Some Memories

On May 11, 2015 By

Her name is Bahar: it means spring. She brings rain on the burning fires and life to the dead souls. Her heart reflects her journey: it is beating strongly but is full of scars. Her heart does not look perfect: It has places where pieces have been removed and others put in which don’t fit […]

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As I sat there—hour after hour—I was flabbergasted by the way that the receptionist treated the various people who arrived at the front of the line. Her standard greeting was a stern “why are you here?” (not, “good morning, how can I help you?”) and she would berate people for not knowing what and where their “A Number” was. She also did not speak Spanish; I ended up spending part of the day translating for Spanish-speaking immigrants whom she began to yell at after they did not understand her instructions.

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