A Persian Girls Autobiography: three

In the past twenty two years, I had never thought  traveling back to Iran during the Islamic Republic Regime was possible. 

I always saw our departure from that country as an escape. We fled that country. We were refugees. To seek refuge is to seek protection from a place that was harming you, that was dangerous, therefore, for me it always seemed natural to not want to go back. It is the same regime that we had escaped from, so why would I go back now?

The funny thing or not about that is, I always thought I had one up on the government for being able to fool them in escaping from the country and not getting caught. 

After all, my mom did almost get us arrested during our departure from Iran at the airport. See, when we were leaving the country, the government wouldn't allow people to take any jewelry out of the country. Each person was allowed one piece of gold jewelry.Now, if you know Persians, you know that is not enough.

My mom had hundreds of pieces.

She sold almost all. 

She kept a few. 

To the airport, I wore a cross necklace and a gold flower ring, which I have to this day. They asked my mom to choose between the cross or the chain I was wearing. I could only have one or the other. My mom chose the cross. She had her wedding ring she took with her. My sister, I can not remember but assume it was a necklace. No rings.

When we left Iran, at the airport, they search you. The costumes area is gender divided. We were taken to a room that had dressing room stalls with white curtains. Maybe plastic curtains, although I can not remember. We were searched. Body searched. They checked the seams of our clothes, we took our shoes off and had to answer questions and were spoken to very bitterly. These women were mean. My sister and I were so scared of them. They just were so rude and scary. Anyhow- when we got to Greece, my mother let out a big sigh, and told my father, sister and I that she had sewn a thick chain in the seams of my pants. She had loved that chain and she really wanted to take it with her, and she figured my sister and I wouldn't be searched. Well...she was wrong and the whole time that we had been in the rooms being searched by these mad women, she had apparently been having her own silent panic attack.

That chain is mine today. I wear it with my favourite piece of pendant. I do not know if my mother made a silly mistake by doing that or not, but I know that the deeper meaning of it was that she refused to be controlled by that dictatorship regime. She refused to let go of the things she loved, because a society told her she had to. For that, I honor her and I wear the chain around my neck with positive memories of standing strong for what you want in life. I know it's just a chain, but I guess at times I see it as a symbol of strength.

I never thought that going back to that country under the same regime which created so much fear in me was possible. As I had previously thought that I had won one over the government, with recent June elections in Iran and the turmoil of its aftermath, I see that I had neglected myself of a country and culture I deeply loved. I was the one who had lost. How could I have not wanted to go back and see my childhood home?

It was never me who had decided to leave to begin with.

How is it that I had so easily accepted to let go of a life that was so precious and dear to me for eleven years?
How could I daydream all the time about how Iran was and never once gone back there?

I guess it's hard for some to understand the idea or feeling of being patriotic. I never understood that with Americans. I looked down on them if anything for I believed them to be arrogant to love a country or die for a country. And yet today, I know if I was in Iran, I would be out protesting and possibly jailed in the infamous Evin prison of Iran in ward 209 where they keep all their political prisoners. But it's not even about me being patriotic. I realized, as I have had so many epiphanies during these Iran protests- that I had created a mental pattern for myself that dreams are out of reach and maybe only a miracle can make dreams come true and only if you really deserve to be that special to have a miracle happen to you. God- I mean that's a heavy burden or a tall order. It's not true. Dreams are my favourite thoughts to busy myself with. I love them. I love dreaming.

I love dreaming about so many things.

It can be about a simple garden.

A walk in the street of Paris.

The feeling of flying a kite.

A kiss from a sexy man.

The feeling of loving someone or any of the hundreds of things that warm my heart.

The difference is now that I see I could have gone to Iran this whole time, that the roads were open to me, my mind shifts its thinking from a "can't" to a "why not". This shift is so big for me, because now I can say to myself why not go and be an artist? Why not set goals and dream big and go for it? Why not go after what I want? The people in Iran are fighting for what they want. Freedom. They are willing to give their life to be free. My heart aches every time I say that. But it's OK, because I know it is related to my own personal purpose. I know that if I feel so deeply towards these people in Iran, they are communicating with me through their struggle. They are struggling to liberate themselves from a society that has imprisoned them for thirty years.

I am struggling to free myself from my own jailed prison.

I have held my dreams in solitary confinement for years.

I have not allowed myself to pursuit my dreams.

I do not know why as I am trying to figure that out. I assume fear of failure. I assume fear of not being accepted. I assume fear of not being good enough. I assume my ego has taken over the better part of me.

Are these not the feelings I had as a child growing up in a split country that always seemed to have the invisible wall of separation between good or bad, worthy or not, deserving or not? In an insane way, this election has ruined me and liberated me. I barely remember what mattered to me before the protesters went out on June 13Th. I know that since then, everything in my life turned emotional. I learnt a revolutionary song that protesters were singing in Iran, (Yareh Dabestani..) so I can sing with them here. And as I sang, I sung from the bottom of my heart as if this one song can make all the differences and turn this shit regime over to true freedom seekers. I wore my green shirt and tied green cloth around my wrists as to publicly declare my support to my people there and draw attention to myself so I could start a dialogue with non-Iranians about what is happening in that country. I protested in the streets shouting anti Islamic Republic slogans just so someone could hear me for my people in Iran. I put my face out there and I spoke to news websites and allowed myself to be a public figure if it meant that one person could become aware of what was happening in Iran. My sister and I protested for 56 days straight from that June 13Th protest. We stood by the street and held signs. We did whatever we could to do our part in this struggle for freedom.

Then I realized that I need to start fighting for my own freedom too.

I need and want to learn to fight for my own dreams with the same dedication and compassion that I have been fighting for Iran. The people there are my inspiration. Their courage, persistence and fearlessness motivates me. It is teaching me bravery. I want to be brave for me and the world. I have big dreams and I want to reach them. I believe so wholeheartedly in a free, democratic Iran. I have no doubt whatsoever that it will happen. I am not sure when or how it will finally occur, but my faith in it is so strong that nothing can shake my belief.

Now, I am learning how to do that for me. I am ready to learn how to have unshakable faith in me. Trust me. Believe in me. I know I can do this. I do not know how it will happen. I know that I am taking small steps. It may even take a while. But, the thing that comforts me is that each step that I am taking, I take with hundred percent love. I take my steps knowing that I am building a trust system with myself. That is what's happening in Iran as well. With each protest that takes place in Iran, people believe more. People trust their movement more. People believe in the overthrow of an unhealthy system more. It is no coincidence that I have felt so emotional about Iran's recent turmoil, in some ways, it is mirroring my own inner turmoil that I was not even aware of. This journey for freedom is sad, torturous, creative, emotional and a relief. There will be rewards in both. Iran will be free and i will be free to dream and manifest my dreams. Many people have already died, but I know that they are alive in spirit and that they died free. I can do the same. I can pursuit my dreams so when one day when I do depart, I can leave this earth knowing that I sang the music in my heart.