Catapult | How to Write Iranian-America, or The Last Essay |
Begin by writing about anything else.
首先写一些其他的事情。
Go to the public library in your Los Angeles suburb and ask for all the great books people in New York City read, please.
请前往洛杉矶郊区的公共图书馆，索取纽约市人们阅读的所有好书。
Wonder if the reference librarian knows a living writer and ask her what would a living writer read— and an American one, please .
想知道参考文献馆员是否认识一位在世作家，并询问她一位在世作家会读什么——请是美国作家。
When she realizes you are still single digits and asks, Where are your parents, young lady?
当她意识到你仍然是个位数时，她问道：“小姐，你的父母在哪里？”
don’t answer and demand Shakespeare and take that big book home and cry because you can’t understand it.
不要回答并要求莎士比亚，然后把那本大书带回家哭泣，因为你无法理解它。
Tomorrow, go back to reading the dictionary a letter at a time and cry because you can’t learn the words.
明天，回去读字典，一次一个字母，然后哭，因为你学不到单词。
(Ask your father if you will cry daily for the rest of your life and remember his answer decades later: When you are older you will care less about things.
（问问你的父亲，你是否会在余生中每天哭泣，并在几十年后记住他的回答：当你老了，你会不在乎事情。
) Pray to a god you still believe in that you will once more avoid ESL with all its teachers who look to you with the shine of love but the stench of pity: refugee, resident alien, political asylum , immigrant, foreigner the only words you know that you don’t want to know.
）向你仍然相信的上帝祈祷，让你再次避开 ESL 和所有老师，他们用爱的光芒看着你，但带着怜悯的恶臭：难民、居民外国人、政治庇护、移民、外国人——你唯一知道但不想知道的词。
Write because it’s something to do, something your parents will let you do because it looks like homework.
写作是因为这是一件要做的事，是你父母会让你做的事，因为它看起来像家庭作业。
Write because one place to live is in your head and it’s not broken yet; write because it’s something to drown out the sound of their fighting deep into every night.
写作是因为你的头脑中有一个居住的地方，而且它还没有被破坏；写下来是因为它可以淹没他们每晚深夜的打斗声。
When the second-grade teacher—the teacher your father calls an alcoholic—tells you that you will be an author one day and suggests The Market Guide for Young Writers, step right up and call yourself a Young Writer.
当二年级老师——你父亲称之为酒鬼的老师——告诉你有一天你会成为一名作家，并推荐《青年作家市场指南》时，请站出来称自己为一名青年作家。
Decide to really write and write about anything but Iranian-America.
决定真正写写除了伊朗裔美国之外的任何事情。
Ghosts.
鬼魂。
Victorian girls, maybe ones with tough names.
维多利亚时代的女孩，也许名字很硬朗。
Easter bunnies that are homicidal (you might have ripped off Bunnicula ).
复活节兔子是杀人的（你可能已经扯掉了 Bunnicula ）。
Candy.
糖果。
White girls.
白人女孩。
More white girls.
白人女孩多了
(Even then you understood sales.) Worry about the fact that your family won’t be able to afford a computer and worry about how your fingers get stuck in between the keys of a yellow typewriter your father brought back from Iran, and learn that the only way for your brain not to spiral in worry is to write.
（即便如此，你也了解销售。）担心你的家人买不起电脑，担心你的手指如何卡在你父亲从伊朗带回来的黄色打字机的按键之间，并了解到让你的大脑不陷入忧虑的唯一方法就是写作。
Worry about how you, Young Writer, will ever get to New York City, until you do.
担心你，年轻的作家，将如何到达纽约市，直到你到达为止。
Get a scholarship to a fancy college with writers and writing workshops , a thing you’ve heard of, full of other students told they’d be an author one day.
获得奖学金进入一所设有作家和写作研讨会的高档大学，这是你听说过的事情，很多其他学生都告诉他们有一天会成为一名作家。
Ignore the dorm politics and the suitemates who tell you their dads paid for you to be there, and write, write about anything else.
忽略宿舍政治和那些告诉你他们的爸爸付钱让你在那里的室友，写，写任何其他的东西。
Los Angeles.
洛杉矶。
The devil.
魔鬼。
Literary theory.
文学理论。
Art.
艺术。
The East Village.
东村。
White men.
白人。
And more white men.
还有更多的白人。
Become known as a writer there, a writer who doesn’t write about that, in a time when everyone is talking identity.
在每个人都在谈论身份的时代，成为一名作家，一个不写这些的作家。
No identity for you, you tell yourself, you tell them.
你没有身份，你告诉自己，你告诉他们。
Wear black and smoke cigarettes and big glasses, because you are a New York Young Writer and that can be anyone.
穿黑色衣服，抽烟，戴大眼镜，因为你是纽约青年作家，而且可以是任何人。
When your favorite professor senior year fails your paper on Modernism that you’ve worked on for weeks, when she tells you that she can tell English is your second language, when she tells you maybe writing is not for you, that maybe you need to go into a field like those new Iranian Studies fields —you keep imagining these fields like those villages of your homeland they label “third world”—go to your dorm and expect to cry but don’t.
