Author Archives: Alex Sardar

Notes From Another Place: A Letter To My Daughter

When I sat down to write you this letter, I was not certain that I would meet you in this lifetime. You see, you’re not born yet, and perhaps you won’t be born to me, but you will come to this world, and I’m hopeful that one day you and I will meet. In the event that our lives should not intersect, however, I’m equally sure that you will read this letter. These are words that were given to me by my parents who I never met, and my grandparents who were gone long before I arrived. My birth wasn’t certain either, but it did happen and these words were given to me on paper and in the flutters of swallows, in whistles of flying bullets, and they reverberated in the bass of exploding bombs, and they even echoed in inaugural speeches of presidents. Yes, these words were given to me, and I, too, shall pass them to you, but I will change a few phrases and erase a few words, and the ending…well, the ending I have not yet seen, nor have I thought about it, but I have resolved to allow you to write the ending. This chance was not afforded to me and I’m sometimes grateful for that, but today, as I watch a flame burn from here to beyond eternity in the midst of a fortress of flowers, of one truth I am certain; the ending to this story is only its beginning, unlike what my grandparents, who I never heard, left in their inheritance.

Notes From Another Place: Fathers and Sons

About a decade ago, on a Christmas eve when I shared a particularly difficult truism about my life with my dad—one that he already knew, it turned out—he told me that he may not understand what I was telling him, but his love for me remained unchallenged and his resolve to protect me was stronger than ever. I always knew my dad to be an extraordinary person—a gentle giant in spirit and deed, but I think that night was the first time I ever truly realized, palpably felt the depth of my dad’s, and by extension most parents’ will to accept chaos that comes with the unexplainable logic of loving their kids.

Notes From Another Place: The Big Blue

I swim. I swim every day or at least try to keep to a daily schedule, and when people ask me if I get bored doing a few dozen laps in the pool, I get into the gadgetry that, shall we say, enhances my solitude in the pool. It works–it keeps me going back! Even with the iPod and underwater headphones, though, the whole process is very repetitive and at times tedious, except for this one moment, every few strokes under water when I’m levitating just below the surface, looking up through fogged up goggles and feeling elation as I near that breaking point between water and air—that thin line that to some extent separates life and death for the gill-less—and when the florescent light of the high ceilings breaks through the clear water reflecting the light blue hue of the pool tiling, a short instance, over and over again, when I can think clearly and come up with really good ideas—a distinct brand of euphoria, if you will.

Notes From Another Place: Carol, Asbarez, and I–the Perfect Date

As I reflect on what I’m about to write, I’m somewhere over the rainy borders of continental Europe and the Atlantic Ocean, destined for Yerevan, after a short reprieve from my real life, spent in hot sunny Southern California. While in California, I read and talked with friends about the 100th anniversary of Asbarez, undoubtedly

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