Araz Gholami

December 3, 2018, Ankara

Tonight I went to the barber, and while getting my hair cut, I noticed a familiar banknote on the counter. It took me a few seconds to realize it was that same 20-toman bill. The barber said one of his Iranian friends had given it to him as a keepsake. When I told him I was from Tabriz, he asked, "Shams city?"

On the street, there's a small restaurant run by an elderly woman and her husband. Payam and Nasrin gave her the nickname "Aunt Rize," which truly fits her character. She's incredibly kind, and every time I visit, I leave with pockets full of energy and warmth. Recently, she mentioned that her son is serving in the army in eastern Turkey and said I remind her of him. A small stream of comfort for loneliness.

Yesterday, pushed by the worn-out shoes I could no longer stand, I finally overcame my inner resistance to buying clothes and went shopping. I got a pair of winter shoes for 499 lira with a special New Year discount, two pairs of pants (140 lira each), and two T-shirts (49 lira each).

Today, my colleague Omar treated me to sweets at Kunafa Café. A kunafa made from Khatayi threads and a special type of cheese. It wasn't the best dessert I've had, but it was decent.

After two months, I can say I've adapted to the new company. Work is progressing at a tolerable pace. Except for one colleague who playfully punches my arm every time he walks past—I’m planning to hit the gym to execute my evil plan for revenge. I also hope to return to Iran for a short visit by the end of fall, just to spend Yalda night with my family. May it happen.