Day 9: Sometimes I Dream in Farsi

"You're crying too much," Nemanja says. "You're having a nervous breakdown."

I couldn't tell if Nemanja was being serious, so I told him I didn't think so. That it was just healthy to let it out. He agreed, so I'm assuming he was joking. Still, I get that lots of people might see me crying through this experience as being vulnerable and weak. That's sort of what we're taught. Men can't cry. It's not allowed.

My wife, Sohee, confirmed this.

"In Korea," she said. "We have a saying: 'A man can cry three times. When he is born, when his parents die, and if his country is in devastation."

"That isn't very many times," I said.

"No," she agreed.

Then I talked about how sharing this moment in the barbershop when I experienced all that hate, and I get emotional, is helping other people release things. I talked about Dan's letter and my father. Then I mentioned the letter I got from Dave after our podcast. He basically explained how emotional he felt after the interview and how it triggered all these feelings he had when he was 12 years old. I asked him if I could post it, and he said, "If you're willing to be this open, then I will be too."

My mother, brother, & I were out school shopping & getting ready to move into a new school system the next year. And when we came home there was a note stuck on the garage door handle that read: "Bonnie: Call the office ASAP! John's in the hospital." We were dropped off at my friend's house while my mom rushed to the hospital. And I remembered my grandparents came up from the south shore to pick us up late. My grandfather had his teeth pulled that day & his face was all swelled up. He was in a foul mood & got us home for bed. And I remember late that night my Nonny (grandmother) waking us & saying, "we need to go to the hospital. You're father is asking for you both."

I remember I was still in my night clothes & we drove to the hospital. I remember crying all the way to the hospital knowing something was really wrong by the way my grandparents were acting. When we got up to the ICU, there was my aunt & my cousin, my parent's friends, and my father's business partner sitting in chairs on the waiting room. They all had grim faces & weren’t saying anything. My mom walked out from the ICU and said my father was going to have emergency open heart surgery & that we were goin in to see him to say goodbye. Back then with aorta dissections, it was a 50% chance of survival from the surgery.

We walked in, all three of us holding hands & there he was in a hospital bed looking small and very weak. He hugged us both & said that we needed to be strong for our mom & to remember to always be there for each other. Then , at that moment, my brother, who at that time was epileptic, collapsed to the floor & had a massive seizure. I remember dropping the floor to hold him. I remember the nurses pulling him away from me trying to stabilize him. Then, for some reason, I pulled back to a corner between the bed and the nearby curtain and tightened into a small ball. The nurses were able to calm my brother down & then rushed me out of the ICU while they checked out my brother. I remember just sitting in those half back waiting chairs and shaking.

That killed me. People are laying it all on the line now.

David told me in the rest of the letter how that early experience allowed him to become who he was today and how he was grateful now.

I don't know if I'm grateful for what I went through when I was nine years old. I've never even thought about it. I suppose I am grateful for who I am, but that experience I could have omitted. I'm not sure any experience with racism is something anyone would have gratitude for experiencing, but maybe you've got to forgive the moment in order to let it go. I don't really know. I also didn't have time to think about it. I had to get my class ready for a Skype session with actor Ray Haratian.

Ray had been in a bunch of films, such as Argo, Under the Shadow, and A Girl Who Walks Home Alone at Night. We were showing the latter in class, so I thought the students would get a kick out of talking to him about his experiences. They were fairly tight-lipped though.

"They're still processing," Ray said over Skype to all of them.

He picked up the empty space and filled it with his love for cinema, and how he was looking forward to directing, and that after Kiarostami there wasn't anyone.

"I don't know who said it, but there's a quote where someone says, 'Cinema began with D. W. Griffith and ended with Kiarostami. I say, 'Cinema begins and ends with Kiarostami.'" Then he held up his box set of Kiarostami's entire collection.

This was a bit ironic, because one of the students who was being interviewed had such a tough time with Kiarostami when we watched "Close-up" in another class. He didn't even believe me when I told him that Kiarostami was considered one of the greatest filmmakers of all time.

Him and I exchanged a look in that moment. His said, "Oh, shit." Mine said, "Ha ha!"

After the interview, Aaron and I went back to the house. We talked about what we would do the next day with the shoot at the hair salon. He suggested that I have my mom come with us. Then we could interview her again at the house.

"You already had your father at the barbershop," he said. "Now, it's your mother at a hair salon."

I liked the idea. I didn't know if my mother would do it though. I had to explain it to her and basically half-plead. She seemed to get it when I said, "We had dad do the barbershop, now we have to do the other side. You don't have to say anything. Just sit there."

