EPISODE 2: IDINE MOUSAVI

Interview by Vivian Chiu
Photograph by Nadiv Hossain

October 27, 2019

I’ve tried to think of life as an attempt to improvise some sort of a narrative – one that is swept up with others, propelled by the motion of people rushing in and out of our lives. Sometimes, that motion is painfully abrupt. Other times, people leave with a mark so faint you can hardly see the silhouette of the place they once held in your life.

In that sense, we may be the Hamlet, or Hamilton (depending on your preference) of our own stories, but to most other people, we are likely Ghost #4 or Young Woman #2 running through a specific scene at any given point. This brings about a kind of humility, doesn’t it? And even though life may bring moments that defy the kind of meaning and structure that a story may bring, in retrospect, we still communicate in that language: “I grew up in _____, and I would go down to my grandparents’ lake house in the summers ” or “I moved away for school, which is where I met ______.” Telling stories is one of the main ways we connect to others, make sense of our lives, and create meaning that drives us forward.

Growing up in the Bible belt in Nashville, Tennessee as a young Persian kid was a mix of interesting contradictions. From an early age, I was steeped in the religious narratives of Christianity at school and Islam at home. My parents were immigrants from Iran, and like many immigrant families, they strongly emphasized the importance of education. To that end, from fourth grade on, I attended a non-denominational Christian school.

Every day, I would sit in assembly, where a student or teacher would deliver what was known as a “devotional” – reflecting on their experience with Christianity and the meaning they derived from their religious commitments. But at home, I would walk in and see the Qur’an framed by flowers in the center of my dining room table, a symbol of my family’s ethnic and cultural heritage.

This contrast was one of the first times in my life that I understood what it meant to be seen as “other” from the majority of the people around you. I distinctly remember sitting in the cafeteria one day in the 7th grade, eating my mom’s ghormeh sabzi she had cooked the night before, when a couple kids from my class sat down next to me. They glanced down at my lunch, asking “what is that?” before they moved on to their main topic of conversation: the state of my “soul’s salvation.” One kid handed me a colorful pamphlet with a picture of a cross on it and asked me to recite the words on the inside of it. I avoided eye contact for a while but decided to go along so that they’d leave me alone: I closed my eyes, “renounced the Devil”, and accepted “light and peace” into my heart and soul.

These kinds of experiences soured my view of religion, and it wasn’t until much later that I was able to appreciate the nuances of how people relate to faith, and the peace and solidarity it can bring. Certain narratives can twist and contort our conceptions of the world, making it difficult to relate to other people and see events from different perspectives.

It wasn’t until I auditioned and got into my first play in high school (because I had a major crush on this girl who was gunning for the lead, no less) that the power of narratives as a tool for self-expression and community-building became clear. Interestingly, being a part of a production is very similar to working on a medical team. In the best productions, everyone has a defined role, understands each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and performs to the best of their ability for the best possible outcome. Communication, empathy, skill, and respect are absolutely vital. Every member brings with them a swirling universe of experiences and beliefs that informs the way they interact with others, contribute, and see the world as a whole.

I’m pursuing medicine for the same reason I love playing the piano, or performing theater, for the same reason I love a great conversation or a book that shatters the way I think about the world. To me, there is no true distinction between the arts and the sciences.Healing, self-expression, creativity, and connecting with other human beings is at the core of both medicine and music, or theater, even though they might manifest very differently. I’ve been trying to hold this idea close as the ups and downs of school and life push me toward routines that can very quickly become monotonous and mindless. One of the best parts about starting medical school has been meeting people that share a similar perspective, working toward cultivating the ideas, relationships, and practices within and outside of medicine that make them who they are. Whatever direction things may take, I hope healing, creativity, and connecting with other people in pursuit of serving something larger than themselves is at the forefront of my life.

What are your 5 most recently played artists on Spotify?

Maxo Kream, Bill Evans, Solange, Mos Def, the Lo-Fi beats playlist (corny, but a great study playlist)

What's your favorite side dish?
Samin Nosrat’s Roasted Vegetables with Agrodolce. Try it.
 
Pick someone or something from NYMC to give a shout-out to!
Shout-out to the elevator to the anatomy lab.
 
If someone wanted to talk to you, they should lead with…
Their favorite restaurants and music venues!