Author Archives: Kamran Numvar

Common Man

For the longest time I failed to understand the sense of nostalgia. I could never come to terms with the reasons as to why one should yearn the past.

The other conflicting thought of mine has had to do with attempting to make sense of the circumstances, events, and emotions that push one away from the sense of purity and innocence. The sense we’ve all felt during childhood. The feelings we felt in our cheerful memories, pure thoughts, and high places.

I’m developing a theory that argues the sense of nostalgia has something to do with yearning the years of purity -when everything seemed so homely and simple. We attach ourselves to old circumstances and objects to relate to what we used to feel -or- what we seem to have lost. That is what’s sitting in the soul of a common man.

Mr. Mrtinello

[Story] – In university, I took an optional course called The History and Philosophy of Science. The professor who passionately taught the course was Mr. Martinello. He was a middle-aged man who looked like a used up guy and a certified mad scientist. One day and as he was discussing Einstein’s marital problems, he ended his sentences by saying “…Einstein might have been the most gifted scientist the world has ever seen, but paying attention to others is the rarest and purest form of generosity, and it seems he lacked it”.

Trip to LA

Bubba signifies loyalty in its purest and strongest form. You can call him at 3:00am in the morning and ask for help, and he will show up without needing the cause. Bubba has a tendency to form magical opinions on issues that are relevant to the ways of experience. Bubba’s opinions make you believe he has thought about the issue long and hard, but he has chosen to stay mummed about it. Bubba owns the credit on my belief that: silence is the common language of everyone.

It was at the end of my film’s premier in Seattle and I was getting ready to leave the theatre. Bubba was there ever so selflessly for the whole day helping with everything. As we were leaving the theatre, Bubba reached out to tell me something privately. He pulled me to a quiet corner and with a low and cautious tone said, “you would have never made a film had you married Fiona”

When I was growing up, I never had any permutation of a dream that considered me as a married man. Marriage was never a part of any plan. During college years, marrying young was a trend. Meeting your spouse in college seemed like a great idea because the assumption was that those are the only years you’re surrounded by so many smart girls. By that assumption, Liza would be a great choice for me because she was the smartest girl in the class. However, today we know that marrying Liza wouldn’t work because I still have a penis and Liza is no longer interested in such organs. Liza ended up marrying Becky and they live in Montreal.

On the other hand, my parents never forced a criterion for marriage. For instance, my mother who suspended her teaching career to be a full time mom would never ask my sister to do the same. In fact, that’d be awkward because my sister continued working when she had her first child.

Fiona chose to get married, and move to LA after we broke up back in 2006. Don’t get me wrong; Fiona was smart since she had already found her ideal husband before we broke up. Fiona wrote me once and said, “I’m happy. I’m glad I met someone with the same socioeconomic background. I’ve never wanted to marry someone who’s smarter than me”. I believe the phrase Fiona was looking for was ‘smarter than I am’. Fiona always believed it is important to keep the grammar intact, even if there are many conceptual layers in a phrase. She cared about “the optics”, maybe because she believed the spotlights were always on her.

I knew so well I wasn’t ready to get married with Fiona. I believed a happy life required a lot more than a career and a pretty girl. Or maybe, the problem is that I use that line on dates quite frequently. I thought a wife like Fiona would prevent me from working on anything that excluded her, including getting to know other beautiful and smart women. So instead of spending my years becoming a more marriageable male, I was actually learning about other things that didn’t necessarily include notions like love or forever.

Ironically, Fiona was in Seattle on the day Bubba shared his wisdom with me. What are the chances! A close friend of mine asked me to go to the same event where Fiona was. I considered it, but then I thought: some people choose to break the mold, and some people take a trip to LA.

Sombodies Seeb

It’s a Tuesday, but I treated myself to a drink at exactly 5:37pm in the afternoon. It’s been exactly seven months and fourteen days that I’ve been working on a documentary I’ve named “Sombodies Seeb”. It’s now done, and I can’t wait for its opening on May 18th for a selected group friends.

What an experience! I’ve made so many friends throughout this process. I have been the lucky recipient of kindness, advice, and encouragement. The experience has made me want to do this for the rest of my life.

There are so many stories to tell, so much laughter, and of course a fair share of disappointment. Best of all, I feel like I’ve lived life during the process -without actually having a life. I worked long hours five days a week, and spent all of my time during after-work hours and weekends -stitching stuff together on this project. It was worth it. It has become the baby I’ve always wanted to have.

