
Growing up in Los Angeles is an experience of its own; so is growing up in an Iranian family. Put the two together, and you’ve got one notable childhood with unmistakable traditions, experiences, and cultural cross overs. Here’s how you know you’ve grown up in an Iranian Family in Los Angeles.
Mom, she doesn’t understand what “beeyah bokhoreen” means…
….and you never understood this painting on the wall! Is it an ocean? Is it a table cloth? I NEED ANSWERS!
“SHHHH HE’S TALKING!!”
“But UCLA and USC are so good! It’s not too late to transfer…”
And the neighbors probably know everything about your life because of this. Not to mention, your family yells at the car when they talk on bluetooth.
DO. NOT. GO. NEAR. THE. FRUITS. You are risking your life every time you walk in there.
Perfectly crispy, golden, and not too oily. (Your mouth is watering now isn’t it?)
Let me just walk on the treadmill and pretend I’m working out alone!
You know something happened, or is about to happen, when your mom gets out that huge sage stick and starts burning esfand.
…it’s basically illegal.
You’re wrong…it’s black.
She was born in Ordibehesht, so sometime in April or May? Idk though.
“Eight one eiiiight, seven seven seven! Seventy seven, seventy seven, Luuuucckky Seveennn”.
But of course, you’d never hear this before your parents finished their chai and nabaat.
You know the one: plastic chairs, and jackets as blankets.
…and you probably have them saved as a favorite contact. (Love you Farah)
Saturdays. Bar Mitzvahs. 7 p.m. (AKA 9 p.m. Persian Standard Time)
“KEREM BEZAN!”
When the bill comes out, you know war is about to ensue.
Even though you can only spend so much time with your family before the crazy comes out, you still love them. (Because how else are you going to mooch your way into stealing the last tahchin?)
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