Oldest Dream
I remember it was the summer break between second and third grade. I remember the sun shining through the curtains into our living room. I told my maman I wanted to write a story, so she gave me a fancy datebook and encouraged me to do so. I sat on the ground in the corner of our living room, behind the couch, back to the south-facing window, and started articulating my fantasies.
It was back in 2001, and I was just a kid who went on with his life and forgot about this passion. But my maman kept the fancy datebook in her drawer for all these years. After nearly two decades, and many years of struggling with “who am I?” and “who do I want to become?” I thought about my dream of becoming a writer for a second time. Rest assured, maman had what I needed still in her drawer.
For months I have felt this urge to write. So it seems like a good time to document this journey by returning to the initial spark.
Here I present the two short stories formulated by yours truly in that summer break, in the original language accompanied by the writer’s actual handwriting and a literal translation into English. As one would imagine, in a story written by an eight-year-old, the initial text is filled with spelling and grammar errors which are the only thing I couldn't find a way to translate into English. However, I tried to keep the Persian as is.
The Story Without a Name
A mother gives birth to quadruplets, whose hands and feet are joined together, she takes care of them for a year and becomes kalafe (weary) of them, and that is why one of them is called Kalafe, the second one is Malafe, the third one is Selakhe, and the fourth one is called Cholaghe. She gets fed up with them, puts them in a basket, and leaves the basket on the street. A family from Germany comes there and sees those children and takes them with them to Germany. They take care of them and teach them, take them to the doctor, and the doctor operates on them, separating them. Kalafeh went to England, Lafahe went to America, Selakhe went to Switzerland, Cholaghe stayed in Germany, and Kalafe studied in England. And she reached high school
and chose mathematics; first, she got a doctorate, then she got a post-doctorate in mathematics, then she studied Persian, Italian, French, and American language classes and went to America. She told her life story. Malafe said: My name is not Malafe anymore; it is Maryam; Kalafe also said, oh, I had forgotten my name is not Kalafe anymore, it is Fateme. Maryam and Fateme went to Switzerland together. They went to Selakhe. Selakhe said: Hello guys, I have learned the languages of all countries here, such as English, Persian, French, and many languages of other countries. In fact, I have also changed my name.
What kind of a name is Selakhe anyway! Oh, I forgot what name I had given myself. Aha, I named myself Mahsa. Fatemeh Maryam and Mahsa went to Cholaghe and the man and woman who thought they were their parents, to Germany. When they arrived there, the German man and woman told them they found them in a golden basket in an alley in Tehran, the capital of the Islamic Republic. Maryam Fateme and Mahsa insisted on leaving Germany and traveling to Iran.
Cholaghe said during the trip: Those two Germans who found us in Tehran gave me an interesting name, but I have named myself Susan Noee. Fateme said: Oh, we had forgotten about the surname. In this case, we will be Fateme Maryam Mahsa and Susan Noee. When they arrived in Iran at the Tehran airport, reporters surrounded them and asked them questions. Finally, they were able to escape from the journalists; then, they searched for their house. After two years of searching and not finding, they finally found their home.
They reached their home happily and safely.
A Sketch of an Idea
The astronaut will go to space, fly like a bird and swim like a fish. Even this car can take its passengers to the sun, and these passengers will not even get a little hot and reach their destination safely. And the last thing is that this car will never break down.
The Head and Tail of a Magic Thread
There was a delicate and magical silk thread in the grandmother’s sewing basket. In this thread, there was a mother and two naughty and stubborn boys who could fly. They were magical, after all. Their names were Head and Tail, and they constantly fought for who was taller. Head said I am taller, and the Tail also said I am taller. One day in the grandmother’s sewing room, a fight broke out again; Head said I’m taller, and the Tail said I’m taller. The funny thing is that, to go higher, they turned around each other so much, that they became just like a propeller. Or simply, like the blades of a helicopter.
They went up so high that they pushed past the clouds and wouldn’t get tired, as they both claimed to be taller. They flew out of the earth’s atmosphere, they went and went and went until Arriving at the planet Mars, they had breakfast there and continued again until they reached Saturn, it was noon there, they walked around Venus on that big street and ate their lunch and took a nap. They continued again until they reached Jupiter. It was night there, and it was dark. Then they ate dinner and slept. They took off early in the morning and went far away from there and reached the border of the Solar System town; there, they got a passport and continued their fight. They saw a big sign on which was written the end of Solar System town and the continuation of Milky Way boulevard. They continued their way again. To this day, no one has heard anything about those two stubborn brothers, maybe they are still going on their way and continuing their fight,
and maybe they are living in another town; other than our Solar System town; we are going back to grandma’s house. She wants to sew a dress and needs that silk thread and is looking for it. I have to say goodbye before it’s too late; otherwise, I will talk so much that my tongue will roll around. Goodbye.
2:51 pm
Overlooking the dike outside of my window, Hamburg
9th November 2022,
Cheers,