Evolution of a Woman (eBook)

Fashioning Life By My Own Design

Minoo (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
208 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-0983-6767-1 (ISBN)

Infos

'Evolution of a Woman-Fashioning Life By My Own Design' chronicles one woman's life experience, initially grounded in subjugation, and how she defied the odds and cultural mores around her to become a self-actualized entrepreneur. www.meminooluxury.com

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"e;You don't belong."e; That's what people told young Minoo in her big-city hometown, where being a woman meant subjugation to patriarchal domination and domesticity. But Minoo had thoughts and ambitions far beyond that insular existence. She yearned to understand the origins of life, earn her way in the world and contribute meaningfully to a society that tried to pigeonhole her talents into rigid roles and customs. The young girl quickly grew into a woman-not just according to the natural dictates of time-but also by circumstances beyond her control-and her wildest dreams. The changing winds and storms of Minoo's life emboldened and empowered her to become the best of herself. As she struggled, she learned. As obstacles impeded her way forward, she grew into an entrepreneur and creator of Me!Minoodesigns. Her message of self-determination and living without surrender inspires all people-not only women. When you read her story, you will never look at life in the same way again.

Textauszug

Chapter 2

Outsider

Iran, 1974.

Sometimes an ordinary day is not what it seems. A stranger came to the door, and Mom announced that he was a friend who wanted to take me to the theater, where we saw a live performance. I remember feeling confused because I had never seen him in my life. Yet, looking at his face, something distinctive and familiar in his eyes made me take notice of him.

Reluctantly, I agreed to go along with the man and my mom. I remained aloof but stood close at his side, taking care not to wander off.

After the performance, one of the actors wanted to scoop me up in his arms. “You can shake my hand, but you cannot hold me,” I said firmly, feeling like an independent, self-sufficient nine-year-old. “But—my hat! I lost it and must find it again!” I ran around the theater looking for the item until I finally reclaimed it.

I was always steadfast and never ‘pulled any punches.’ Once, when Mom’s cousin (a married man) kissed my lips, I slapped him hard—right in front of everyone. Mom stood by and said nothing while my grandmother (my favorite person on the planet) took my side. “You were right to do that!” she said.

I was a force to be reckoned with, for sure!

The man was kind and pleasant enough. Why was he with me? What did he want? Those eyes! Not until over a decade later did I discover his significance in my life.

Iran, Winter, 1975.

Not a sound could be heard on the empty streets of my big-city neighborhood. Snow drifts and chill winds blew fiercely against my cheeks and tousled my long, thick hair that was almost impossible to comb. I was about ten when Mom sent me out on an errand to pick something up from our neighbor’s house. I can’t remember now what I had to do, but I recall that day as if I experienced it a moment ago.

Suddenly, I spotted a thin, tattered old man through the blowing snow, barely clothed, with white hair, a beard, and a mustache. I could see that he must have been homeless—or so poor that he could not sustain himself. However, something about him had an air of holiness.

“Are you cold?” I asked, feeling stunned and bewildered at the sight of the vagabond.

“Yes,” he said weakly.

“Wait here!” I exclaimed and ran back home for my Dad’s jacket.

“Put this on!” I said when I returned.

“Thank you,” the man replied without speaking another word.

“Are you hungry?” I inquired persistently.

“Yes.”

“Just wait here!” I demanded again, this time running off to complete my errand.

Upon returning home, I asked my parents to give the man outside some food. “He’s hungry and cold,” I said.

As they stepped out into the cold night air, they looked around. “Are you crazy? What are you talking about? No one is here,” they insisted.

“I don’t know what happened!” I exclaimed in disbelief. “The man was right here!” I nearly shouted, pointing in the direction where he last stood.

That night, I could not stop thinking about the man. Countless questions flooded my thoughts. Where had he gone? Why did he appear before me in the first place? Was he an angel telling me that my life would one day be different? Had he given me my first opportunity to be a change agent—to reach beyond myself (as I had always dreamt of doing) to make a difference in other lives—even in some small way? I never saw the man again, but his impact was indelible as it touched me to the core.

In hindsight, I can answer all of my questions in the affirmative. Since childhood, I wanted to achieve emancipation from the life I knew. I am not saying that I was ungrateful or that my circumstances were unfavorable. However, in the interest of truth-telling, I must acknowledge that I did not fit into my environment.

