A New Iranian Dilemma
It was a birthday party at my work. One of those birthdays that mostly we just gather to have a piece of cake and a break. These famous cakes of this land that look so yummy and delicious but are so terribly sweet that I can never grab more than two bites. We sang the birthday song, cut the cakes into generous pieces and luckily I had the camera with me to take photos. Taking the photos for me was the best part. I could send them to my mum and dad so that they could have a picture of my colleagues, the people that I talk about them so often.
Although, birthday parties are never that eventful and people just come to say happy birthday out of the mere sake of politeness and to eat piece of famous, good looking cake. But the fact that it breaks the normal routine of my humping behind my computer, cheers me up. I was happily singing when I returned to my domicile. Jumped on my big chair and tried to resume my work but there was a mysterious force in the air. A power that made me go to my mailbox despite the fact that I was behind in my work. I told myself: