"I wrote in English, but my name, “Atash”—which means “fire” in Persian—is where my struggles started. After my father left my mother, shortly after my birth, my mother saw my name as a curse that “burned” her marriage. I became, in her eyes, a destructive flame. "Persian is my first language—the one I dream in, the one I was born into. It is the language of lullabies and ghosts. It was in Persian that I first learned how to lie, how to flatter, how to stay silent when I was hurting. It was in Persian that I learned how to be a dokhtar-e khoob—not just “good girl” in English, but a girl who knows how to shrink and, when needed, vanish. "My earliest memories were forged in Persian: the smell of jasmine on the Tehran wind, the shouted prayers from rooftops, the careful hush that fell over my house in the presence of men. My first silences were in Persian. "My Name Means Fire , my memoir, is not just a story about multiplicity or survival—it is about truth-telling. I...
Freshman year in college I had a roommate in my dorm. We coexisted although we did not get along. When the semester phonebooks came out we flipped through them out of boredom to see how many Iranian names we could spot. He moved out to another dorm room during Christmas break. When I got back from break and as I was organizing my things, my phone rang. As soon as I picked it up and said hello, the person on the line hung up. I was sure it was him and perhaps he realized it was obvious too because he called me back within 20 minutes and said somehow the phone got disconnected when he had called. He told me to find his number in the spring campus phone book. When I told him I didn't see any in the building he said that they were scooped up quickly and that he had personally taken 7 or 8 of them. I sensed that he said that just to get me to ask him for one but I found the thought of a person taking multiple phonebooks comical and I snickered. Perhaps realizing how absurd his claim was...