"Okay," she said.

"So, we'll leave around 8:30," I said. "So make yourself pretty before then."

"I'm not pretty now?" my mother joked.

"You're pretty now," I said. "I just mean to be ready to go by then."

I'm not sure how this shoot tomorrow morning will go. My mother had been fairly quiet this whole time. She doesn't want to say anything to offend anyone, and she's acutely aware of the camera.

"I could record and leave the room," Aaron said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Let's see if that works."

"You could also just let her not say anything and that says everything," Aaron smiled.

"Yeah," I agreed. "That too."

Tomorrow we find out.

"

#Day9 #SometimesIDreaminFarsi #Kiarostami #DavidGardner #RayHaratian #healthycrying

Day 8: Sometimes I Dream in Farsi

I had another emotional day. It started with being interviewed for David Gardner's podcast. I really didn't expect to be emotional. David was asking about the past films, and it was all hunky-dory. We talked about how I blend realities sometimes, so that it becomes easier to distinguish what's real in every day life sort of like a Zen koan or Sufi poetry.

"In Sufism, there's this idea that if you can get underneath the seven layers of meaning in a poem, the student can wear the rust from their minds," I said. "I suppose the films' hope to do the same."

Then we got into how I came over to America and what it was like. David asked about my father and how his approach was so unique.

"Yeah," I said. "He was big on me gaining my independence. He'd let me get lost in stores and watch me from afar. He'd see me cry a bit, and then figure things out."

"That's amazing," David said.

Then he got into the barbershop incident and how he was helping his kids learn to communicate with one another and how to deal with things on the field when he's coaching their sports teams. That's when I lost it, because I thought about talking to these kids about how to deal with racism, and, I don't know, it just really got me. I was imagining me talking to them and how it'd be really healing -- and I saw myself as that nine year old in my head -- and I lost it for a bit.

"Pirooz, are you there?" David asked.

"I'm sorry, David," I said and let out a sob. "I'm just getting emotional."

That's when we started in on male aggressive behavior and how men are never expected to be vulnerable or sensitive by our father's generation and how that was completely normal.

"We've got to bottle all that up," I said, "And then you end up with what we have now, where I've kept all these feelings inside for so long, until the waterworks start at the drop of a hat. I'm like Robert Deniro in Analyze This. I could watch an insurance commercial and start crying."

David agreed. He mentioned how virtual platforms keep us from having a sense of intimacy, and that got me on the problems with chasing fame and success, because it's antithetical to being in touch with the creativity you need to cultivate. That it was inconsequential to art's process itself.

I'm not sure where we went after that. I remember talking about creativity and Picasso, and how my films were more like paintings, where mistakes were included and their process, so you could see it come into being from the outside-in and that would be similar to Picasso in Le Mystere de Picasso when he shows how hard it is to find a painting sometimes. That it can be like that.

Once I was done with the interview, Aaron and I thought about interviewing my mother for the film, but she didn't seem to want to do it. She was worried about getting her new phone and doing grocery shopping, so I suggested doing it tomorrow.

"You could come to the salon with us," I said.

"Why would I go to a salon?" she asked.

I didn't push it. I headed to class. McManus Woodend, my friend from EGS, was going to chat with the Scriptwriting students for the first half of class. Then, Aaron Lee Dowell, was going to talk to them during the second half.

At first, we couldn't get the laptop to connect to the projector, so I had to call a technical assistant in the class. He saw that the wire was loose and we were off to the races.

McManus talked about how he got the gig as a Caveman in the Geico commercials, working with David Lynch, and then his own process with making Rocksteppy.

Classes these days are interesting. You'll have half the class engaged. Then you'll have a quarter who are busy trying to finish their assignments, and then another 10% who are just checked out, or couldn't be impressed to save their lives. It wasn't until McManus talked about being on the set for Scorsese's Irishman that some of the stragglers perked up.

That kills me. This interest in things that are "famous" or "established".

Aaron was quick to dismiss it though.

"Well," he said. "If it gets them engaged."

I suppose that's what makes Aaron such an engaging teacher to me. He talked to the students about what was working in their scripts and pushed several to go beyond their comfort zones and really think about the wants and desires of the characters within a scene, rather than the big pictures, and how to connect these elements together.

"You've got three acts in television," he told Kafani who stayed after class to chat with him. "That first act you got to have them moving toward something. Then, when you cut to a commercial, the audience will want to know how that all plays out."

I knew that both McManus and Aaron were geniuses in their own right and that we were so lucky to have them there with us. I try to give everything to classes -- to make it be a real experience. I wonder if any of them notice.