当你最喜欢的教授高年级时，你花了几周时间写的现代主义论文没有通过，当她告诉你她可以告诉你英语是你的第二语言，当她告诉你也许写作不适合你，也许你需要进入像那些新的伊朗研究领域这样的领域——你一直想象这些领域就像你祖国那些被贴上“第三世界”标签的村庄——走进你的宿舍，期待着哭泣，但没有。
Chainsmoke a pack of cigarettes and never forget her words and commit yourself to writing more, writing more about anything else.
连续抽一包烟，永远不要忘记她的话，并致力于写更多，写更多关于其他事情的文章。
Years later, attend another prestigious college for grad school, and spend long hours with a famous writer as your professor and advisor who tells you to forget that other professor, that you are a writer, that you can do this.
多年后，进入另一所著名大学攻读研究生，并与一位著名作家作为你的教授和顾问一起度过很长时间，他告诉你忘记另一位教授，你是一名作家，你可以做到这一点。
Hold on to her words and almost miss it when she says but why don’t you write what you know?
紧紧抓住她的话，当她说的时候几乎错过了，但你为什么不写下你所知道的呢？
Thank her as you always do and hope she doesn’t see your tears— writing what I know was never my thing, you whisper.
像往常一样感谢她，并希望她不会看到你的眼泪——写我知道的东西从来都不是我的事，你低声说。
Keep turning in stories about anything else.
继续上交有关其他任何事情的故事。
Math.
数学。
Chaos theory.
混沌理论。
Rape.
强奸。
(The time you were raped but in a sci-fi premise; the time you were raped in a fantasy premise; the time you were raped in something they call metafiction.) Dogs.
（你在科幻前提下被强奸的时间；你在奇幻前提下被强奸的时间；你在他们所谓的元小说中被强奸的时间。） 狗。
Suicidal people.
有自杀倾向的人。
Suicidal people with dogs.
带着狗自杀的人。
9/11 , which gets a little too close to writing what you know, but keep reminding them it was because you were a New Yorker, not because you were a Middle Easterner, that you felt the trauma; keep reminding them the hijackers were not Iranian.
9/11，这有点太接近你所知道的，但要不断提醒他们，你感受到创伤是因为你是纽约人，而不是因为你是中东人；不断提醒他们劫机者不是伊朗人。
When they tell you they don’t know what you are anyway, don’t say a word, just keep working harder than they ever will and tell yourself you will beat the ones who hurt you most for that fellowship for another year.
当他们告诉你他们根本不知道你是谁时，不要说一句话，只是继续比他们更加努力地工作，并告诉自己你会在新的一年里击败那些伤害你最深的人。
Get the fellowship and avoid all their eyes.
获得团契并避开他们所有的目光。
When your advisor suggests you work on a novel—that you are, after all, a novelist—hear novel like a curse: an arranged marriage and a death sentence, all that unknown potential for devotion to writing anything else.
当你的导师建议你写一本小说时——毕竟你是一名小说家——听到的小说就像一个诅咒：包办婚姻和死刑，以及所有未知的潜力去写其他东西。
Until suddenly you can’t write about anything else.
直到突然之间你就无法写其他任何东西了。
Sit in your first apartment without a roommate and realize you have nothing else to write about for the span of a novel.
坐在你的第一间公寓里，没有室友，你会意识到你在小说的篇幅里没有什么可写的。
Hate yourself and it and then go ahead and write it, your Iranian-America, because no one else will see it.
讨厌你自己和它，然后继续写它，你的伊朗裔美国，因为没有其他人会看到它。
This is your first real novel and what do you know.
这是你的第一部真正的小说，你知道什么。
You are a fellow at the most famous university in Baltimore which doesn’t pay you enough to teach, so you add on being a hostess at a bistro where the parents of your students go, sometimes with the tenured professors of your department who pretend they don’t see you as they kiss and hug the owner who sexually harasses you every day.
你是巴尔的摩最著名的大学的一名研究员，这所大学付给你的教学费用不够，所以你又在学生家长常去的小酒馆当女主人，有时和你系的终身教授在一起，他们假装没有看到你，因为他们亲吻和拥抱每天对你进行性骚扰的老板。
Why would a word you write matter?
为什么你写的一个字很重要？
And watch it come out, more and more in every draft: anger with your parents, frustration with your blood, anxieties surrounding the somehow still-new land—all that is Iranian-America.
看着它的出现，在每一稿中越来越多：对你父母的愤怒，对你的血统的沮丧，对这片不知为何仍然是新土地的焦虑——所有这些都是伊朗裔美国。
Let your truth come out hard and fast and untranslatable because no one else will see it anyway.
让你的真相猛烈地、快速地、不可翻译地浮出水面，因为无论如何没有人会看到它。
Until they do.
直到他们这样做。
Four years later, after all sorts of troubles, it is your first novel and it is published and you are Miss Literary Iranian-America , a friend jokes.
