Be an Afghan

Ok! I’m severely tan now, tan enough to like an Afghan.

At Tehran’s metro station and somewhere else, Iranians started speaking with me in Farsi. At Afghanistan embassy in Tehran and some Afghan’s neighborhoods, Afghan started speaking with me in Dari/Pashto/Farsi, having thought that I’m one of their kinds. Luckily, there are no Indians speaking with me in Hindi, yet.

I have been to Afghanistan embassy three times until the Consul Officer can recognize me easily without having to introduce myself. While waiting impatiently with all those unruly Iranians who will never understand what a queue is, I turned my eyes away before putting my prying eyes at the huge crowd inside and outside the embassy building. Some strange feelings struck me out of sudden. Afghanistan suddenly has become so attractive to me…no…no…no…the fact is I’m so attached to its people. I don’t know how to explain this or maybe I do and I just don’t want to tell. I have zero knowledge about ethnography but I think my preexistence must be an Afghan.

It’s 4.00pm when I left the embassy, with my visa sits tight in my passport. Afghanistan is definitely a go.

So let me be an Afghan…