“You don’t belong,” people would say. I never minded—and even agreed—with their observations. Without question, I danced to my own tune. Contrary to cultural trends and practices, I played with boys. My reason was simple: I found them so much easier to be with than my female counterparts, who tended to gossip and whine when they were injured during sports games. Naturally, I had female friends and classmates, but I was always considered a tomboy. I loved to play soccer with the boys—all the way through high school—and I did not care a bit about what other people thought.

Being a girl, I was destined for a life of other people’s creation (mostly the life that Mom envisioned). I had to study and get the best grades, but in keeping with Iranian culture, I would invariably walk down the aisle as a delicate flower, having been ‘rescued’ by my prince. I could have become a doctor (the only viable profession for women in Iran), but my destiny was to become a wife and make my husband happy. (Such was the expectation of every girl.)

Not me, I told myself. I want to study law and become a judge. With that goal in mind, I set out pillows on my bed and spoke to them as if they were my panel of jurors. I held forth on legal principles that would change the world. It was unthinkable to me that I would become a domestic without more. (There is nothing wrong with domesticity, but it stifles creativity and potential when it negates other ambitions.)

My leadership tendencies manifested in other ways, too. Mom always fought with Dad over money, and on many mornings, I awakened to her noisy, boisterous demands for material comforts. Having things and ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ mattered more than anything to her. She came from a strong religious background and had an arranged marriage. So, her view of the world was through tunnel vision. I always sensed that she never loved Dad.

My father, by contrast, was mild-mannered and easy-going. He never met a stranger, and anyone he encountered could not help but love him. I adored him and always defended him any time Mom maligned or mocked him in the presence of family and friends (as she often did) for what she considered to be his ‘average’ looks and lack of affluence, according to her expectations.

I also stood up for Mojgan, my sweet younger sister (Mom’s favorite child, to this day), who also was the brunt of our maternal family’s ridicule, primarily because of her weight. Therefore, I was aloof toward neighbors and family members who mocked Mojgan and never bothered to say ‘hello’ to them. People called me a snob, but I never minded. I was simply intent on defending those I loved. Nothing made me happier.

However, I couldn’t defend myself against my older sister, Manejah, who never approved of me. She used to hit me so mercilessly that I could barely catch my breath, and I had to ‘play dead’ for her to stop. I would lie motionless on the floor and pretend to foam at the mouth. There I would remain until Mom got home from work. As soon as I would hear her footsteps, I would jump up and declare, “I’m not dead! I was just playing!” Unbeknownst to me, there was a deep-seated reason for Manejah’s resentment—something that she dared not tell me for years to come. Perhaps that’s why I felt the need to defend the defenseless and ultimately become a champion of justice.

Aside from being my younger sister’s protector, I had a keen business sense (though at the time, I couldn’t put a name to my penchant for entrepreneurship).

It so happened that when Dad traveled to Germany on business (He worked for a trucking company and often traveled to various countries.), he purchased my first bicycle. Upon his return home, he taught me how to ride. I was delighted and became the talk of the neighborhood. None of my peers had such a luxurious vehicle, and when they saw me riding on the streets or rooftops, they would ask me if I could transport them down the block and back.

“Sure, for a price. Show me your money, and I’ll take you,” I said, like a genuine entrepreneur.

My peers readily obliged, and for five Iranian rials, each took a turn riding down the block and back. The children soon formed a line and stood waiting for me to return with my most recent passenger.

“If you want another ride, it will cost you more,” I declared.

My friends didn’t mind in the least, and my pockets overflowed.

When Mom found out about my business venture, she was furious. “Give the money back!” she insisted.

I thought Mom loved money. Why is she so upset? I asked myself. I was only doing what I thought was right under the circumstances.

Leadership traits accompanied my entrepreneurial spirit. When I was in elementary school, the teachers always chose me to be their assistant. I loved that supervisory role and took it very seriously. I was also in the habit of sitting next to the teacher and absorbing every word like a sponge. I was an auditory learner and also utilized my photographic memory at every turn. Although I barely did homework, I always received good grades, and I enjoyed school more than anything.

Because questions never intimated me, I was different from the other students, and I wanted the teacher to call upon me whenever possible....

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 1.7.2021
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-10: 1-0983-6767-7 / 1098367677
• ISBN-13: 978-1-0983-6767-1 / 9781098367671