四年后，经历了种种麻烦，这是你的第一部小说并出版了，你是伊朗裔美国文学小姐，一位朋友开玩笑说。
First Iranian-American novelist , a journalist mistakenly writes, while another calls your debut novel the first work that is entirely Iranian-American, all diaspora with no Iran setting, which gets closer to the truth but you want to think still not close enough.
第一个伊朗裔美国小说家，一名记者错误地写道，而另一个记者则称你的处女作是第一部完全是伊朗裔美国人的作品，所有散居国外的人都没有伊朗背景，这更接近事实，但你想认为还不够接近。
Who can even tally who they ignored before you?
谁能算出他们在你之前忽略了谁？
When they ask you to represent the Iranian diaspora in Los Angeles, start by explaining you grew up a half hour and many realities away from Tehrangeles, that your family could never afford those areas, that you were raised in a tiny apartment in the low-income district of a small suburb, with no Iranian people.
当他们要求你代表洛杉矶的伊朗侨民时，首先要解释你是在距离特兰吉勒斯半小时车程的地方长大的，你的家庭永远负担不起这些地区的费用，你是在一个小郊区低收入区的一间小公寓里长大的，那里没有伊朗人。
When they ask you to do it anyway, go through with it.
当他们要求你无论如何都要这样做时，就去做吧。
Regret quitting smoking.
后悔戒烟了。
Try to speak of other things.
尝试谈论其他事情。
But about Iranian-Americans , they always go, and a friend who is tired of your sighs tells you, Look, you did that to yourself, it’s all in your novel .
但对于伊朗裔美国人，他们总是会离开，一个厌倦了你的叹息的朋友告诉你，看，你对自己做了这样的事，这一切都在你的小说里。
Say fair enough and start smoking again.
公平地说，然后再次开始吸烟。
Around Persian New Year, months after your first novel comes out, start to run out of money again.
波斯新年前后，在你的第一部小说出版几个月后，你又开始没钱了。
Old problem but maybe now a new solution, you think.
你想，老问题但现在也许是一个新的解决方案。
Ask friends if they know someone at the most respected newspaper of the country—the venerable paper where they gave you a very good review of your debut novel.
问问朋友是否认识这个国家最受尊敬的报纸上的某个人——在这家受人尊敬的报纸上，他们对你的处女作发表了非常好的评论。
Pitch a piece on Iranians celebrating Persian New Year that 2008.
宣传 2008 年伊朗人庆祝波斯新年的文章。
Your angle: being Iranian in a bad time to be Iranian.
你的观点是：在一个糟糕的时期成为伊朗人。
Think to yourself when was there ever a good time to be Iranian here and pitch it anyway.
想想自己什么时候是伊朗人在这里的好时机，无论如何都要推销它。
Hear nothing back and tell yourself you and your Iranian-America are not yet worthy of that newspaper.
没有任何回应，告诉自己，你和你的伊朗裔美国人还不配登上那份报纸。
Be more shocked than gracious a few months later, when out of nowhere, an editor at another section of that very paper writes you and mentions he is a fan of your work and would you like to contribute an essay to this author series on summer?
几个月后，当那篇论文的另一个部分的一位编辑突然给你写信并提到他是你的作品的粉丝，你想在夏天为这个作者系列写一篇文章时，你会感到震惊而不是亲切吗？
You can’t believe it—this editor has acknowledged your novel and yet is not asking you to write a particular thing about Iranian-America.
你简直不敢相信——这位编辑已经认可了你的小说，但并没有要求你写一篇关于伊朗裔美国的特定内容。
But when you sit down to write, surprise yourself: It’s about your mother and you and so it’s about Iranian-America.
但当你坐下来写作时，你会感到惊讶：这是关于你的母亲和你的，所以这是关于伊朗裔美国人的。
Feel slightly defeated— writing what I know was never my thing, you know you used to whisper—but a part of you anticipates they will want this and they do.
感到有点挫败——写我知道的东西从来不是我的事，你知道你曾经低声说——但你的一部分预计他们会想要这个，而他们确实这么做了。
Behold the awe of everyone around you, behold your own awe: You are in your dream paper, an essayist suddenly.
看看你周围每个人的敬畏，看看你自己的敬畏：你在你的梦想论文中，突然成为一名散文家。
Editors who never heard of you or your novel start asking for your essays of Iranian-America.
从未听说过您或您的小说的编辑开始询问您有关伊朗裔美国的文章。
Soon, you are back in that same paper with another essay about, of all things, Barbie’s fiftieth anniversary and somehow you make it also about Iranian-America.
很快，你又回到了同一篇论文中，发表了另一篇关于芭比娃娃五十周年的文章，不知怎的，你也把它变成了关于伊朗裔美国人的文章。
You’ve learned to interview your parents and dig up whatever they will give you from their past and add that to messy memories of your childhood and glue it all together: an essay on Iranian-America!
你学会了采访你的父母，挖掘他们从过去给你的一切，并将其添加到你童年的混乱记忆中，并将它们粘在一起：一篇关于伊朗-美国的文章！
Be amazed at how your formula sometimes helps you work out some things, be amazed at how it sometimes seems to help others.
