Welcome to Weirdoland

I met Nate last year in the street when I was walking home with a friend of mine. We met him a couple more times after that. It was always very casual, a nice hello then we both went our separate ways. The neighbourhood kids always chased him around. Then one day, no more sign of him. I slowly got used to the idea I would never see Nate again. He was always so happy to see me and I was always happy to see him too. Now I was sad. I didn't know where he lived so I couldn't really look for him. But that's life, isn't it? Life went on as usual, lectures, grocery shopping, spring past, then summer, I went back home, came back to Preston, fall passed, then winter. This morning I had planned to take my bicycle and go check out the new Waitrose that recently opened a couple of miles away. I opened the backyard door and saw that it was gone. Half-shocked/angry, half "there's nothing I can do" attitude, I decided to walk there.When I arrived back in my street

Tehran, Iran, 20 June 2009. People are protesting, they want freedom: they shout, they are angry. The streets are crowded with people. In the middle is Neda. Neda Agha Soltan was a very special 27 year old, she was a gifted musician, was spiritual, she had dreams and aspired to be a mother, she loved the arts and travelling, and was hoping to live in Istanbul one day. The kind of person you would want to know. But most of all, Neda, like many other young people in Iran, longed to be free. Neda died before she was given the chance to make her dreams come true. When young Neda left her house in that spring afternoon, she didn’t know she would never see her mother again. “She left the house mid-afternoon. I couldn’t join her but I said I’d keep in touch with her.” said Hajar Rostami Motlagh, Neda’s mother. Hajar, as any mother would be in times like these, was worried for her child. She managed to get through to Neda twice during the protest. When Neda told her mother the str