A Persian Girls Autobiography: two

When my family and I first arrived in Athens, I was in a complete state of shock and melancholy for a few different reasons.

First, I had never been to a country that the women did not cover themselves up. I mean in Iran, the women had to wear pants, hejab (scarf covering hair), and a long coat to go in the water at the beach. And then here we were in Greece where the women were topless if they chose to be. I think Iran has changed its dress code policy for the beach since 1987. I believe they now have gender segregated beaches so it allows the women to wear bathing suits. Woo hoo!

Anyhow- I felt like I was in a bizzaro world. I was amazed at the freedom I witnessed there. It felt unreal and yet so natural to me.

Second, we arrived on a rainy day, pouring really. We had no place of our own and were going to stay at a relatives' house.

The weather was gloomy and sad,(of course so typical of any sad story) or it seemed like it to me for obvious reasons of being homesick. It felt as if the sky's tears matched my inner silent cry.

We arrived at my aunt and relatives' (and some other people that they had met in Greece) tiny little apartment. This place was more like a basement/apartment. The windows inside the house opened flush to the streets pavement. There was a small hallway that walked us through to the first room on the right. The floors were either dark wood or concrete or tile, white walls, and dark wood somewhere. This room was shared by three adults and it was probably around a 10' by 8'? I remember a table and some kind of a bed and chairs or benches. There was a common room or dining room with a table that held four people. A kitchen which I don't remember, a bathroom I can't recall and another small room that was occupied by a woman and her eight year old son.

We sat down at the kitchen table to eat a meal that our family had prepared for us that night. I had my first taste of Kalamato olives and fell in love instantly.

The sad part of our journey in Greece was truly bitter. 

I use to sit in our front porch/yard on our white metal bench and write these long letters to my friends in Iran who I had just left behind and cry profusely . I was so angry with my parents for taking us out of our home. 

I had just started sixth grade in Iran in a new school. 

I was excited about it. 

I was going to have new friends. 

At the new school, we had the coolest science lab. It was an old wooden structure that could very easily be passed as a French country site green house. 

It was beautiful. 

The lab was surrounded by so many trees. 

It had large windows everywhere so once inside, you felt like you were in a tree house. 

It felt so exciting being there. 

I felt like I was just starting to become me. 

I was starting to become aware of my existence. 

You know that feeling when you feel like you get to look inside yourself for the first time and see and hear who you are? That's what I was feeling. 

I can even remember the moment I felt it as I sat in that lab.

As a child growing up, I daydreamed all the time. I dreamt about the white truck I would drive someday. I would sit in the sun and remember thinking that i loved life because the sun felt so good on my skin. I remember thinking that I loved being a child and how fun it probably would be to be an adult and get to do all the things I dream of as a child.

When I was young, I either isolated from the crowd or was the center of attention. 

It was easy really. I grew up in a big family. 

A holiday gathering could easily consist of 50 people. So, to be a child and disappear into the yard, back room or a closet was very easy. 

I would spend hours sometimes playing in the dirt outside by the plants and trees and it was during these times that I remember feeling and thinking about the idea of the "self". Our world seemed so fascinating to me. 

It tripped me out that there were so many possibilities. 

I was so excited about that. 

Life felt alive to me. 

And of course as a child, you don't see obstacles because they  don't exist. We create them as adults. I now know that my only limitation to achieve my dreams is my mind set.

So, back to the lab and my original thought...

I had just started sixth grade and all these dreams that I had been having seemed within reach. The steps towards the dreams seemed within reach. It felt like I was growing up and life was showing me how to do things. The science lab was maybe just a symbolic gesture of chemical reactions making things happen. Therefore, our departure to Greece wasn't as joyous as one would think taking into consideration the circumstances of the Iran war  and the vast number of people that were trying to flee the country.

We left Iran two weeks into my sixth grade school year.

As I wrote my letters to my friends I knew I would probably never see them again.

I was so sad.

I was sad for so many reasons.

I was sad that I couldn't stop crying.

I was sad that I missed home so much.

I was sad that I had no control over my life.

I was sad that everything in our lives had turned upside down within a few weeks.

I was sad that I was sad.