惊讶于你的公式有时如何帮助你解决某些问题，惊讶于它有时似乎可以帮助其他人。
Remind yourself this can’t last.
提醒自己这不会持续下去。
Iranian-Americans from all over the country write you and thank you, and you tell everyone this was a nice run—you did your part—and now you will go back to what you were meant to write: anything else.
来自全国各地的伊朗裔美国人写信给你表示感谢，你告诉每个人这是一次很好的跑步——你尽了自己的一份力量——现在你将回到你本来要写的东西：任何其他的东西。
Except you don’t.
除非你不这样做。
They ask and you keep writing it.
他们问，你就继续写。
Tell yourself this is your new life every time an essay comes out in that venerable paper of yours—you start to call it yours , because three-figure checks must mean love if two-figure checks mean like, or so you tell yourself.
每当一篇文章出现在你那份受人尊敬的报纸上时，告诉自己这是你的新生活——你开始称它为你的，因为如果两位数的支票意味着喜欢，那么三位数的支票一定意味着爱，或者你是这么告诉自己的。
Occasionally try to remind them you were a journalist before all this, a writer who wrote about music and art and fashion and books but no one remembers or cares anymore.
偶尔试着提醒他们，在这一切之前你是一名记者，一名写过音乐、艺术、时尚和书籍的作家，但没有人记得或关心了。
Editors start asking for a collection of essays, but you think, I’ve just begun.
编辑开始索要论文集，但你想，我才刚刚开始。
Tell them in 2009 you’re just entering your thirties, what do you know?
2009 年告诉他们你才刚刚三十多岁，你懂什么？
Know you’re an essayist and know you can’t back out now.
知道你是一名散文家，并且知道你现在不能退出。
During an interview someone asks you why essays, and you remind them you write fiction and they ask again why essays, and you joke about them finding you, and they ask again why essays, and you stumble on another answer: service .
在面试过程中，有人问你为什么写论文，你提醒他们你写小说，他们又问为什么写论文，你开玩笑说他们找到了你，他们又问为什么写论文，你偶然发现了另一个答案：服务。
That somehow your people are not visible, these three decades of being in the US, and people have needed you and while you can’t speak for everyone, you can speak some part of this truth.
不知怎的，你的人民是不可见的，在美国的这三十年里，人们需要你，虽然你不能代表所有人，但你可以说出这个事实的一部分。
Service?
服务？
Service.
服务。
Afterwards, bum the few cigarettes the interviewer offers and smoke through a silence you did your best to create.
然后，烧掉面试官提供的几支香烟，在你尽力营造的沉默中抽烟。
Start to wish other Iranian-Americans would write essays; even try to introduce the few who seem interested to editors but the editors always ask for more essays from you.
开始希望其他伊朗裔美国人也能写论文；甚至尝试介绍一些编辑似乎感兴趣的人，但编辑总是要求您提供更多论文。
How many essays can you write, you wonder, but every time one comes out you start to see how they see it, and you see more.
你想知道你能写多少篇文章，但每次发表一篇文章时，你都会开始了解他们如何看待它，然后你会看到更多。
Step back from yourself and spin absolutely everything from the lens of Iranian-Americana.
退一步，从伊朗裔美国人的角度来旋转一切。
An Iranian-American sensibility, an Iranian-American outfit, an Iranian-American state of mind, Iranian-American flora and fauna, an Iranian-American bowl of goddamn fruit.
伊朗裔美国人的情感，伊朗裔美国人的着装，伊朗裔美国人的心态，伊朗裔美国人的动植物，伊朗裔美国人的一碗该死的水果。
Watch yourself pitch the editor at the venerable publication an essay on the hit TV show Thirtysomething , a show you loved, and because in 2009 it’s a big deal that it’s out on DVD and it seems like something to watch it in your thirties now.
看着自己向这家受人尊敬的出版物的编辑推销一篇关于热门电视节目《三十而立》的文章，这是一部你很喜欢的节目，因为在 2009 年，它以 DVD 形式发行是件大事，现在看起来就像是三十多岁的人看它一样。
Hear the editor in your head long before your real editor asks you if you can include your Iranian-American family in it, and catch yourself saying yes of course , and do it, and never imagine years later you will teach that own essay of yours as a mistake.
早在真正的编辑问你是否可以将你的伊朗裔美国人家庭纳入其中之前，你就可以在脑海中听到编辑的声音，然后发现自己说“当然可以”，然后就去做，并且永远不会想象多年后你会教你自己的论文作为一个错误。
Consider later that maybe you knew and didn’t care, you knew the service and moreover you knew your function: You were not just writing Iranian-America, maybe you were helping them create it.
后来考虑一下，也许你知道但不在乎，你知道这项服务，而且你知道你的职能：你不仅仅是在写伊朗-美国，也许你正在帮助他们创建它。
Write the Persian New Year piece you once wanted though it’s no reported piece, but a personal essay—that’s what they want and that’s what you deliver.
