I was 11 years old when my family and I left Iran. It was during the Iran and Iraq war in 1987. My sister was eight years old.
We moved to Athens, Greece to seek refuge from America.
I loved it there in Athens. Although, that is not how it first started.
We lived about a five minute walk to the beach and utilized the seashore daily.
Since my sister and I did not speak Greek or English, we did not attend school for the period of one and a half year. That was the duration of our stay in Greece, our temporary home.
I have not experienced sixth or seventh grade at all. Because of this, for a long time, I felt like I constantly needed to catch up with the rest of the people my age.
What a silly concept.
I have since let go of needing to compare myself and measuring up to everyone. The same goes for my sister, as far as never attending two whole grades in her life, the part about letting go, I do not know nor do I know if she shared the same feelings of inadequacy as I did. Her issues were different.
What a silly concept.
I have since let go of needing to compare myself and measuring up to everyone. The same goes for my sister, as far as never attending two whole grades in her life, the part about letting go, I do not know nor do I know if she shared the same feelings of inadequacy as I did. Her issues were different.
The June 2009 political elections in Iran took me back to my time in Iran 22 years ago.
Everything in my life turned upside down.
As I watched images that streamed through the web, I cried and cried and went into a shock. I could not believe that a government could do this to its own people.
Everything in my life turned upside down.
As I watched images that streamed through the web, I cried and cried and went into a shock. I could not believe that a government could do this to its own people.
But then I remembered.
Of course they could. They had done that when I was there, why not now. The difference was that now due to technology, their corruption and brutal attacks were captured on tape.
The government in Iran always scared me.
The pasdars (military soldiers) were always on the streets with their guns exposed. They would stop civilians for wearing red nail polish or not wearing their hejab (head covering) Islamic enough.
The pasdars (military soldiers) were always on the streets with their guns exposed. They would stop civilians for wearing red nail polish or not wearing their hejab (head covering) Islamic enough.
It took me a long time to realize that I no longer needed to blame people in my life in order to move forward and be my own person. The issues that I have faced in my life have been towards religion, culture, country and a society. My blames were not so much on why my parents did or did not do a certain thing, but more on why do I have to abide by the rules of Islam as a Catholic.
My parents are Kurdish Catholics. I grew up in a small town in Iran called Ghazvin. I was born in the capital, Tehran. My ancestry goes back to centuries ago to Babylon and the Assyrians. I am a Caldony. So, to grow up in a Muslim country, we were considered part of the minority, which did not bother me a bit, until I started elementary school. Some of my classmates would not share food with me, or come to my birthday parties because to them or more correctly, to their parents I was a dirty catholic.
As a grown woman now, I can simply discard a comment like that, but at the age of six I was deeply hurt and that scar stayed with me for a very long time. That was probably the first conscious memory I have of any judgment towards religion. Both others and mine.
