Eavesdropping and leaving New York

London's Calling

I took the M train into Manhattan yesterday, and while attempting to focus on reading bleak but important bits of news, I got distracted by the mother-daughter duo seated to my right. The mother spoke Farsi to her daughter while her daughter responded in English, a dynamic that feels like home to me. She was giving her daughter advice, and I pieced together after a few minutes of intent eavesdropping that this daughter was moving to a Francophone country in Africa for work.

I felt pangs in my gut while listening in, because the conversation feels intimately familiar. A month ago, life paved the way for a move to London, and in the past few weeks, I’ve had to say so many goodbyes while packing my life away. The conversations with my parents were the toughest and it’s not for reasons you might suspect — they were so overwhelmingly supportive, which just made me want to hold onto them tighter and to never say goodbye.

I waver between my own emotions and those of the duo next to me, when the mother says “I don’t want you to go, but if this is what you want…” and the daughter replies immediately with, “I think it will be a really good experience.” I think my mom and I had this exact conversation when I wanted to go to New York for university, and when I got into NYU. At 17, I was the one providing assurance and trying to calm her nerves — fast forward 15 years and our roles have now reversed.

I hemmed and hawed over interjecting, wanting to be as polite and respectful as possible but found the odds of this conversation happening the week of my departure too slim for me to stay mum. As they prepared to get off, I took a look at the two of them for the first time, and it was like looking at my own mom and myself: this mom has the same beautiful blonde-brunette hair that Iranian women have cracked the secret formula to (I hope to receive the formula in my forties), the daughter is bright-eyed and full of love for her mom.

At the last possible moment, I interject, with a “Bebakhshid.” Excuse me. I smile at them both and say, “Movafagh Bashid.” Good luck. Or literally translated, be successful. In English, I add “Whatever you are planning to do, I hope it goes great and I hope you are happy. I’m leaving New York after 15 years to move abroad to London, and I’ve had the same conversation with my family.” The daughter smiles as if a weight was lifted, her mom says, “But she wants to move to Africa! It’s so far!” I said, “That’s a great thing. My partner lived in East Africa for several years. She will learn, grow, and thrive.” Mom gave me a reluctant smile, and the daughter thanked me. They got off the train and while the train was still in the station, I heard her on the platform say “SEE! It’s a sign. This is a really good sign!” and giggle with some elation.

There is so much I am going to miss, there are so many people I am going to miss, I can’t fathom saying goodbye to the city that’s been my home for my entire adult life. I keep mulling over the fact that my parents gave up everything to raise a family in America and thirty-some years later, I’m leaving the country. My parents don’t think twice about that. There will be a separate post on the things I’ll miss, but in the meantime, I’m sharing the beautiful bit of advice my dad casually dropped in an Instagram comment. Also, the water droplet emoji represents pouring a bowl of water out behind a traveler (e.g. if I’m leaving my parents house to return to NY or go on a trip, they will pour a bowl of water out on the driveway as I depart) to ensure their safe return. Saying goodbye to your parents is a gut-punch at any age and at any time, I’m grateful for their traditions, their advice, and everything my loved ones have done to lighten this path. More soon.

Aiming at the heart,

Roya