写一篇你曾经想要的波斯新年文章，虽然它不是报道性的文章，而是一篇个人文章——这就是他们想要的，这就是你交付的。
By this point your parents know why you are asking when you call, by this point they have gotten used to the fact that you will write about them and anything else Iranian-America.
此时，您的父母知道您打电话时为什么要问，此时他们已经习惯了您会写关于他们以及其他任何伊朗裔美国人的事情。
When friends and family begin to marvel at all this, Miss Literary Iranian-America, don’t you deny it—smile and be grateful and lie that this is exactly what you dreamed of one day.
当朋友和家人开始惊叹这一切时，伊朗裔美国文学小姐，你不要否认这一点——微笑并心存感激，并撒谎说这正是你梦想的有一天。
When another section editor of that same paper emails you (a section that pays a lot more—if three is love, four figures must mean marriage), accept their request for a new essay, knowing that you can write an essay on absolutely anything for these people, provided it’s about Iranian-America—which it will be.
当同一篇论文的另一个栏目编辑给你发电子邮件时（这个栏目支付的费用要高得多——如果三是爱情，那么四位数一定意味着婚姻），接受他们对一篇新论文的要求，因为你知道你可以为这些人写一篇关于任何事情的文章，只要它是关于伊朗裔美国的——事实就会如此。
Muslim reality TV the first time , Iranian reality TV the second time , but we’re big fans of your essays, so can you make it an essay not a review ?
穆斯林真人秀第一次，伊朗真人秀第二次，但我们是你的文章的忠实粉丝，所以你能把它变成一篇文章而不是评论吗？
They want feelings, not facts, you know this by now.
他们想要的是感觉，而不是事实，你现在已经知道了。
Write the first and write the second and duck all the love hurdling itself at you, a love you can’t feel, a love you might fear.
写下第一个，写下第二个，然后躲避所有向你袭来的爱，一种你感觉不到的爱，一种你可能害怕的爱。
Writing Iranian-America turns out to have some downsides, but you think you know how to handle it.
事实证明，写伊朗裔美国有一些缺点，但你认为你知道如何处理它。
When Iranians write you and say you are not Iranian enough for them, thank them, and when others say you are too Iranian for them, thank them too.
当伊朗人写信给你说你对他们来说不够伊朗化时，感谢他们，当其他人说你对他们来说太伊朗化时，也感谢他们。
Too pro-IRI and too Royalist, too anti-Iranian and too nationalistic, too relatable and not relatable enough, maybe neo-con and maybe communist—and where is your name from?
太支持伊朗伊斯兰共和国，太保皇主义，太反伊朗，太民族主义，太有亲和力，又不够有亲和力，也许是新保守派，也许是共产主义——你的名字来自哪里？
Are you really Iranian?
你真的是伊朗人吗？
Why are you not married?
你为什么不结婚？
Are both your parents really Iranian?
你的父母都是伊朗人吗？
Why do you say Iranian and not Persian?
为什么说伊朗语而不是波斯语？
Why are you embarrassing us?
你为什么让我们难堪？
Why are you not writing happy things?
为什么不写些快乐的事呢？
Why are there so many jokes?
为什么会有这么多笑话？
What do you think of us?
你觉得我们怎么样？
Are we good or bad?
我们是好人还是坏人？
Are you good or bad?
你是好人还是坏人？
Why do you call us brown?
为什么你叫我们棕色人种？
Why are we not brown to them?
为什么我们对他们来说不是棕色的？
Why do you not look more white?
你为什么不看起来更白呢？
Why do you look so white?
为什么你看起来这么白？
What god is your god?
你的神是什么神？
Why can’t you write in a way I can understand?
为什么你不能用我能理解的方式来写？
Why do you write at all?
你为什么要写作？
Why don’t you stop writing?
你为什么不停止写作？
Why don’t you stop smoking?
你为什么不戒烟？
When you get those messages, learn to let them say what they need to say.
当您收到这些消息时，学会让他们说出他们需要说的话。
Occasionally engage, and often don’t.
偶尔参与，但通常不参与。
Service .
服务 。
Learn to live with hating yourself.
学会在憎恨自己的情况下生活。
Learn to live with hating Iranian-America.
学会忍受仇恨伊朗裔美国人。
Imagine the hell of dying in America while your parents envision the beauty of dying in Iran, and you wonder if there was ever anything in between for you.
想象一下在美国死去的地狱，而你的父母想象在伊朗死去的美好，你想知道是否有任何东西适合你。
When your editors leave the section where they first published you and when the paper experiences horrible layoffs, think this is it, what you’ve been waiting for—your run is over.
当你的编辑离开他们最初发表你的文章的版块，当报纸经历可怕的裁员时，想想这就是你一直在等待的——你的运行结束了。
Tell everyone you know it’s been great, four years as an essayist of Iranian-America!
告诉你认识的每个人，作为一名伊朗裔美国散文家四年来真是太棒了！
Imagine all the topics you were supposed to write about but you can’t quite remember what.
想象一下您应该写的所有主题，但您不太记得是什么。
Try to remember and fail.
尝试记住并失败。
Hip hop?
