The echoes of a distant motherland

I rarely think about the place where I spent the first twenty two years of my life. That place has a name, and it is Iran. I don’t know the reason. Maybe I am just too caught up with the daily life. Or I just don’t want to think about it. Perhaps, I just don’t care anymore. On a second thought, probbaly it is because I feel the same about Iran as James Joyce did about Ireland. With some minor modifications, really just chaning a few names, what he said in his lecture, Ireland, Island of Saints and Sages can be applied to Iran. Here is the updated version of Joyce’s, and my, sentiment.

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