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.