Aaron talked about how reality wasn't settled for some of the younger students yet. That they couldn't write it, because they didn't know it yet.

"That's why the writing will be sentimental sometimes," he explained.

We waited outside for Panauh to pick us up from the parking lot. Then we went to a bar to talk over the next day's shoot. We were thinking about getting some famous folks to interview, but Aaron didn't want that.

"I like how this is staying with every day people," he said. "I also like that it's just Iranians."

That was when he mentioned a friend of his from film school who had two kids in San Francisco. He suggested she was relatively my age and would be a good person to chat with to get her experience.

That's when it hit me: 'I could get her to play my mother in dramatic reenactments, and then each of her children could play me at those ages.'

I could see the younger boy being spun around in a room, like I was when I was in Iran at three years old by my grandfather. Then we could start hearing these dreams in Farsi. It might be my dad reciting a Rumi poem, or Dan Hirsch reading his letter to me, or me reading from an old journal, or even Meina talking about her experiences. Then, we transition in and out with these children playing in slow motion that cuts to the American landscape, birds, flowers, the road, music, and back to the next element of the documentary.

"I like it," Aaron said, when he got back from the bathroom.

He sent me her contact. I hope she's willing to do it.

#Day8 #SometimesIDreaminFarsi #PiroozKalayeh #AaronLeeDowell #DavidGardner #podcast #Picasso #McManusWoodend

Day 7: Sometimes I Dream in Farsi

I'm overwhelmed with all the support we've been getting. That's getting me emotional too.

My Uncle Farahmand is already talking about me doing some TV spots for Iranian programs in LA next month.

"You need a sidekick," he said. "Someone who can translate for you."

"What about Meina?" I said.

"She's good for French," he laughed.

I thought that would look cool. To have two cousins who are in the film side-by-side. That's why I wanted to have us doing the road trip across America. I figured she'd represent the female perspective and we'd have good conversations. Besides, I've already done films, where it's me and my brothers talking, or, at least fictional versions of ourselves.

I thought everything was set for the road trip, but, apparently, Meina hasn't passed her driving test, or told her folks about her plans. My Uncle was definitely worried about the prospects, and understandably so. She's failed her driving test twice, and, even though she's almost 30 years old, she just never got to driving.

I know what you're thinking. That's so strange. I wonder if it is though. My mother didn't start driving until ten years after she got to America. She was just too scared of it. To this day, Sohee, my wife, who grew up in Korea and never had to drive with their subway system, refuses to drive in LA. She's also petrified of it.

I don't think Meina's petrified, but time is short, and I wanted to do this road trip in 24 days. That means I might make the trip alone, which could be cool. I guess we could have phone conversations. I have no idea.

I thought about it when I got a text from my dad saying my Uncle was worried about the road trip, while Aaron, Panauh, and I were watching Infinity War. It was wild. I was watching Thanos kill everyone, and then I had to figure out how to save the Avengers in real life.

I didn't think about it though. I just watched the film and figured it would sort itself. I didn't know the movie was three hours though. I can't watch films that are longer than an hour and a half. I can't watch anything more than an hour and a half. So, I headed to the bathroom and talked to one of my students who was ushering at the theater.

"Are you liking the film?" Justin asked.

"Yup," I said.

I stopped at a bench and sat for a bit, stretching my legs from the drive. That's when I saw all these posts from friends and supporters who have been reading the blog. I'm amazed people read these things. Sometimes it feels like you're creating all alone, but I guess I'm creating with everyone.

First, there was a message from Zen teacher Brad Warner. He was saying how much he likes all the posts and is excited for the film. He and I have been talking about race and America and Buddhism for the last seven years together. He's probably one of my closest friends. I don't even see any of the Zen master stuff, so we had at it about all sorts of stuff. And, yes, we've had fights! We argue and sometimes don't see things the same way, but we've always found a way to talk about things.

I remember our first fight. He was mad about the documentary I was making of him. I forget what the issue was, but we started arguing. That's when he stopped and paused and said: "We need to figure out a better way of talking when we don't agree."

He just said it like that. That's when I stopped raising my voice, and so did he, and we just talked it through.

Since then, we've never raised voices to one another. Now, I'm not saying we're perfect, but it was like a nice agreement: friends don't need to get all emotional if they don't agree about shit. This doesn't mean we don't argue and yell at everyone else. Of course, we're human. He's human, so don't think like that. It's just a pact, I suppose.

My dad says that's a true marker of friendship. "To be able to know your friends in the hard times," he says. "Under pressure."

