links.

Next, Baba Sirous (Kazemi). Or Sirius as NZers mispronounce. He’s a real joker. And by that, I mean he thinks he’s funny, but he’s often just rude instead. He is the kebab master of our family. Persian kebabs, much to my disappointment, with ample meat. One day, about 6 years back, he stupidly used petrol to light his kebab charcoal because whatever he usually used wasn’t there or wasn’t working and long story short, he passed out from the fumes.  Thankfully, he survived (after an ER visit!) and got back on the horse (cooked kebabs) the following day. This all took place because Baba loves EATING which places him behind my accidental eating of the whole thing(s).

Brooklyn: a movie review

You know what? I’m gonna be 100% honest with you: Japan ain’t all kimonos and castles. In the same way that France ain’t all berets and croissants and Italy ain’t all sex and pizza. Okay, maybe Italy is all sex and pizza…But what I’m trying to say is, migrating to a new land, leaving your friends, family and everyday comforts behind to start afresh in a faraway foreign land is hard. So so so hard. And homesickness is inevitable and don’t tell me that it’s not and that “home is where the heart is” and all that jazz cos I feel this shit in my bones. Which is part of the reason why I found Brooklyn so relatable. But, you don’t have to have felt that specific homesickness, the one of living 10000 miles from home to get/like this film. In fact, I will go as far as to say that if you do not empathize, sympathize, identify, what have you, with the raw emotion and charm of this film, there is something wrong with you. Yes, I felt that strongly about it!

I found Brooklyn charming, romantic (accents, dancing), emotional, inspiring, thought-provoking (life decisions, priorities) and last but not least, funny (Italian kid Italian kid).

Lastly, I want to mention “the look”. Eilis’s look back, just before setting foot in America (image below) is SO darn beautiful that I would happily watch Brooklyn for days straight just to see her green eyes sparkle once more.

Oh, and the last scene. The last scene and the last quote.  Oh goodness, I am smitten, bad. Or perhaps, like Eilis I just yearn for an Italian man to fill the dark void that’s materialized in me since leaving home (tehehe). Calm down, I mean FIGURATIVELY…

Here’s that last quote:
“And one day the sun will come out and you might not even notice straight away it’ll be that faint and then you’ll catch yourself thinking about something or someone who has no connection with the past. Someone who is only yours and you’ll realise that this is where your life is.”

5/5