Author: Leila Sadeghi
Translator: Prof. Farzad Sharifian
He means so much to me that when I wake up, I forget to wash my hands and face. I go straight towards the kitchen and put the kettle on, to make tea. I am used to making tea in the morning, so much that sometimes I think if it was not for a routine, what else I should do?
After so many years, I still wake up at the same time as before, I look at the window and at this moment someone closes the door and goes out, or perhaps has gone out, or even had gone out... .
someone who used to go out of my life every morning and would come back to our bed at night, with sleepy eyes and the sound of his snores.
In spite of passing many years, my days still end the same as before and nothing has changed.
He means so much to me that when I wake up, I forget to wash my hand and my face. I go towards the kitchen directly and put the kettle on, to make tea. I pour myself a cup of tea; sit in front of the window and stare at the only plant of my small garden.
Coffee:
When I am alone, I rarely make coffee. I don't remember having made coffee before. For that reason I have never thought of buying coffee. Maybe I don't know how to make it. I don't remember having drunk it somewhere. I have heard about different kinds of coffee somewhere, Turkish, Espre-ccino... As if they are made differently. But I don't like to know more about these different kinds, how to make them or drink them. This much about coffee is enough. Sometimes I go through all of this in my mind and realize that I have got used to not making, not eating and not speaking about coffee.
Nescafe:
That is enough. I love its dark color. Maybe it is because of the brightness of milk that we can see the darkness of Nescafe. Each time I put Nescafe next to the dish of milk, I feel it is going to be spilled. Of course, in the real world, no undesirable event would happen. It is often in the myths and people’s dreams that the darkness of the night and the whiteness of the day fight against each other. Then the day upends the night and the night turns over the day. I like to see Nescafe ending up milk's life. Nescafe does not like milk so much and always wants to end her up. On the other hand, I like to get used to drinking milk, because it is good for his bone building.
Milk :
Maybe it is not a bad idea for me to pour myself a glass of milk, instead of Nescafe being upended by milk, every morning when I wake up.
Milk reminds me of snow. Snow reminds me of coldness. Coldness reminds of me the only plant of my small garden. The only plant of my small garden reminds me of the day I told him: I am tired of you. Leave me alone. He packed his suitcase and went away. I really didn’t want him to leave me, I was just mad of arguing with him. I wanted him not to quarrel with me and love me in a way to bring me cheerfulness.
I was tired of repeatedly asking him why he cares for me a little. Come home a bit earlier, I need to talk and listen to a few nice words; sometimes I wish we could go out to have some fresh air. I was tired of repeatedly hearing “do you think I don't like it? I Love it, but I have lots of things to do. I am tired of repeatedly asking you why you are not in your office every time I call; you are not even in your shop?! I am tired of repeatedly hearing I had something to do outside of my office. I hate the outside of anything, the house, the balcony, me and him. I like to ruin them and build them again, in a different way, different from my taste. I am exhausted of repeatedly thinking about all his words and coming to the conclusion that I am used to his late home-coming and arguing with me. For all of this, neither I nor Nescafe, who’s got used to me so much and who runs towards me as soon as he sees my shadow, likes milk. The doctor says, “Your disease is low bone–mass”, which is perhaps due to the low mass of our days.