Mourning: 33rd Day

Verbally, loudly confronted an asshole Iranian last night in a coffee shop of all places. There is a history of misunderstanding and disrespect and semi-friendship between us, but, 5-6 weeks ago, he took it to a  new height after a long period of mutual respect and calm.  Usually, I let it go because we both are grad students and stress is rampant. However, this time, a combination of frustration, hopelessness, and stress because of both school and work and mourning agony made me confront him in the most vociferous manners in public as he tried to approach me and say hi with a stupid smile on his stupid face.

Fucking hate people who think they can offend you whenever and as soon as they have forgotten about it, the victim of their offence will also forget. This asshole, let's call him Hessam, got what he had to be given last night finally.

Also, before my encounter with that asshole, I met two Iranian-Americans in the coffee shop. One of them works in a grocery store near my apartment, and the other one is apparently a taxi driver. I had seen the grocery shop worker, Mohammad, several times. We usually talk about our shared memories of streets of Tehran and our family and such. I only know him by his first name. As for the taxi-driver, last night was the second time I saw him in person. His name is Ali.  Anyways, I told Mohammad that my father had died. He and Ali stopped and we talked for at least an hour or two about death, their experience when their fathers,, siblings does in Iran and such. Mohammad is in his 50s. Ali is in his 60s.

Well, meeting those two gentlemen was nice. Meeting Hessam was crappy.  And now as I am typing these words, I am having a mild fever, but a wonderful barista has made me a fantastic tea which is a combination of 4 fantastic teas. She is very nice and kind and young. Seeing young people makes me happy. Young Americans in this place all look happy all the time. I don't understand it, but I do envy them.