This 40 minutes film represents me. It’s vague, unassuming, and confused. It has too many questions and entails too many layers. It respects the intelligence of others, but also expects them to connect the facts together on their own, and understand what’s been going on. It doesn’t have patience to explain much, but it is fair in sharing the context as well as the pure facts without qualifying them. It also shares another truth about me, which I admit, it’s hard to put out there: it reveals my judgments.

I suppose, I’ve just reached that age where my brain went from “you shouldn’t probably say that” … to … “fuck it, say it and see what happens”.

Obituaries

When I was growing up, there was a few years that I royally failed my parents as a student. I was distracted trying to be cooler than necessary. I had no appetite to spend hours learning science and math. My mother was gently worrying about me. Her fear had to do with the thought that I’d drop out of school to pursue a soccer career.

As an interim solution my mother, who is considerate and kind to the bone, decided to force herself to reading things in front of me -to encourage me to do the same. My mother was actually young during those years, in her thirties to be precise. Her reading material didn’t trigger any interest in me though. She had this never-ending fascination about obituaries. She loved reading obituaries. The smart-ass punk that I was, I was certain she actually forced herself to reading the morose texts to teach me a lesson.

But she had other reasons, I learned. She believed when you get to know people by the details of their passing, you could always look back at their lives and see what they learned. What they left behind. What they took from others. My mother even had her own secret code to extract all of the facts: the position of the obituary within the page layout, the length and form of the text, the poems, and so on.

Death stands tall as a mysterious concept. It seems to be the end of one thing, but you can easily see it as the beginning of another thing, even if the new thing is just a nothing. I’ve always been fascinated about knowing what goes on in one’s mind when s/he seems to get close to the end of the road. What are the hopes, if any. What are the unfulfilled dreams, if any. What are the regrets. When one is close to the end of this life-like dream, it’s all doomed to seem very short. It has to seem so meaningless, yet so meaningful –depending on how you got there.

My old friend, Rich, decided to generously share the journey. He decided to express how he felt in each step of the way. He taught his friends to be at peace about it. He taught his friends to stand up and deal with it, when there is heat around the corner.

I’m amazed by his brave action. Rich went out in style. And man, is that not something you’d want to see in an obituary.

In memory of Rich Goade…

Gorgeous

Tony is an Irish man who works as a bartender at the restaurant across the street. He’s very approachable, and deeply kind by all measures. Tony shows up in conversations with his trademark rough edges. He says “fack” a lot. He goes up and down the bar, and in infrequent moments, stops to share the gossip about other people who sit right beside me. By default, Tony thinks all of his customers are idiots. However, there is something special about Tony. He knows about medieval history and old fashion primitives, more than my late uncle who was a history teacher.

Last night, there was a fire alarm in the building and I was forced to leave the building and wait outside -until fire fighters concluded their show. I thought, I might as well go see Tony. As soon as I walked in, he turned around and poured me a drink without saying a word. He put the drink in front of me and then asked “sit here, I want to ask you something”. I knew right then, a classic bar moment was about to be born with his show and all. He looked at me dead in the eye, and asked, “what does gorgeous mean to you?”

I admit, I had to think a lot. Albeit if I was smart, I’d not be the pensive guy at the bar who knows the bartender. Because what happens next is that, other people at the bar stare at you and keep buying you more drinks.

After a while, I was able to form a thought about the subject. Here is what I listed out for Tony. I said, “Gorgeous is the one who:

– Has a flawlessly symmetrical and kind face
– Carries a mildly reserved persona
– Makes me think, ‘God she’s gorgeous’ consistently, and with no qualms”

Tony, who’s very argumentative, reluctantly made me feel he understood the first two, but he needed more information on the last one. He said that he’d never be able to admit or internalize such thing, even to self. That said, Tony was on a good mood last night and ended up buying my drink.

Admitting someone else’s qualifications happens to be a hard task -if you’re competitive, complex, or analytical. Such admission shows some of your cards –even if you spend no other form of capital. Tony’s mindset reflects our society. The Rugged Man Society, where everyone is on his own. In such place, there is no room for give and take of credit, in any shape or form. I said all of that to Tony. His response was “Fack Off!”.

