If I shut my eyes, I can still see myself squeezed between my mother and the truck driver as we were leaving our old home in downtown Tehran and driving up to our new house in Niavaran. The truck shook hard as the driver shifted gears. We left the city, the hustle and bustle of the busy streets and the potholes, for a stretch of Tehran which was completely rural. I had a hard time imagining how our home could fit into one truck and the car that my father was driving behind us. I wondered how that feeling of home can be transported. So much of a home is how everything fits into the space. How the light falls on the furniture during specific hours of the days and how all the colors change in different seasons. My father would often place me on top of the fridge giving me a bird’s eye view of the kitchen, and from there I could see everything. There was the dining room table where my brother had secretly and successfully placed many unwanted food items in its drawers ~ if you take all thi...