One day I had bought a whole chicken to cook for dinner. I was cleaning and cutting it in smaller pieces, while wearing a white dress. For me a white dress is a symbol of purity, innocence and cleanliness. As I was indifferently cleaning and cutting the chicken with my big kitchen knife, I felt that I was a cruel person, slaughtering another being, and my white dress and my hands were becoming dirtier and dirtier. It was as if a part of me was indifferent to what it was doing: slaughtering a dead body. At that time I had just turned 30 and I was still involved with the legend of Simurgh [in Farsi: 30 birds]. In my head I was still playing with the number 30 and the concept of 30 birds.
After I turned 30, I felt like a bird that had flown the years of my life toward the age of 30, an important age for me. The thirty years, good or bad, had passed and I was there in a white dress, like a wedding dress, ready to start a new era of my life.