The urgent need to let the words out!

twitter-deadTwitter blocked me. Just like that. I can still login, and I can still read my friends’ twits, but nothing else; no faves, no replies, no follows and unfollows. Feels like sitting in a stadium watching the final game, but not being allowed to scream, jump or even to say a word to the one who’s sitting next to you.

By the way, Twitter says that my account has had some unusual behaviors and now I have to confirm that I’m a human behind my Twitter account. And apparently the only way Twitter would understand that I’m a human is to let it know my phone number, which I’m totally OK with. But, Twitter doesn’t recognize Iran as a country (Thank you very much!); so there is no way that I can give my phone number.

There was this help link, above which was written something about if someone cannot provide a phone number. So, I clicked the link and it led me to a form about the problem. I filled the form, and submitted my request to the Twitter Support Team and there was this message after I pressed the button which said they would answer to my request within a few days.

It’s been a few weeks now. I submitted the form, once again. I even asked one of my friends in Germany to use his phone number for this silly activation, but it didn’t work. So… I gave it up.

Somebody told me to sign up for a new account in Twitter, but I didn’t feel like it anymore. I know my friends are still there, and I know that it was my last shelter after FriendFeed was shut down, but it seems that I’m not supposed to be there anymore.

After all, thanks to not being twitting all the time, every day a few ideas that I used to waste by twitting them in less than 140 characters, grow up in my mind, and after a while I feel the need to write them somewhere. That’s why I write more these days in my blog.

First, live enough!


I cannot forget the day when we had just graduated from the Islamic School of Art after 3 years of participating in different courses about the history of art, literature, and attending a variety of workshops like story-writing, reading the old Farsi texts and engaging the hard work of expressing ourselves with words and trying to convey our messages through our broken and useless sentences which at last could be some pathetic show off about an inexperienced kid who thinks that he could be a writer by rambling some senseless words and calling them a “short story”!

It was one of those days, when I was maybe 23 or 24 and I’d learned the techniques of  writing, not knowing that the story is not so much about the techniques. One day a true writer, who had some real published works, came to our school and listened to some of our short stories. At the end, when he first showed us that he was touched by our works, he said, “Fellas! You’re good at writing, but I don’t think you have any thing to write about; because you have not lived enough yet!”

I can’t deny the humiliation I felt that day, and I even tried to defend myself by trying harder to write more stories. But today, when I know that there is no chance he could read my blog, I can try to be honest and admit that he was right.

It’s been years since that day. I’m still young, but there have been days in my life in which I had to choose between things I loved, that I had to sacrifice one thing for another, that I accepted many of my failures. There have been days in my life that I had to let things go.

Life goes easier on me now that I’ve given up many of those silly ideas that I used to have. Those days I was always running to reach an unknown goal in my life and to find some answers that I now know they never existed. Now I feel more like an old man who sits on his old chair on the wooden porch everyday, smoking his pipe, watching the birds singing and playing in the woods, and thinking about how calm and quiet is everything.

After all, I think I have couple of things to write about, even though I’m not sure if I can write anymore.

Being vegetarian not for its being healthy

Living in Iran, specially in Qom, I hadn’t seen many vegetarians around me. I knew that he number of them has been increasing in some so-called high-level parts of the society, but they weren’t around. But now, in just a couple months, I’ve found out that I have a lot of vegetarian friends! Yes many of them have been living this way for years!

But actually, this is not what surprised me. The interesting point about them was the reason they stopped eating meat. At least two of them to which I talked, told me that basically they didn’t have any problem with eating meet, but they think that the contemporary meat industry in Iran doesn’t observe the ethical codes of slathering the animals.

I didn’t have enough time to check if he was right, but my friend told me that some of the commercial chicken houses that are designed only to produce more meat and to make more money, and the owners don’t think at all about the experience of the animal there.

a chicken house in Iran

According to what he said, the chickens in these chicken houses sometimes never get a chance to see the sunlight, because they grow up in very small cages in where they can’t move so much, and have nothing to do but to eat and grow up so fast with the help of the pumped hormones. Some of the people who run these kinds of chicken houses, make the place so crowded so they wouldn’t need to spend any money for the warming. The chickens would stay warm being stick to each other all the time!

A normal happy chicken that has a normal live in a village would grow up maybe two times slower and sees the garden, the sunlight and walk a lot at least around the small yard of a house. It usually has the chance to live her life with a rooster who, as far as I’ve seen, is so hot and willing to come to his wives frequently during a single day!

Apparently, the same goes to sheep and cows and  other animals, in a different way. And the only priority for the producers is to make more money out of the job.

So, this way, my friends has become vegetarian. And to be honest, this is the first time I’m interested. Though, there still might be solutions for the problem, like trying to find non-industrial producers like the villagers who still treat their animals as family and respect them as alive creatures. It’s not easy, but possible.

By the way, don’t be surprised if I announced someday that I’ve become a vegetarian.