Reflecting on 5 Years in Iran

Updated: 8 July 2019

Time is tricky. It sneaks up on you without you even realizing it. Sometimes it drags, other times it flies, and I swear there have been times when I’ve caught the clock ticking backward. My time in Iran has passed mesle bargh o bâd (like electricity and wind), as they say in Persian. I can hardly believe this month marks 5 years since I hopped on a plane and came here without the slightest idea of what I was doing other than I wanted to live here. And since it’s been half a decade (when I put it that way- yowza!), I thought it would be an opportune time to take a brief pause from the normal Persian language listicles, Iranian cultural explainers, and love letters to Tehran and get into some real talk. The truth is that this file has been sitting in my drafts folder forever. Every year I’ve wanted to write something, but couldn’t exactly formulate the words. But I’m going to give it a try at last because I feel I need to get this out. So brew yourself a cup of Persian tea or make a tall glass of khâkshir and settle in, folks, because this reflection clocks in at around 3,200 words (with no shortage of side reflections in parentheses). 

5 Years Living the Expat Life in Iran

I’ve lived in other countries for extended periods, and while each one has a special place in my heart, none have affected me or turned me into the person I am quite like Iran has. I always knew I’d end up in Iran at some point in my life, I just didn’t know when. It was finally in 2014 when I felt that strong push. I remember sitting in my apartment the night before my flight stuffing my face with Oreos. I normally never bought Oreos but just the thought of them not being available made them necessary. (Of course, I arrived in Iran to find Oreos. What was I thinking? There’s nothing that’s not available here.) It’s funny to think that I had absolutely no desire to ever (EVER) live in Tehran- a wretched city with God-awful, angry people. So I spend my first 4 months in Mashhad, and it was as if the universe was doing everything in its power to send me exactly where I didn’t want to go. (Oh no, not one of those universe stories. It’s not- although you can’t deny the coincidences. Just stay with me here.) After some unpleasant experiences in Mashhad (which have turned into less-than-fond memories that I have [somewhat] successfully suppressed), I made the move to Tehran and started an unexpected love affair with this city.

A while back, I got a message from someone saying that they were kind of scared to go out in Tehran. My initial thought was, “Mmhmm, I’ve been there, friend.” Tehran is massive, and for me, it was overwhelming to think how I was ever going to learn my way around. That’s why addresses here start big and then zoom in: Tehran, Elahiyeh, Takhti St. after Laleh Alley, #X (which happens to be Shemroon Cafe). But one of my biggest issues was that I couldn’t grasp how people just stood on the side of the road, called out a destination and then proceeded to get into a car- any car- that happened to be going their way. (This was before ride-sharing apps took over, a time when getting home posed more of a challenge for me.) What if the driver was a creep?! But that was my American mentality hard at work, and soon enough I found myself calling out destinations from the side of the road, just like everyone else (even though I don’t anymore).

At some point along the journey, I realized I was reciting the metro stops by heart. “Istgâh-e bad, Shahid Hemmat,” a sure sign I was a regular on the metro. But then one day I was walking back from a new class when it dawned on me that I was in the same neighborhood as one of my first teaching gigs at an institute. At that time I only knew how to get from said institute to my cousin’s house, a small feat which gave me such a huge boost of confidence. But since then, I’ve added so many more routes. Now it seems as if people pinpoint me in the crowd to ask me directions. When one lady asked me where Nelson Mandela Street was, I thought, “Whoa, she’s not from around here, is she?” Or the time this adorably cheerful couple asked a guy on a motorcycle where Manuchehri Street was. “I don’t know. Maybe that way,” he replied, pointing in the opposite direction. That’s when, like a true Iranian, I jumped in to point them in the right direction. “I knew I should have asked a woman,” the man laughed. Not just any woman… mighty ex-pat Pontia who now knows Tehran mesle kaf-e dastesh (like the “palm” of her hand). 

These might seem like insignificant details, but for me, they are small victories. Because I’ve come along way, baby. That girl who moved here in 2014? Don’t know her anymore. But learning my way around the city is all well and good. We all do that when we move someplace new. So let’s get into some specifics, shall we? 

Work

I know several ex-pats who moved here and spent their time in the beginning traveling or just settling in. I should have done that, but instead, I worked like a mad woman. I’d teach in university from 7-4 then go to a language institute from 5-9 Saturday-Wednesday. On Thursdays, I taught from 8-1 at another institute and basically only had Fridays off. I won’t even get into work dynamics because that’s a whole issue in and of itself. 

My work is much different now and much more pleasant. I set my own hours, accept fewer students, and do more freelance writing and editing which allows me the convenience of working from home. Anyone who does this knows that it comes with pros and cons, but I’m happy overall.

