When I lived as a pure Iranian nothing ever really disappointed me. Not the traffic because we didn?t have a car. Not the heat because I had too much fun to notice it. Not the scarf because I didn?t have to wear it. Not the stares or remarks because I didn't pay attention. Now with only one month I got very disappointed. I was disappointed by the veiled women at particular crowded places that told ladies to fix their hejabs or wear longer pants. With new styles women wear what they never wore four years ago. Their hair is shown from the back. They put a lot of make up. They wear pink montos and pink shoes. They wear short pants and very small scarves. I was disappointed by the long traffic and the terrible drivers. I was angered by the fact that they never appreciate their nurses the way they really should. I was sorry to see young boys smoking cigars. I was angered and sorry by how many students lost their lives from the demonstrations against a pathetic regime.
You see, I was disappointed over these things in only one month. Now imagine how many times the people get disappointed everyday of their lives.

It is almost over, my trip back to home. I feel both sad and happy. I'm sad becasue I have to say good-bye and happy because I got to come back. Everyday was sweet and magical. It was the most memorable trip of my life. The reason I came back is this: I missed Iran and its people. I missed my home where everyday of my childhood was spent at. There are many who say they love their land, yet they never put an effort or the will to come for a visit. I did with the help of my parents. I did because I wouldn't have been me if I hadn't come back. People forget what a life without freedom is and how it feels to be watched and told what to do or how to dress. Where words of complaint can lead to death.

I slept the night for the last time and ate the last breakfast in my home. I am looking at my house one last time, hoping to remember everything once I leave. I keep thinking when will I be back again? Another four years? I really don't know. But I do know that I will never forget Iran and the life I had. I wish Iranians lots and lots of luck and hope they will get their freedom back. I've tried so hard not to be sad, but it's hard. Harder than I thought.
Good-bye Tehran.

It is 1:15 A.M. Thursday. Two more hours and I will leave Tehran.
My close cousin cried and I cried with her. My other cousins came to say good-bye. It was the hardest night for me. My mom's aunt told my sister, " Think of it as a dream. You just had a dream that your sister came back."
I'm very sleepy but I have to stay awake.
5:16 A.M, waiting for the plane to Amsterdam.
I held my tears but the last minute they poured down. I held them in again and now I can't wait to pour them all out. My eyes are very watery.
I'm in the plane. I read my cousin's letter and cried. It was the saddest yet the sweetest letter.
10:45 A.M. I was mostly sleep during this flight. I can't wait to see my oldest brother.
I feel as though I'm still in Iran. My return the second time was the best but its good-bye was the hardest from all my other trips.

When we went out I expected to see women in scarves with covered bodies. I was used to see them that way in Iran. Instead I saw women in tank tops and short skirts. Why do these women have these rights and the women in Iran don't? What makes them different? No one tells them how to dress. They don't need to wear makeup because they can make themselves pretty with their different clothing styles. The women in Iran have required themselves to fix their faces with makeup in the best way possible. Their face is the only open space where beauty is not hidden. The only place where their secrets, their story, and their dreams are somewhat found.

I still think about my last moments in Tehran. I loved being there. It made me alive. I loved the food, the music, and the ground in which I stepped on.
Iran had changed and I had changed with it. I realized even more how lucky I was to live outside of Iran. I wish I could have stayed. I wish I could stay.
In the plane I took one last look at the big Tehran and cried. I felt very lonely. I left part of me in Tehran. I left my heart so I could make our house alive again.

Yesterday we went to a park nearby. The parks in Europe are way different than the parks in Iran. In Iran the people have to sit or walk. In Europe they can lie on the grass; women in bikinies, men shirtless. They can ride boats on the lake without being afraid of falling into the water. They can kiss under the trees and no one will ever care. They can sleep under the sun and ...
This is freedom. Freedom is a word full of meanings. In some places freedom is closing the doors to music but letting humans breath. In others freedom is having a life with no remarks, no forces that tell you what to do, how to dress, or what not to write. I come from a country without freedom. That's why I know what freedom actually is.

I feel safe, protected, invisible, and happy. No one can see my smile, no one can read my mind. No one can stare at me. No one can touch me. No one can see my tears. It is a short yet sweet escape. It is an escape from reality. An escape from all sounds and all voices. Under the water is the best place to rest in. To forget pain, pressure, sorrow, and all feelings. It is a short escape.

When I was leaving Iran I realized how fast the minutes vanished. One minute I was in my house, talking to them for the last time, laughing, and crying. The next minute I was flying.
Is life always like this? Has it been in such fast speed all along or was it just me who didn't realize? Everything is in fast speed and ends quick.
I am planning to go see the world. I want to go to Mecca, Egypt, China, Japan, evey single country. I want to live long. I always wonder what happens after this life. Is there reincarnation?
In Iran they say they will go to heaven because they are already in hell.
I also wonder who I would have been if I never lived in Iran. Would I have known what freedom is? Would I have cared about the world?

