PhD in assholery.

So, finally, after wasting years in the grad school, I defended my thesis "successfully."

It feels good. Very good, actually.

Here is me trying to jot down stuff I do not want to forget a year from now:

Thursday, April 3, 2013:

I was driving home when I started crying waiting behind a red light.  Thoughts of my father, his smile, his voice -- his warm, and kind voice, his eyes when he heard some good news, and such came to me all at once. Knowing he is in the ground, his cancer-stricken corpse decaying away, becoming one with the fucking nature, was too overwhelming that only tears could be uttered in response. What is there to do?

Friday, April 4, 2013:

Defense commenced at 1 PM. It ended at 3 PM. I passed.

Went to Chimes and started calling people to come in and drink! It was fun, fun, fun.

Most of the people I called were not my friends, but I was friendly with. I have very few friends in this town. Another reason to celebrate the successful defense. 

Sunday, April 6, 2013:

Talked to my mom in Tehran. I had called her on Saturday but nobody answered the phone. Anyways, I talked to her for more than an hour at least -- probably two hours. I asked her if she had visited Dad's grave in Behesht-e Zahra graveyard, or not. Of course, I knew she had visited the grave. It's the tradition for Iranians to visit the grave of the deceased dears and commemorate their memories on the joyous occasion of a new Persian year (Nowruz). She said she had visited the grave. And, I asked her how she commuted to the grave and back. I do not remember in all my life seeing my mom in person driving. There are pics of her driving some Citroën my parents had before the revolution, but they are just pics. She said she hires a cab. My family's house in Tehran is near Seyyed Khandan bridge, which is one of the hubs of transportation in Tehran. So, I know there is always some cabs waiting for customers there. My mom further added my father is known among the drivers for the many trips he and my mom took the chemotherapy clinic. My mom said some of the drivers even get out of their cars when they give a ride to my mom to Behesht-e Zahra and wash my dad's tombstone. Washing the tombstone by some water (or, rose water) is another tradition of Iranians. Hearing my mom telling me of cab drivers paying respect to my dad, visiting his grave, and washing the tombstone, I could not do anything but burst into crying. This is the first time I cried on the phone with my mother on the other end since my dad died in the Summer of 2013.