I’ve never lived on my own. Traditionally, Iranian parents have had a hard time letting go of their grown-ass kids. They spoil and smother you to death until one day you’re 30 years old, have a date (but your favorite red H&M T-shirt has a pizza stain on it) and need to learn how to do laundry for the first time.
Iranian kids (or offspring is probably a better word for it because the age ranges between 18-45+ years old) are mostly expected to live at home until they’re married and then move back home when separated/divorced.
It’s a weird, co-dependent relationship where neither party really benefits from in the long run. Yes, your laundry is always neatly folded in your drawers, and there’s always hot delicious Persian food at home, but in a zombie apocalypse, Iranian kids would be the first ones to die.
Our parents will do well: they’ll just invite the zombies in for some hot tea and traditional pastries. Most of them will also try to sell the zombies real estate. *My dad’s a realtor – hit me up if you’re looking to move.*
I had extremely protective parents growing up. I was always infatuated by the idea of living on my own . F.r.i.e.n.d.s was my favorite TV show and I watched it religiously when I was a teenager. The idea of living with my friends, being my own person, having my own rules and not checking in was my definition of freedom.
But at our house, there was an unspoken rule set in place about never really leaving the nest until I was married. I even made sure that all the universities that I applied to were within commuting distance.
My friends would go on vacations with their boyfriends while I had to beg to go camping overnight (it was finally agreed upon on the condition of taking a male cousin and a brother along with me).
I was doomed to be Season 1, episode 1 Rachel forever.
On some level, I think I got married at 24 to become my own person: to show people I was capable of using the stove/oven without burning the house down. I cooked, cleaned(ish), and made decisions. As much as I loved my newly gained independence, it all got repetitive and boring almost instantly, and if that’s the foundation of your marriage and happiness, then you’re gonna end up becoming The Married Girl on Bumble.
As I grew older, I realized that my parents were just as lost as I was as an immigrant – trying to balance life, hold on to their cultural roots and raise kids while constantly making decisions for the first time. We were guinea pigs and they had nothing to compare us to. All that said, I think we turned out fine(ish).
I now understand that my culture and upbringing will always be a part of me and I can’t change my past. But for the first time in my life, I’m venturing out on my own. I’ll be living downtown in a tiny bedroom, sharing a tiny kitchen and a tiny bathroom with one of my best friends.
Navigating a serious conversation like moving out with Persian parents requires MAD SKILLS. You need to be a bit of an evil genius with a solid plan: I’ve been complaining about my 3 hour commute/day for the past 10 months. I’ve literally been talking about living closer to work since the day I moved back home. Anyway, I finally convinced both of them that this would ultimately benefit us as a family. Did they buy it? Grey area.
This morning, right before my dad gave me a ride to the station, and while I was drinking the coffee that my mom poured for me (#spoiled), my mom says “oh by the way, your brother said he’d like to move into your bedroom once you move out, but I told him you’ll be coming for sleepovers every weekend and that you’ll need it yourself”.
EVERY WEEKEND? I thought to myself?!
I smiled. “It’s OK mom, he can have my room and I’ll just use the guest bedroom”. My heart aches when I think about how much love there is between us. But I think it’s time for me to channel my inner Rachel Green and to fend for myself.
The Married Girl On Bumble 