In one of my early relationships the girl used to dress me up and buy me
things. She would bring me food and give me love. People would look at
the two of us in sympathy with everything we saw. I never wanted
anything as she would buy whatever I needed. She would phone me in the
evening on hearsay and buy me caviar. Or take me to a restaurant off
Broadway. We never ever argued. We never calculated the currency we'd
spent. Sometimes I'd look at her and think to myself that words mean so
little and money less
when she's lying next to me. She also paid my rent. It was so easy.
"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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