Blogging/Social Media

Before coming to Iran, I thought, “Boy, am I going to have tons to write about once I get there!” And then my blog all but died. At times, my Instagram (which is really the only social media I regularly use) would go silent for long periods (and still does sometimes). This was a conversation I had in between the scenes with Azita from Fig & Quince when she had me on for her podcast. Yah, we want to take pictures and blog about the Iran we love. But sometimes it feels as if there’s no off switch. Where do we draw the line between wanting to document and share the things we love vs just enjoying them and keeping a few for ourselves? Because, what can I say? Blogging is our passion. We want to spread the good word about Iran. If we’re putting it out there, we want people to read and share it. (What do we want? More followers! When do we want them? Now!) But it can get exhausting. I still love to share things that I think are cool or meaningful (at least for me), and I think that’s where I’ve found some balance. I truly enjoy the process of writing or posting a picture and sharing my Tehran from time to time. I want to help others understand everything about Iran more deeply to know that, you know what? At the end of the day, we ain’t all that different, people. And posts like this one, well, they help me sort through some personal things. When I hear from you guys that something has been helpful for you, you liked something I wrote, or that my blog is currently your favorite thing on the Internet (and oh, yes! I’m shamelessly going to brag about that one!), it just makes me want to shout from the rooftops! 

As for the future of this blog, time will tell.

Style

When I first moved here, I had exactly 1 manteau and a couple of scarves. I added a work-appropriate manteau and wore it day after day after day. That’s ok, right? The way I figured it, you change your clothes, but you can rewear the same jacket. Until I realized the manteau is your clothes here, and rewearing the same one for weeks is, well, eww. So I added a third, a fourth, and on we go.

Now, I’ve redefined “buying clothes” to mean “buying a new manteau or scarf.” Much like Superman’s, my closet is now home to a row of manteau (albeit of different patterns, fabrics, lengths, etc.). I just don’t see the point in buying anything else since all anyone sees is the outerwear. In fact, now, it’s the same old raggedy shirts underneath the manteau that I’ve been wearing forever (occasionally mixing in a new one when things get a little too raggedy). 

Grocery shopping

What I used to consider things that only my mom (and other Iranian moms) would buy have now become my own staples. “Oh, I’m in dire need of some quality saffron” and “Don’t let me forget to stop by Ameh Leila for some samanu” are not things I ever dreamed I’d say. Even when I travel now, I pick up edible must-haves in addition to local handicrafts. “Four bottles of rosewater, please- momtâz (top quality)! You’d better not be selling me anything with essence in it. And I’m almost out of grape syrup, so add a liter of that. Throw in a jar of pomegranate paste while you’re at it. Homemade of course! (Gasp!) What kind of self-respecting lady of the house uses the processed kind?” 

But since my “lady of the house” act is just a facade, I still buy stuff like gheymeh seasoning in a jar or ready-made sejanjabin syrup even if I feel I’m being judged at check-out. (I’m mostly entertained that these things exist.) Last week, my cousin told me that this year, she decided to buy sekanjabin syrup instead of making her own. “Really!?” I answered all too enthusiastically. “Me too!” And I sighed in relief that I’m not the only one. 

Travel

I used to have a bucket list of all the places around the world that I wanted to travel to. I still have it, but since I’ve been in Iran, all I really want to do is travel here. (And when the time comes, all I really want to do is stay in town and explore Tehran some more.) I’ve been fortunate enough to take trips around and explore the country, but it still seems that any time anyone suggests an international trip, I’m like, “Really? You mean, like, leave Iran?” Something I would have done at the drop of a hat before, I just can’t bring myself to do now. 

Difficulties 

“The difficulties of living in Iran” is another file that’s been sitting in my drafts folder. I wrote it what seems like ages ago and have revised it numerous times, and yet I still don’t feel ready to post it. But I can tell you this much- my so-called “difficulties” are pretty superficial, the biggest one being administrative stuff. This one used to be especially tough due to my weak Persian language skills and nervous laughter in the face of stern-faced office employees. The worst part was that “look” I’d get- the confused variety that said, “What kind of idiot is this who doesn’t understand something so basic?” Which is why I’d always [shamefully] ask someone to come with me even though I knew that eventually, I’d have to stand on my own two feet. (Maybe tomorrow.) 

My mom, God bless her soul, always used to tell me to speak with an accent, to pepper my speech with English words, to tell them straight off the bat that I was American. But I can’t stand it when Iranians do that, so I insisted on speaking strictly Persian and never allowing anyone to know where I was from. Then it finally happened at the bank one day when after filling out a form, the teller informed me that I had made a mistake. After helping me fix it, I sheepishly said, “I wasn’t here before, so I didn’t understand that.” To which he replied, “I know. I could tell by your handwriting.” I laughed, and this opened the door to an entire conversation about speaking English, his foreign clients, and how he loved speaking English with a particular German one. “So then I can speak English with you, too!” I interrupted. “Oh, no, I won’t speak English with you. As a native speaker, you have an accent.” Yup, I’ve heard that one before. 

Since that time, I’ve learned to listen to what my mom was essentially telling me to do- to own it. Let the accent be your friend, exaggerate it even. And because of this, things have improved considerably. While I still get a little nervous sometimes, I feel more confident to go on my own to such places without having to rely on a lifeline. Wouldn’t you know, mama’s always right.

