[A-List] Yuki-Jennifer Kurumi: Seeing the "Real" Iran

["Yoshie Furuhashi" <critical.montages@xxxxxxxxx>]

<http://www.iranian.com/Travelers/2007/July/Kurumi/index.html>
Seeing the "real" Iran
As a naïve kid, I assumed that Persia was a tiny island paradise that
rarely made it to maps like my birthplace

Yuki-Jennifer Kurumi
July 19, 2007
iranian.com

A country's history is much like wine. Considering Shiraz is the
birthplace of the seductive grape to which it gave its name, I believe
my thought is reasonable. With age, a culture grows more attractive,
increases its depth and notes, and heightens in value. Hence, I have
concluded that Persia, with its three thousand years of flavor is one
of the finest in the world.

Having spent majority of my twenty-one years in Australia, I could not
avoid becoming a jolly wine follower. We proud Aussies swear by our
top quality Shiraz, but will always be haunted by the fact that it
originally ain't really our grape. Bugger.

But it was not my slight alcoholism that led me to travel to famous
Aryan land. It was a desire I had for the land that I was lured to
when I was a little girl.

"I'm Persian." Said my fourth grade friend, Nasrin.

My Australian Anglo-schoolmates often cornered her in the playground
to find out her mysterious origins. The result however, was always the
same like a prewritten tragedy:

"Persia isn't on the atlas, stupid," one girl would say, "stop lying
and making things up."

But Nasrin was proud of her origins and wept, "You're just not
privileged enough to know my country, neither is the stupid atlas. I'm
true blue Persian, you retarded drongo."

No one believed her, except I. Although I am Japanese, I was born in
Palau, a Micronesian island republic that no one had ever heard of. I
too was branded as a liar, and that was how Nasrin and I became
friends and the sole members of the "Persons with names impossible to
pronounce society".

As a naïve kid, I assumed that Persia was a tiny island paradise that
rarely made it to maps like my birthplace. As a friendly gesture, I
gave my friend a stone-money necklace which was the original currency
of Palau. She invited me to dinner at her place.

While her mother was busily working in the kitchen releasing foreign
scents of exotic spices, I gawked at the huge Ronas-red carpets that
covered her lounge. We played tag on the intricate floral borders,
also using the central golden medallion as a safe spot. All the other
red areas were lava, which would burn us up and cause us defeat.

I had never seen a Persian carpet so grandiose in size before.
Twirling motifs of vines, the symmetricality in design, and the
dream-like garden design made me want to enter the realm of this
two-dimensional artwork. I assume that my interests in Iranian art
began from here, a desire to examine an unimaginable world so far away
from my accustomed surroundings.

Nasrin's mother called us over for dinner. I devoured the sweet
Fesenjan stew alongside a few other stews that were laid out on the
table. In order to express my gratitude, my Japanese nature made me
bow to her parents with my hand on my heart. I had always felt
embarrassed by this gesture, as my white Aussie friends thought this
exotic yet hilarious. However, to my amazement Nasrin's parents
laughed a little and did the same to me. I never knew the reason for
this, until my journeys to Iran.

A few months later, my Persian friend moved elsewhere. She never
admitted her Iranian origins, sadly. I never saw her again, and we
lost contact. Although I was upset, the attraction I felt towards her
culture never left me. Hence, I decided to courageously make a journey
to Iran despite the frightening facts I had learned from the American
media, Reading Lolita in Tehran and Not Without My daughter.

Seeing the "real" Iran made me ashamed for the facts I thought I had
learned about the country before my arrival at Meherabad airport. The
preconceived notions I held were absolute contradictions, and by the
time of my departure back home I was in love with the culture (both
public and private worlds I witnessed) that I wept on the plane. The
Japanese woman sitting next to me rolled her eyes and assumed that I
was leaving behind a sexily spicy hot Iranian man. Perhaps this is
true. I was dragged apart from a realm so attractive, unique! Iran was
hotter than Casanova for me.

My American friends dropped their jaws when I told them of my intended
trip to Iran. This was not welcomed by comments such as "Dude! I went
there last year and got totally wasted every night. Yo, the men are so
tasty!". The responses were mostly, "I hope you don't get shot" and
"Why? What's wrong with you?".

Once I returned from the most breathtaking trip I'd ever embarked on,
I decided that it was my duty to share the "real" Iran I saw while I
was there. I began a blog with the aim to convince at least one
westerner to alter their thoughts on Iran and feel a desire to visit.
My blog, begun in early May, apparently had the power to convince more
than a hundred and invite travel questions on a daily basis.

Out of the comments that I happily receive, there is one that remains
my favorite: "Hi from Australia, my name is Nasrin. I came across your
blog and just wanted to say I like your approach on Iran. I'm
Iranian…"

Comment

Visit Yuki-Jen's blog
<http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/Yuki-Jen/>
--
Yoshie