Pretty soon I will leave Belgium. To be exact it will be Tuesday, July 22nd. This time I will go back to America. I should start saying "home", but no matter how hard I try I can never call anywhere home except Iran. Part of me is still there.
I talked to my mom yesterday. She said she is waiting for me. To be honest I don't miss America, I miss my parents and the life I have there. There's a bit of fear in me everytime I have to go back to that life. It is the fear of school, work, and other things. I often feel lonely in America without my sister and brothers. I always feel the need for them to be with me.

A park in Brussels - July 2003
[To enlarge the photo, just click on it]

Enjoyment

Sunbathe

Ignorance by Milan Kundera speaks exactly of how I feel about my homeland. This greatly written story is about immigrants who have escaped Prague during communism. Some of these immigrants return after 20 years.
I was only away four years, but I still felt a great connection with this book.
Even in Belgium there are many Iranians who have not returned in many years. To me four years was very long and I couldn't imagine being away any longer. Now I see the ones who have not returned in 16 or 17 years and I think, what was I complaining about?!

Tehran June/July 2003

(To enlarge the photo, just click on it)





Nature

11:26 A.M, Tuesday, July 22nd (In the plane to U.S)
After all this time I'm finally going back to the U.S. My brother drove me all the way from Belgium to Amsterdam. I held my tears while hugging him and managed not to cry. The plane is very crowded. I just want it to end so I can go home. Dad is going to pick me up.
I learned a great deal during this journey. I learned about freedom and how life without it is very difficult. I learned about independence. I learned how precious life is and why it should not be wasted.
Revisiting relatives made me alive. Going back to Iran ensured me of who I am and what I will do with my life. This journey was the greatest gift. I can't feel any luckier. Lucky for having a great family and a great life.

Finally Home

I saw my dad after picking up my two heavy suitcases. We hugged after getting out of the airport and drove home. I was so glad to see mom. I had missed them both very much. Our house looked really weird to me. I still feel a bit strange, but I'm happy.

I went to the park today with mom. I ran a bit and then walked. My arms and shoulders still hurt from picking up the suitcases.
Again I started comparing. This time America and Iran. I was very upset in Iran because I noticed the unfairness. I always knew it, but knowing is different than seeing. When you see, you understand. You really understand. So I saw and I wasn't happy to see a country falling apart.
In the park today I told mom about my journey. I told her how I felt. She felt the same, she understood me. That's all I can write right now. My mind is somewhere else...

Saturday mornings people go to the mall and spend their morning and part of their afternoon shopping.
The road is clear. Not too many cars. Not too much traffic. It is a joy to drive.
At home music can play loudly.
At the movies people quiet down when the film starts.
People are not allowed to smoke in public places.
Choosing a comfortable outfit is not a problem.
Writing is not a crime.
Speaking is not wrong.
Dreaming is allowed.
Success exists.
Freedom is a word.
Love is a reality.

My parents looked at the many photos I had taken from Iran. As I saw, I stepped into them and the memories reminisced.
My relatives saw me as an older, wiser, and a changed person. A very different person from the one they used to know. Now that I’m back I feel even more changed.
The future keeps knocking on my door and I get worried. I try to enjoy my life without thinking of tomorrow or the day after.
I already had fifteen years of life and there is more to come.
I don’t want to be famous, but I want to be noticed. I want to be unique. I want to be remembered.

A minute ago I didn’t know what to write about. I couldn’t write about love because I don’t know what love is. I couldn’t write about happiness because it is different for everyone. For me happiness is being with my family and enjoying life. For someone else happiness might be a glass of cold water or a chocolate cake. To a homeless happiness can be a home with a nice cozy blanket. To a starving man happiness can be a piece of bread. To a rich family happiness can be a new Mercedes or a villa near the ocean. To a little kid happiness can be a toy with mom and dad.
I can’t write about sadness because it brings pain. I can’t write about the world simply because I haven’t yet seen it all.
I have an opportunity to write and let others see it. I write in a cool room, with music, and a computer. Somewhere out there, someone else might be writing, but in a small space, with an almost broken pencil, with lots of disturbing noise, too much heat, and no one to show it to.

When you set foot in a place to begin a life you don't know what will become of that life. Or maybe you do. You are not aware of the changes that take place and you might not expect any surprises, but we all know that life is full of them.
As an 8 year-old I never expected to live in America or even to leave my land. I never imagined that my time was going to be very short and unfortunately I didn't know how precious life was.
Right now life is acceptable for me. I have accepted the past and the present and I don't regret any part of my life.