It's a little bit different for me. I know I have friends that come and go in my life, but they're still my friends. There might be disagreements or whatever, but I'm not so sure things can be so perfect all the time. I don't think that exists. But, I do know that friends can make a different when you least expect it. That's what I felt when I read Dan Hirsch's message to me right after that. This came right after my student that came from Atlantic City to say such nice things, and so I felt overwhelmed again, and I started to cry again:

When I was eight, my family moved. We didn’t move far – twenty minutes down the road, from Pennsylvania to Delaware. But from my perspective, we were moving away from everything I’d ever known.

My father’s new job began immediately, so we moved abruptly. There were only three weeks left until summer vacation and I had to go to a new school where I knew no one.

Being prone to shyness, especially at a tender age, I remember the fear of that day when I stepped into that room. I had never felt so worried and alone. It was the first time I was the new kid. Being the new kid at school is daunting at the beginning of the year. Being the new kid with three weeks left in the year was terrifying.

Before the whirlwind of anxiety and fear could fully consume me, a boy, a new classmate, approached me. He introduced himself, Pirooz. He welcomed me to the class. He asked me where I had moved from. He introduced me to his friend Neel. They saved me a spot at the lunch table.

My fears quickly changed into excitement. This new place with new people can be good. I never properly thanked Pirooz for his outward kindness, his unconditional acceptance, and his unprompted desire to make a scared and shy boy feel welcome. This day has always stuck in my memory. As I’ve read through your blog and learned about the difficulties you faced at different points of your youth, I am reminded of that day. On that day you treated me the way that you would like to be treated yourself. You demonstrated the very things that were denied to you in the “barbershop” incident.

That incident must have happened not too long after our first encounter. I can see how disruptive this moment might have been to your psyche. It was the opposite of your basic assumptions of people and how they should treat each other (or at least this is what gathered about your assumptions, based upon the way you treated me).

That day at Highlands, I went home, my mom asked if I met any new people. I said I met a couple of nice kids and had a pretty good first day. That was how I identified you and Neel – kind and friendly kids. It wasn’t until later that I even realized that you were Iranian and Indian. Maybe it was just the innocence and naivety of youth, but I prefer to call it good fortune. I was fortunate to meet you when I did. Your openness had an affect on me even if I couldn’t identify it at the time. Although we weren’t instant “best friends” from that day forward, I always appreciated your friendship. As I move further and further through this life, I find myself appreciating your friendship even more.

I hope you find the resolution you’re seeking on your journey. Please know that I’m not trying to equate my going to a new school with the outright racism you were forced to deal with. Even though we lived in the same town, we were in different worlds. I’m a little embarrassed that I wasn’t aware of it at the time, either through ignorance or avoidance. Just know that you have affected to some degree my personal stereotyping of Iranians – They are kind, friendly, open, with big hearts and an eye for film! Keep putting that best foot forward and let me know if your movie tour ever hits North Carolina.

I'm even a bit overwhelmed reading it again. I asked Dan to read this on camera or to his phone. Maybe this is what we hear when I'm going across the country. Maybe it's just letters people send me. The memories they've had of me, or whatever they want to say to me, and I hear it. Maybe they can record it on their phones and send them to me, so I can just play it on the car speakers as I go.

I'm hoping Meina joins us for some of the trip. But, if not, maybe other folks will, virtually even.

After I read everything and Infinity War was done, I walked out with Aaron and Panauh. They're pretty amazing people. I felt like I was so lucky. Like I was nine years old again with my best friends. Then, they got into it:

"That was way too long," Panauh said.

"If you were 15 years old, you would have loved it," I said.

"Man," Aaron said. "If I was 15, I'd get back in line to see it again."

Then we talked about me posting on days when we don't film. Aaron was saying it should only be days we shoot, but I wasn't sure.

"You're going to post every day?" Aaron asked again to be sure.

"Every day until the film is released," I said.

I figured it'd be good to hear what happens in-between too, because I didn't see this as just a blog, but a book that might go along with the film. I was thinking about Spike Lee, and how he had done it for "She's Gotta Have It" and "Do the Right Thing". Like, some people might find it valuable. I have no idea.

Nemanja, my Serbian brother from another mother, says I should post every day and be as honest as possible.

"Tell everything?" I asked.

"You are constantly writing about crying and emotions - how can this be neutral," he messaged back. "Also, everything is colored by your vision and stems from the event in the barber shop."

Maybe, telling everything and being completely naked is the best way. Maybe that's all this film is.

#Day7 #SometimesIDreaminFarsi #PiroozKalayeh #Iranian #Documentary #RoadTrip #InfinityWar