When we decided to leave Iran, it happened so quickly. We had finally been able to obtain a visa for Greece. My dad had tried a few different countries and we were always denied. In the midst of a war, it was difficult to get out.

Suddenly, we had the winning ticket.

Although, at the time it didn't feel like that.

Currently, it does.

The only thing was that we had about a month to sell everything we had and move away from that country. It was strange. My dad was in Turkey trying to get a visa for my grandma, while my mom back at home had to sell all our belongings on her own. 

See, at the airport we had to pretend that we were going on a vacation to Greece. We had a three month visa for a purpose of visiting Greece on vacation. Therefore, we couldn't take things with us that implied a long stay. 

So, some of my favorite things didn't make it out of the country; like my cool car collection that was sold. To this day I think of my car collection and whenever I go thrift store shopping or to a flea market, I am in constant search of the cars I left behind knowing very well that I will never find them here. 

I know it's silly. 

I know it makes no sense logically, but our hearts live of their own accords. 

My mom had so many beautiful jewelry pieces that she had to sell at a very low price due to lack of time. So many antique dishes and things...She even left her wedding dress back home.

I don't even remember how we said goodbye to our house. A place I had known as home for 11 years. My sister and I don't remember the moment of departure. We don't remember maybe because it would have been too painful.

In contrast, my memory is so vivid at times. 

I can remember the details of our home.

We had a 3" paper scented blue fish that hung on a light fixture.

We had a burgundy wine carafe set with beautiful white intricate hand painted flowers on it. 

Our doors between the living room and bedrooms were antique stained wood with green, red and yellow glass cut outs.

I remember colors and textures, the scent of a room, the colors of a dish in a certain area, and yet...the departure from that home that I loved so much I cannot recall.

The recent events in Iran keep taking me back there. Keep making me think about my feelings towards Iran in general. It's not politically driven, but historically, culturally and emotionally.

I watch the Farsi posts on my Facebook and I watch the me who is Iranian-American have a challenging time read them. I don't know yet how that makes me feel. I watch the videos from Iran, and I feel like I could fit in there just perfectly. I hear people talking Farsi and all of a sudden I feel like my soul is naked and all could see my true colors. 

Farsi does that to me. 

It feels real. 

I'm not sure what to relate it to to better explain myself. When people speak Farsi, I feel like I am in the real world. Like all my cards are out on the table. No hiding, no strings as if I am free falling-No safety nets. That's how I imagine it would be like if and when I do go back to Iran. That...my soul would rip itself a new skin.

These events touched me so deep that I feel the oppression of that country deep within me. I allow myself to contemplate my own oppressed feelings.

I guess it's just the right time. I truly believe that the happenings in Iran are affecting the majority of Iranians around the globe in a broader spiritual sense. 

I believe that this Iran revolution (for a lack of a better word and a selfish hope) is not just breaking down the oppressive regime, but the mentality that the regime had created for all of us. 

It doesn't surprise me that we are going through some gender specific feelings and inadequacies. How can we not? We were born into inequality and we had inherited the gender biased social issues. The good thing is that we do not have to carry the burden once we become aware of it. We choose to dismantle the patriarchal mentality, the lifestyle that was once forced upon us.

Our awareness is breaking the chains of our own oppressed thinking. We don't need that heavy baggage. We change and we grow and we believe that we can break free. We can achieve complete freedom from the oppressor whether it's a country or our own self. 

So, yes, this Iran election catastrophe is no longer just about a country, but a communal conscious awareness. 

It's as if the accumulation of the past 30 years of this Islamic Republic Regime, has given us enough heartache and inequality. We have gained power, courage, belief and determination. We believe in us. The protesters in Iran believe in themselves. They believe they will gain their freedom back. The protesters are under rape and torture and the possibility of death and yet they stand tall and strong and face their oppressors.

I think to myself...if they believe under these atrocious circumstances, how can I not believe in myself to pursuit my dreams? to pursuit my goals?

I still think of my favorite spot in the back yard of our home in Iran; picking strawberries, cherries and apricots from our trees and bushes.

I hope to return to that country someday.

I hope the people in Iran get what they are fighting for.

I hope I get to see the fruition of their struggle soon.