Friendships

I’ll be honest. As an introvert, making friends has never been my strong suit. And I feel I’ve only become more introverted with age, which hasn’t helped matters. The funny thing is that my closest friendships have always been made while living in another country. Why is that? Could it be that we felt like strangers in a strange land and therefore gravitated towards each other? Solidarity, sister. Safety in numbers. Perhaps. But at the end of the day, we’d all make our way back to the US. 

But in Iran, it’s different mainly because it’s not me who’s leaving. It’s them. Whenever I meet someone new and think, “Hey, they’re cool! I want to hang out with them more!”, it’s like a punch to the gut when they tell me how they’ve applied to immigrate to Canada or Australia or Germany. Well, there goes that… I lost my first good friend to Canada. I lost two more to the US. I can’t begin to count the number of students I’ve lost to immigration. All I know is I’ve probably gained just as many because, as it happens, their teachers left.

I still have my itsy-bitsy count-them-on-one-hand group of friends, so I’m content. And grateful. I’m grateful for my friend who dumbs down the poetry of Hafez and Sa’adi so that I can understand it (but never misses the chance to tell me immediately afterwards what a loss of mine it is that I don’t speak Persian as a first language- as if I didn’t already know that!). I’m grateful for my friend who gives me bellyaches from laughing so much. And I’ve managed to find friends and acquaintances in the most unlikely of places- Instagram! Which is funny considering I’m hardly social media savvy. Whether it’s just a cup of tea while they’re passing through Iran or exploring Tehran from time to time with those who live here, I enjoy these social interactions. And they’re not too demanding for my introverted self.

Life lessons

Whether they know it or not, Iranians have taught me quite a few life lessons. In my opinion, the most important one is to enjoy the now. In certain ways, Iranians live in the moment. (I say in certain ways because I think in other ways they’re totally stuck in the past.) They’ll trek out to some place in nature for just a few hours to enjoy a picnic or stay out late despite having to work the next day. I really admire that. They really practice and take to heart the saying donyâ do ruz-e (lit., the world is two days). You get to the movie theater 20 minutes early, and Iranians are like, “Man we’re early! Let’s go have some jigar.” I once tried to go home at 5pm because it was Friday (the Iranian Sunday), and I felt like I needed to prepare for my coming work week. My cousin wasn’t having it. “Are you freaking kidding me? It’s 5 pm! Ku tâ fardâ!” (It’s a long time until tomorrow.) And I’m pretty sure it was this exact moment that I went through a metamorphosis. Since that time, I feel like I live in the moment a lot more instead of holding on to that American notion of “work, work, work” and only having fun on the weekend (but getting back home in time to prepare to work again). It’s no wonder Iranians jokingly refer to the US (or America, pronounced Âmrikâ) as Omri-Kâr (a lifetime of work).

Persian

And how about my Persian you ask? Never been better! Words that were totally new for me in the beginning are just second nature now. Before, reading print was one thing, but reading handwriting was quite another. Well, I’m pleased to report that my reading has improved to the point where it also includes handwriting (most of the time because sometimes, let’s face it, it’s nothing more than chicken scratch!). I’ll never forget the time during my first month when a lady asked me to read something for her off a piece of paper. When I saw it was handwriting, I said I was sorry and quickly scurried off. That’s when I heard her annoyed voice from behind, “How hard could it be to just read it, really!?” Oh, khânum, if you only knew that of allllll the people on the street you could have asked, you picked the one who was practically as illiterate as you! And while I can much more easily read handwriting and calligraphy, I admit I still panic on the spot. What would otherwise look like a clear che, re, and alef under stress-free circumstances suddenly bears an uncanny resemblance to cuneiform. So were that situation to repeat itself today, I’d most likely do the same- who are we kidding? 

Now that I’ve patted myself on the back for my awesome Persian language skills, you might be happy to hear that I do make the occasional sooti. Like the time I said surâkh sombol (hole-hyacinth) instead of surâkh sombe (nook and cranny). Or the time I was so nervous I blurted out mostaghel (independent) instead of mojarad (single). Luckily, Iranians think these mistakes are cute.

And sadly, as the bank teller could confirm, my handwriting has remained heartbreakingly childlike. I can type like nobody’s business and even manage near-perfect spelling, but when I must put pen to paper, it’s another story. I suppose I could practice more. At least that way Iranians would stop with the whole, “Azizaaaaaam! Look at how she wrote her name! OMG, she even included the tashdid in her last name! How adorable!” (which I know they mean to be endearing but still). 

A couple of weeks ago, one of my students told me a poem by Hafez. “Did you understand it?” he asked. Actually, I did. “Wow, you’re Persian has really improved!” I laughed, “Haha, yah. It only took 5 years!” He couldn’t believe 5 years had passed so quickly. “So are you happy you came?” And this I can say for sure:

I have absolutely no regrets. 

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