Baba has been asking how I am lately. He notices when I am not okay. I sat next to him the other day when I was upset. I put my arms around him and rested my cheek against his smooth face. For a while, neither of us said anything. Then he said, "why are you upset? I am unhappy when you are upset."
I didn't know what to say to him. All I wanted to do was cry, which I later did when I went back to my room.
My Baba has a lot of doctor visits these days. He had a cataract surgery recently. I drive him and sit with him at the various offices. He likes that I go with him and always thanks me. He is anxious, a lot. He keeps losing weight and worries about his health. He gets nervous in the car. I try to convince him that he will be okay, but he focuses on his worries.
My Baba ages everyday that I am with him. Last night, I looked at his old photos when he was much younger, much healthier. He was a different person in the photos, always wearing the best outfits, the nicest suits with a matching tie, always around people, colleagues, friends, traveling, laughing, attending events, meetings, giving speeches. He looks important in these pictures. His hair is jet black and gelled up in a chic style. He even has nice abs in some of his beach pictures.
Aging is inevitable. I guess I can't stop it from happening. I just have to be here when I am, be present and hopefully happy so he is happy. My Baba asks how I am and I want to say I am the happiest girl because I have him.

When I was little, Barbie dolls made me happy. My brother would send them from Europe. I dressed my dolls, gave them baths and washed their hair. I used to imagine that one day I would buy them a nice house and maybe even a car. I had kitchenware and some toy furniture, but that wasn’t enough. I wanted them to have more clothes, more things, just more and more of everything. When I was little, family trips to the Caspian made me happy. I loved watching my mother pack for me. I liked dancing in the cabin and watching grownups make fires. I always got car sick on the way back, always.
When I was little, I was probably a lot happier with little things. When my Baba and brother left, I began feeling sad. I didn't know how to cope and the sadness built up and then I hated school. I cried everyday and even as I said my prayers, I kept crying. My other brother who was still there tried to talk to me. He read me stories some nights before I went to sleep. I guess everybody tried to help me be okay.
I am too old to be read to these nights, but I am sad and don't know what to do about it. I get sad looking at Baba. I get sad looking at Maman and her tired eyes. I get sad that my brother is starting to feel the struggles of being a new immigrant. I get sad that my sister has moved to her nice house, but is no longer around me everyday. I get sad that there are people whose children are still away from them and they work two jobs to make ends meet and have it a lot worst than I do. I get sad that I am like this instead of being a really happy young woman.
When I was little, I knew how to be happy.