Black banners

If I lived in Iran, I would have a closet filled with black just to keep up with all the mourning I would have to do. It’s not as though I do not grieve here in Amsterdam as well, it’s just that I don’t wear black.

If I were in Iran, I would be painting a black banner. It would say that the young man who died was dearly loved by me and that I would never forgive him for dying.

If I were in Iran, I would be mixing orange syrup into cold water and passing out tea and dates filled with walnuts to each new guest.

If I were in Ahwaz, families would be camping in the park a few blocks away, enjoying the new year’s vacation and the perfect weather. They would walk by the house covered in black banners and know that a young person had died. They would nod their heads in sympathy and thank god for the good fortune to be healthy and whole.

But I am in Amsterdam. At least it is dreary. I couldn’t take a cloudless day right now.