嘻哈？
White girls?
白人女孩？
Bars?
酒吧？
Wars?
战争？
Try to remember and fail.
尝试记住并失败。
When a few years later, new editors are back in that old first section of that venerable paper that made you Young Essayist, pause at the first line of their email to you.
几年后，当新编辑们回到那篇让你成为年轻散文家的令人尊敬的论文的旧第一部分时，请在他们给你的电子邮件的第一行停下来。
A pitch in the greeting, a story you know of: An Iranian band in Brooklyn has been the victim of a murder-suicide.
问候语中的一个音高，一个你知道的故事：布鲁克林的一支伊朗乐队成为谋杀自杀的受害者。
For days you’ve considered reporting on this, thinking of the right venue, but now here is the op-ed section again wanting a personal essay.
几天来，你一直在考虑对此进行报道，考虑合适的地点，但现在这里又是专栏部分，想要一篇个人文章。
“ It seems to me like there might be something interesting to say, about the Iranian expat community, the American dream betrayed, or something along those lines.” Think about her take for a moment and think about how you can’t: how this story has nothing to do with assimilation but is about a deranged person from your part of the world who shot some people from your part of the world but is much more about gun control and America and its dream not betrayed at all.
“在我看来，关于伊朗侨民社区、背叛的美国梦或类似的事情，可能有一些有趣的事情要说。”想想她的想法，想想你怎么不能：这个故事与同化无关，而是关于一个来自你们世界的疯狂的人，他射杀了来自你们世界的一些人，但更多的是关于枪支管制和美国，以及它的梦想根本没有被背叛。
Ask her if you can face America here not just Iranian-America in the only piece you can write, pitch this to her and know the answer.
问她，在你能写的唯一一篇文章中，你是否可以在这里面对美国，而不仅仅是伊朗美国，向她推销这篇文章并知道答案。
Remind yourself that you have been chronically ill for many years and buying cigarettes is no longer an option.
提醒自己，您已患慢性病多年，不再可以选择购买香烟。
Write for other sections of that paper—the book review, where you sometimes wonder why they don’t give you topics relating to Iranian-America—until once again, in 2017, another editor from that section writes you, this time with a name that is definitely of Iranian-America.
为该论文的其他部分（书评）撰写文章，有时你会想知道为什么他们不给你提供与伊朗裔美国相关的主题，直到 2017 年，该部分的另一位编辑再次给你写信，这次的名字肯定是伊朗裔美国。
When she says she wants a Persian New Year piece, a sweet nostalgia piece, remind her that four years ago, many editors ago, you wrote one.
当她说她想要一篇波斯新年文章，一篇甜蜜的怀旧文章时，提醒她四年前，许多编辑之前，你写了一篇。
Tell her you have nothing happy to write this year and you weren’t going to write this and tell her your idea of New Year in the time of the Trump Administration’s Muslim Ban.
告诉她你今年没什么好写的，你不会写这个，并告诉她你在特朗普政府穆斯林禁令期间对新年的想法。
Remember your first Persian New Year pitch to this paper : being Iranian in a bad time to be Iranian, and now a decade later witness that same silence with awe.
还记得你在这篇文章中的第一次波斯新年宣传：在一个糟糕的时期成为伊朗人，十年后的现在，你带着敬畏见证了同样的沉默。
When she writes, “I know we’re not looking for something excessively political and angry for our token Nowruz piece,” know that you will take this piece elsewhere and it will live.
当她写道，“我知道我们并不是在为我们象征性的诺鲁孜节作品寻找过度政治和愤怒的东西”时，要知道你会把这篇文章带到其他地方，它会继续存在。
Try to put away any disappointment you have for her, your fellow Iranian-American, because ultimately both you and her are microscopic cogs in the venerable paper’s unfathomable machinery.
试着收起你对她，你的伊朗裔美国人同胞的任何失望，因为最终你和她都是这本令人尊敬的报纸深不可测的机器中的微观齿轮。
Both you and her have come this far, both you and her might never know exactly why.
你和她都走到了这一步，你和她可能永远都不知道到底为什么。
Observe others writing about Iranian-America.
观察其他人写的有关伊朗裔美国的文章。
Encourage and amplify the many voices and viewpoints of your people, now nearly four decades a minority in this America, finally with their own stories surfacing too.
鼓励和扩大你们人民的许多声音和观点，在近四十年的时间里，你们人民在这个美国一直是少数派，他们自己的故事终于也浮出水面。
Enjoy reading their accounts, until readers warn you against your own enthusiasm.
享受阅读他们的报道，直到读者警告你不要自己的热情。
I feel like they’re ripping you off, go messages from the concerned and you don’t know what to make of it.
我觉得他们在欺骗你，从相关人员那里发消息，你不知道该怎么办。
Against your better judgment, read more closely.
根据您更好的判断，请更仔细地阅读。
Decide you will pretend not to notice.
决定假装没有注意到。
Pretend you are better than this competitive game they have set up for all of you to destroy yourselves in.
