Abilouwrites - Tumblr Posts

SMELLS & SUMMER

Reminiscing as a Persian girl who wanted so badly to be white

Someone told me that you can smell death in your finals hours. Sweet; sour. Reminiscent of childhood.

For me I would think it might smell like pistachio and rosewater ice cream and hot summer nights on my grandmothers Persian carpets. Sweating as I toss and turn in these musty sleeping bags.

Sitting up late with my dad as we watch cat videos and drink tea; I’ll tell him my feelings and those moments are some that I’ll still love as I die.

I love the summer; memories of laying in the grass as the sprinklers go off. Jumping into the cool pool from the toasted hot tub. Screaming underneath water.

I think death doesn’t smell like charred flesh, smoke and fire. I think death smells like childhood, wet grass. Fairy potions, bike tires. Falling on the asphalt. The burn of my bare feet

My childhood summers were spent in car rides to Los Angeles, seeing my grandparents. My bubba. Sitting on his lap as he tells me stories of the military, my grandmother teaching me to make Kabab Koobideh. She always told me to be proud of my heritage.

“Love yourself before you love someone else” she would tell me; kissing all over my face and my hair.

We would eat pistachios and other Persian treats together as she would paint me in the sunset; she would spend hours on my paintings. Making sure she got every freckle, loose eyelash, and curl in my hair.

She kissed the blonde strands that covered my face. The brunette that shone through.

I used to cry because I wasn’t white and blonde, cried because I wasn’t skinny enough to fit into my friends jeans. I bawled because my hair wasn’t blonde and it wasn’t pin straight. Was upset because I tanned so quickly while my friends burned.

Sat staring at myself in the mirror as my mother put her powder on my face and someone thought I was sick.

I’m older now; still struggling to love myself because I see my friends ‘tan’ be my pale. And through all of this; somehow I still feel like a fraud.

A Persian girl but I don’t speak Farsi, white but not white enough to be white. Persian but you can tell that I’m not 100%

But I don’t think that matters anymore. Because that was in the 2000’s. When being the whitest of white was trendy; but now I see myself. My culture and my body become a trend and I can’t help but feel used.

Maybe a little abused as I look at the little me who just wanted to be like everyone else

WIN

Nico Hischier my beloved

I know the win was a tough one, fighting for the puck, when the horns blow. I’m jumping out of my seat grasping onto Jacks girlfriend as we scream at eachother in excitement, “LETS FUCKING GO!!” I shout out as lilly and I shake eachothers shoulders in pure joy.

The two of us excitedly wait by the locker rooms; Nico comes our first. Sweeping his hair out of his eyes as we lock eyes, “you played so well baby” I grin excitedly speed walking over to him but he jogs over to me and scoops me into his arms.

My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he smothers me in kisses and affection, “you’re the only voice I could hear” he admits. We don’t pay attention to Jack and Lilly as they share a sweet kiss.

The media manager takes a little photo of us to celebrate the win, we do this silly thing where we hide my face with a glove; Nico’s arm wrapped around my shoulders. His hand covering my face because I like my privacy as a nurse.

When we finally get home we celebrate in the same ways; popping a bottle of wine and watching the NJD highlights. My legs tossed over his lap as he fidgets with the skin around my knee.

Usually he stops drinking halfway through his glass so I pour it into mine and he gets into the shower after I bug him about smelling like sweat and grossness.

Nico lays in bed; arms stretched over his head as I clean up the Mcdonalds we had ordered as a post game dinner.

“Is your alarm off?” I ask as I walk back into the bedroom and shimmy out of my leggings and croptop. Sometimes I walk around the bedroom half naked like this as I leave my bra on the floor looking around for a shirt to wear.

It’s always one of Nicos shirts that I throw over my head and shimmy into, then I crawl into the fluffy duvet and scootch over to Nicos warmth.

He wraps his arms around me as I throw my leg over his waist, “you did so well today neeks” I smile kissing his cheek and laying my head on the crevice to his neck and shoulder.

“It was such a tough play” he confesses; sliding his hands underneath the shirt and starts drawing circles on my shoulder blades, “I’m glad you were finally able to come and watch a game” he whispers into my ear, “I love you so much”

“I love you too, I’m sorry it took me so long.. I’m just scared that someone will recognize me and— I just don’t want to seem like a bad girlfriend” I admit against his skin. His hands coarse over my tough skin and the little bumps that pepper across my back.

“You could never be a bad girlfriend, ever. You’re the best for so many reasons.. our post game rituals, the ice baths you set up after practice. Jesus you learned German for me” We laugh a little at that admission as he rolls onto his side instead of his back, “you are the best thing, that’s ever been mine”

If you liked this lmk if you’d want a part 2!