When Hana returns home from the wedding, she puts her black gown on; she remembers the gown is one of many gifts that Mario has given her when they were engaged. Now she is beginning her newest version of life, almost without anyone. She stares at her lifeless eyes, skinny cheeks, and her gray hair in the mirror. "I am old now." In the hot temperature of August, she shivers in her bed and thinks desperately about life and its meaning. "Why do people strive so much?" She remembers herself when she was working so hard to support her family after her father's death and going to school at the same time. "What for?" Now that she has lots of money, life is meaningless. All the people she cared for so much are either dead or have forgotten her. "My sisters and brother don't even write me a letter anymore!" Her Sam, part of her, her son, who was so much like her, is dead. "Oh, God, Why him, not me?" She has rejected the only man who truly loved her. "Oh, Mario, I need you!" Her life is an empty hole. She recalls that throughout her life her writing has always given her a powerful sense of motivation which has made her to go on, to endeavor, and to fight, and to prevail. "There is nothing else to fight for." Lila, her other half, she created when she was only a child, now seems a stupid and silly act. "She doesn't leave me alone." Mesa, her imaginary friend before she created Lila, is now all forgotten. "Those days were all about tall figure."
As her eyes loses the intensity to stay awake and her muscles begins to relax, suddenly she conjures up one more thing, her home land, a land that viciously threw her out and murdered her brother, Van. Notwithstanding, she feels a despondent longing for that sacred land, for that simple way of living, when everyone knew their neighbors. Here she does not even know who her neighbors are. As she intentionally refuses to sleep, as though that is a way for punishing herself, she gets up, staggering into the dark living room. Suddenly she remembers Saeid, her first love, who killed himself in a violent way for her. "Was that for me or get even with me?" She gets to the living room, puts the light on, and sits on her favorite place on the sofa, where at one night she drank and drank. She puts her ashtray on the end table, strives to write a poem, perhaps that gives her a little comfort. The last time she wrote anything was eight months ago. Her books will be out in a few weeks and it does not mean anything to her. Her poetry book is buried somewhere in closet and she has not opened it since Sam's death. Now she wants to write. What a foolish idea! But sometimes Foolish ideas are best ideas. She starts a cigarette and begins writing about if she was still a child:
"When we were children, we had big hearts!
Now that we are grown, our hearts shrivel to nothing!
What if our hearts stayed as big as when we were children!
What if we were still children, so people can read words in our eyes!
What if we didn't need speaking to talk!
What if we used our eyes for talking!
What if our hearts were painted on our faces!
But now no one can hear us if we scream!
So we must choose silence when we grow up!"
Suddenly she notices that the ash of her cigarette has fallen of her leg and not only has made a hole on her gown, it has burned her leg, too. With the back of her hand, she removes the ash and then continues writing:
"Look at this world!
When we were children, rain always poured from sky!
Now that we are grown, rain comes from our eyes!
When we were children, people noticed our rainy faces!
Now that we are grown, no one can see our sobbing!
When we were children, we were not ashamed to cry!
Now that we are grown, we cry hidden and in solitude!
When we were children, no one could break our hearts!
And if they did, it was just for a little while!
Now that we are grown, our hearts break and stay broken!
We stretched our arms wide to measure our love!
Now that we are grown, our love is little, or big, and nothing in between!
What if we still can stretch our arms wide to measure our love!
When we were children, our desires were small, our wants were little!
Now that we are grown, our smallest desires are our biggest wants!
When we were children, adults listened to our pains!
Now that we are grown, our pains our plenty, and nobody listens!
When we were children, we were children!
Now that we are grown, we are not grown, and we are not children!"
To Be Continued
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