假装你比他们为你们所有人设置的这场竞争性游戏更好，让你们所有人都在其中毁灭自己。
Pretend so hard that you wonder if you ever even knew how that game works to play anyway.
假装得如此努力，以至于你想知道你是否知道这个游戏是如何玩的。
Pretend to chainsmoke a couple packs of cigarettes, killing hours in bottomless depression—pretend you’re all smoke and ashes, let it burn right through you—and pretend Iranian-America is all theirs, whoever wants this wreckage.
假装连续抽几包烟，在无底的抑郁中消磨几个小时——假装你全身都是烟雾和灰烬，让它在你身上燃烧——假装伊朗-美国都是他们的，无论谁想要这个残骸。
Tell yourself this is The Last Essay, but remind yourself of all the other Last Essays.
告诉自己这是最后一篇文章，但提醒自己所有其他最后一篇文章。
Wonder how much more of this you can take.
想知道您还能承受多少。
Count that out of seventy pieces of nonfiction you’ve written since your first book came out in 2007, forty-eight have had to do with Iranian-America.
算一下，自 2007 年你的第一本书出版以来，你写的 70 篇非小说类作品中，有 48 篇与伊朗裔美国有关。
Ask yourself if it’s too much or too little given where America is at, still at.
问问自己，考虑到美国现在的处境，还是现在的处境，这是否太多或太少。
Watch the news and marvel at how your entire life they obsessed over your country of origin, and continue to.
看看新闻，惊叹于他们在你的一生中如何痴迷于你的原籍国，并继续如此。
Wonder if you and your family will end up in Muslim Camp after all.
想知道您和您的家人最终是否会进入穆斯林营地。
When people look at you with the pity and the regret again— refugee, resident alien, political asylum , immigrant, foreigner —let them have it, and let yourself take it.
当人们再次用怜悯和遗憾的目光看着你时——难民、外国人、政治庇护、移民、外国人——让他们拥有它，也让你自己接受它。
What has changed but nothing at all?
有什么变化但什么都没有改变吗？
Write about it and make sure you keep writing about it.
写下它并确保你继续写下它。
Plan out three more books and call it the end; each and every one is about Iranian-America.
计划再写三本书，然后就结束了；每一篇都与伊朗裔美国有关。
Write all the secrets like every essay is a suicide note: one that reveals your Zoroastrian name is a fraud and you are a Muslim and watch everyone applaud it, from all sorts of people online to your own father who gave you your name.
写下所有的秘密，就像每一篇文章都是一封遗书：一篇揭露你琐罗亚斯德教名字的文章是一个骗局，而你是一名穆斯林，看着每个人都为你鼓掌，从网上各种各样的人到给你起名字的你自己的父亲。
Wonder if anyone is reading properly.
想知道是否有人正确阅读。
Put “Iranian American refugee” in your Twitter profile, the way all the other refugees are doing.
将“伊朗裔美国难民”放入您的 Twitter 个人资料中，就像所有其他难民所做的那样。
Question if this is empowering.
质疑这是否赋予权力。
Imagine you’ve been throwing yourself off a cliff every time you’ve been writing, but it’s hard to know if you are killing yourself or trying to fly.
想象一下，每次写作时，你都会把自己从悬崖上扔下去，但很难知道你是在自杀还是试图飞翔。
Wonder if a cliché like that is all you’ve got.
想知道你是否只有这样的陈词滥调。
Wonder if the death you’ve been imagining is just you becoming a bad writer.
想知道你一直想象的死亡是否只是让你成为一个糟糕的作家。
Watch yourself making posts on Facebook and Twitter more than ever in 2017.
2017 年，您在 Facebook 和 Twitter 上发帖的次数比以往任何时候都要多。
Watch Americans at first dive into it and then over time walk away from it, until you start to find yourself asking white people to repost or echo the same sentiment, so your ideas can get heard.
看着美国人一开始热衷于它，然后随着时间的推移逐渐远离它，直到你开始要求白人转发或回应相同的观点，这样你的想法才能被听到。
Watch white Americans listen to one another but suddenly they are not so sure about your words.
看着美国白人互相倾听，但突然间他们对你的话不太确定。
Remind them that you know Iranian-America and that they seemed to love reading you—quote your own pieces, send them the links, remind them they knew you—but watch them slowly back away.
提醒他们，你了解伊朗裔美国，他们似乎喜欢读你的文章——引用你自己的文章，向他们发送链接，提醒他们他们认识你——但看着他们慢慢后退。
Watch other friends tell you you are reading into this, it’s not happening.
看着其他朋友告诉你你正在阅读这件事，但它并没有发生。
Watch yourself worry about every word.
小心你自己担心每一个字。
Watch yourself apologize for things no one understands.
注意自己要为没有人理解的事情道歉。
Watch yourself think only in Farsi, like this—America—never happened.
注意自己只用波斯语思考，就像这——美国——从未发生过一样。
Watch yourself burn out on the worry and remind yourself of where this essay started: Begin by writing about anything else.
