It's hard to believe that, tomorrow night, although sleeping on the same old mattress, I'll be sleeping in a new life. As I opened and closed the cupboard doors, making sure I've packed everything, I realized that I'm beginning to feel the magnitude of my decision. In less than twenty-four hours, everyone and everything dear and familiar to me will be considered "long distance."
I'm fully aware that I'm leaving my home. An awareness that I never felt when I left Iran, also my home, perhaps because I left Iran on my tiptoes, without even saying goodbye to my children. However, this time, par revenge, I bade farewell to everyone I knew, including my salespeople and dry-cleaner. Certainly, conditions surrounding an escape and a move are not the same, neither is the weight of the baggage. A floral Chador and a small black gym bag have turned into 29 boxes, 3 suitcases and 2 trunks full of mostly unnecessary objects.
Of all my moves, even the one to Los Angeles, some fourteen years ago, this one feels permanent, just like the one that took place almost thirty-three years ago was.
Perhaps the lump that's crawling up my throat doesn't have anything to do with moving out of Toronto.
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