When I was twelve, thirteen, I used to have to chaperone my sister, who was four years older, to an ice rink near Vanak Square. There was a girl there with long blond hair whose name was Soghra. I had a big crush on her though I didn't stand a chance. My sister used to go and do what she wanted when we got to the skating rink and I would spend the afternoon swooning over this girl Soghra. A few years later, when I was sixteen, I had my first relationship with a girl called Kobra. It had just started to cool off a bit when I discovered that the blonde girl from Vanak Square had moved in just around the corner from my school. She had moved in right next to where I used to stand and wait for my next-door neighbor, who used to give me a lift home from school. And one day I saw her walk down the path next to me and I thought – now where did SHE come from? She didn't know it was me. It was a few years later and I looked a lot different. Then we played a soccer match with our neighborhood team and she saw me playing and decided she fancied me. By this time she was that much older and a big buxom thing – and eventually I started seeing her. She invited me in one day when I was waiting for my lift and I was in heaven. So I went out with her for a couple of months but I didn't stop seeing Kobra. I thought I was being smart – I had gone from being a total loser to being a two-timer. And I remember my sisters used to give me a hard time because they found out and they really liked the first girl. But I started another relationship with a girl called Roghieh without finishing the one with Soghra. It all got a bit complicated. Soghra found out about her and got rid of me. The whole time I thought I was being cool, being this two-timer, but there really wasn't that much emotion involved. I did feel guilty about the first girl and I have seen her since. We danced a lot but I knew that she knew, and it was finished. I showed the guilt felt by a man over an affair, and my acknowledgement that my partner had found out. In the end, both women departed and I found myself all alone.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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