November 2017
Amir Bagheri
Some of the fondest memories that I posses today, are my childhood memories at my grandparent’s home in downtown Tehran. The home that my mother, her father, and also her grandfather were all born in. A place that homes over a century of family history and endless stories that were told by my grandmother. I still recall its garden with majestic fig and berry trees; a sight that added to the bright colours of the classic persian painting that was painted on the blue tiles of the garden’s inner walls.
I can just imagine what a happy place it must have been for my mother, her father, and her grandfather. Three generations, who were born and raised in the same house, surrounded by the kind of love that only family can offer.
That never-ending cycle of happiness, however, eventually came to an end. At least for my mother that is. She gambled all that her family home had to offer, for what appeared to be a greater cause; marrying my father.
Her new life with him outside of that home became a different reality. Her parent’s home became just a holiday home for us to visit from time to time.
Growing up, in my father’s home, had not been an easy process for me. Living in a house, that had been everything but a home. I learnt, very early on, that the world can be a cruel place for a kid with an imagination and I had only myself to get through it. At least that is what I had thought as a child. But I have put those years behind me now, and my values have evolved.
I know abuse; both emotionally and mentally. Behind this passionate, life-loving man who I am now, was once a speechless and depressed boy who always sought for solitude. My skin, that is now covered with body hair, was once covered with black and blue bruises that were only known by my long sleeve t-shirts.
I know abuse.
I know family.
After almost three decades of life, I am yet to understand the dynamics of family relations. I still question who is considered “family”. I question whether it is something that we gain through blood, or it is something that has a never-ending depth of emotional connectedness through experience. Or perhaps both.
One thing for me, however, is certain. That I love my family. Those through blood and those whom I have deep emotional connections with.
I am yet to find the right words to justify my reasons for this love. I guess, most men and women of faith must feel the same way about whatever or whoever it is that they put their faith in.
“Faith is the knowledge within heart,
beyond the reach of proof”
– Kahlil Gibran
Dear Odd Family, welcome to our November issue.
In this issue:
Film:
Midnight Poetry – Hankyeol Lee
Interview:
Interview with C.J. Obasi from Firey Films – Shameelah Khan
Poetry:
Family – Nicholas Bruce
Every Jacaranda: A Poetry Series – Sarah Godsell
Waves – Shakeel Thomas
The House Resembles Glass – Shakeel Thomas
True Colours – Shameelah Khan
Tellers, Beggars, and Car Guards – Gareth McLuckie
Awkward Phone Calls – Gareth McLuckie
We love cannibals – Joe Young
brother//sister//lover//fucker – Joe Young
Short Stories:
I saw my Lady – Kelly Ansara
Grief – Kelly Ansara
A Step into the light – Dale Oram
Columns:
Meditations: Introducing Lucinda – Lucinda de Leeuw
Persian Poetry: Part I – Mehdi Bagheri
We publish new content on the first day of each month.
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