留意自己因担忧而精疲力尽，并提醒自己本文的开头：从写其他任何事情开始。
End by thinking about anything yourself , you tell yourself, but look at how you’re all out of jokes about smoking.
最后，你自己想想任何事情，你告诉自己，但看看你是如何不再开玩笑的。
Be a little astonished that there is still one more section of The Last Essay which is not The Last Essay, you and your editor and whoever is still here must know by now.
有点惊讶的是，《最后一篇文章》还有一节不是《最后一篇文章》，你和你的编辑以及任何还在这里的人现在都必须知道。
Notice you’ve learned a few things about essays in this decade, like the ones you must write will write themselves for you.
请注意，在这十年中，您已经学到了一些有关论文的知识，例如您必须写的文章会为您自己写。
Remind yourself that when the performance is honest two things happen: The essay will feel like it’s killing you and the ending will not be what you thought it might be.
提醒自己，当表演诚实时，会发生两件事：这篇文章会让人觉得它要了你的命，而结局也不会是你想象的那样。
Learn to respect more than resent those parallel planes of living and the rendering of living.
学会尊重而不是怨恨那些平行的生活平面和生活的呈现。
Note that you’re not thinking about this when you read and then reread an email you receive late one night a few weeks after this first Persian New Year of the Trump administration, from an Iranian-American aspiring writer who tells you your work has saved her life, a woman twenty years your junior who asks if you have any words of advice.
请注意，当你阅读并重读特朗普政府第一个波斯新年几周后的一个深夜收到的一封电子邮件时，你并没有想到这一点，这封电子邮件来自一位有抱负的伊朗裔美国作家，告诉你你的作品救了她的命，一位比你小二十岁的女人问你是否有任何建议。
You thank her and feel embarrassed for your discomfort in reading her praise, and you try to channel her joy and enthusiasm and you fail, and you draft an email where you tell her to run but don’t say which way.
你感谢她，却因为读到她的赞美而感到尴尬，你试图引导她的喜悦和热情，但你失败了，你起草了一封电子邮件，告诉她跑步，但没有说往哪个方向。
One word: Run.
一个字：跑。
Run with everything you got, dear reader.
亲爱的读者，竭尽全力奔跑吧。
Delete the email and start over, and watch weeks and weeks go by.
删除电子邮件并重新开始，看着一周又一周过去。
One day open the draft and see the word love.
有一天，打开草稿，看到了“爱”两个字。
Try to delete it but it won’t go away.
尝试删除它，但它不会消失。
Tell yourself your delete key is broken and get it fixed and still try.
告诉自己你的删除键坏了，修复它，然后继续尝试。
Love.
爱。
Tell yourself it was sent to you for a reason—laugh at the audacity, the idiocy, the cliché—and one day, many years into a version of a future you might get, go as far as to grow into it again.
告诉自己，这封信是有原因的——嘲笑这种大胆、愚蠢、陈词滥调——有一天，在你可能会得到一个未来版本的多年后，有一天，你会再次成长为它。
Thank you, the young woman writes.
谢谢你，年轻女子写道。
I think I know what to do.
我想我知道该怎么做。
Porochista Khakpour is the author of the forthcoming memoir Sick (Harper Perennial, May 2018), and the novels The Last Illusion (Bloomsbury, 2014)—a 2014 "Best Book of the Year" according to NPR, Kirkus, Buzzfeed, Popmatters, Electric Literature, and more — and Sons and Other Flammable Objects (Grove, 2007)—the 2007 California Book Award winner in “First Fiction,” a Chicago Tribune’s “Fall’s Best,” and a New York Times “Editor’s Choice.” She is currently writer-in-residence at Bard College, adjunct faculty at Columbia University, and visiting faculty at VCFA's MFA program.
Porochista Khakpour 是即将出版的回忆录《Sick》（Harper Perennial，2018 年 5 月）和小说《The Last Illusion》（Bloomsbury，2014 年）的作者，小说《The Last Illusion》（Bloomsbury，2014 年）——被 NPR、Kirkus、Buzzfeed、Popmatters、Electricliterature 等评为 2014 年“年度最佳图书”——以及《Sons and Other Flammable Objects》（Sons and Other Flammable Objects）（Grove，2007 年）——凭借《第一小说》荣获 2007 年加州图书奖、芝加哥论坛报“秋季最佳小说”和《纽约时报》“编辑选择奖”。她目前是巴德学院的驻校作家、哥伦比亚大学的兼职教师以及 VCFA 的 MFA 项目的客座教授。
Confirmation link sent to your email to add you to notification list for author Porochista Khakpour
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Eat your meals standing up.
站着吃饭。
Don’t sneak onto Mt. Kilimanjaro.
不要潜入乞力马扎罗山。
“The whole idea of a spell is that you send your intention outward into the universe—what if the Internet is just another way to do that?”
“咒语的整体理念就是将你的意图发送到宇宙中——如果互联网只是实现这一目标的另一种方式呢？”
Writing was not the thing.
写作不是重点。
It got me to the real thing—how I saw myself and my relationship to the world.
它让我看到了真实的东西——我如何看待自己以及我与世界的关系。