Or maybe, I’m just a late bloomer who still has inner voices of “god, she’s gorgeous”. From time to time, I am known to have a slow get-it factor. Maybe, I’m just not that smart. Well, the graveyard is full of indispensable men. Someone else will come and fill that role.

Losing Weight

Today and during an after-work gathering, someone asked me “do you have a partner?” … This question, at its core, is very much San Francisco style of information inquiry. But guess what? That’s not the most interesting part of the story.

I responded by saying, “Oh, my personal life is a disaster zone”. I don’t know why I said that in a work setting, but I immediately felt like I’ve never been that honest about a topic that involves my privacy and me. I also answered the question, without answering the suggestion that was implanted in the question.

That said, I think I should stop losing weight.

Diapers

One of my close friends once asserted, “We are all very interesting and adorable at the beginning, and at the end of our lives. It’s just during the times in the middle when we could be odd, confused, and tedious.”

So simple. Yet so true. The statement made me think about that curious middle phase that starts around twenties and ends around early sixties. Ironically, during that middle phase we don’t need diapers either.

The red thread that connects that path is curiosity. It is the transitional characteristic of that phase between hope and contentment. Stay curious, my friends…

Dawn

Back in October of 2002, my coworker Dawn called me to her office. I knew something was wrong, and I knew I was about to be preached about something. It was one of those gloomy and cold Seattle days too, and by the measure of one’s mood, that was the last thing I needed on that very day.

After a few trivial blabs, she switched to the heart of the matter. She said “a couple of coworkers think you’re too rigorous for your own good and they feel that they’re pushed by you”. After a long and awkward moment of silence, I began explaining the “why” and the “intentions”. She listened very carefully and she continued by saying, “I hear you, and I agree with you. But this is not about reasons, it’s about their feelings”…

Human interactions are super complex, especially when your audience is smart enough to find ways to make their feelings sound reasonable. They argue with you within the frame of reason and facts, but their very argument is initially fueled by emotions. In such circumstances, you find yourself going about discussing and arguing for hours with no hope for convergence. His or her representation doesn’t clearly seem emotional, and sadly, your explanation doesn’t address the matter it needs to -until someone volunteers to stop the reticence.

The other complicated part relies on the egocentric approach one might choose. The attitude of “why do I need to change anything?”. Well, we as human beings are social animals, and in stark need of approval by others. Either accept this principle, or face the never-ending cycle of seasonal friendships and relationships that got shaped over a drink in cocktail parties. It is not important what you did or said or what the intention was. Within the realm of social norms and etiquette, it is utterly important how your actions were received.

Independent individuals spin around themselves and end up at the center of their own existence. That is an option. It is an electrifying option. It creates blasting energy around one, and others get attracted to that electricity for the duration of the lightening. The other approach, however, could be seeing the energy through for a long time.

As I’m getting older, I feel the responsibility of protecting my friendships and relationships more and more. It comes around as an impossible task at times, but that doesn’t warrant lack of trying. The attempt may not portray you as a solid or confident person. You need to show your cards, and tear down the wall in front of you. You need to make the approach to discuss the misunderstanding(s), which will inherently make you seem like the one in need. It takes a lot out of you and puts you out there, but you have to do it if you ever believed in consequence and humility.

…I listened to Dawn on that gloomy day. I went back to my coworkers and we discussed the issue over lunch. They were more than gracious to let go. They also understood that I had no intentions to be pushy, but that was not primarily the question. The issue was, they had felt what they had felt.

Softie’s Split Personalities

If corporations are people, they often seem to have personality and identity disorder. From the one hand they seem like an unforgiving monster, and from the other hand they look protective and respectful of their employees.

Today was my last day in the only corporation I’ve ever worked for. So many years –and countless memories. I went in as a green technology enthusiast, and left as a seasoned man with a great deal of life lessons. Above all, I learned to give.

They say the price of mistake is high when you’re in a mature stage of your career. True, but so is the cost of not knowing when it’s the time to pivot. Like many of my peers and coworkers, I can’t still believe I left the softie, but I feel good about it. It is the time to try something new while I still have it in me. I am not ready to cruise and not worry, despite the fact that a great level of comfort has been in place.

Nowadays, the softie might be at the peak of his split personalities, but he has been very gentle and sweet to me all along. His split personalities came to me in different forms of his sweetness which expressed an openness to the world, a wish to be useful, an innocence, and a guilelessness. If there is a poster child for this odd form of sweetness, it is the softie.