People ask me about my name, colleagues at school, baristas, people at parties. They throw out guesses about its origins, almost with desperation. Greek? Russian? Italian?
I say American. And I’m American born, with a Russian doll of roots. Middle Eastern, Midwestern, Irish, German. How do you explain that?
But I feel like I’m legitimizing something unseemly. Holding onto the first safe thing, giving legitimacy and shape to darker forces.
Are people curious? Or does curiosity hide something? I try to dissect starched smiles and vocal inflections.
At least shame reveals herself on command.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His story, "Soon," was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash has also had work nominated for Best of the Net and The Best Small Fictions. A native of Idaho, Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Latest posts by Yash Seyedbagheri (see all)
- October Shadows - 10th November 2021
- Curiosity Kills - 14th October 2020
very intriguing. My interpretation is that curiosity actually hides a wish for conformity, to put you in a slot, so it is kind of subversive xenophobia.
i loved this look forward to more.