Hope

 

I wish children wouldn’t die. I wish they would be temporarily elevated to the skies until the war ends. Then they would return home safe, and when their parents would ask them: ‘where were you?’ they would say: ‘we were playing in the clouds.’
– Ghassan Kanafani

A few days before Nowruz my parents called me on a Thursday morning because they knew I would be home and not at work. I was a mess. I was drowning in my own tears. I had watched too many horrifying videos. Spent too long on my phone. I had allowed my morning to be blasted away. But they were in control as usual. They called to say they had been out buying some things for Nowruz. They had both been out but separately and they somehow found it funny that they had both bought bread. They had fed the street cats who were also affected by the war. Their spirits were intact during the most difficult time. Again, how is that possible? How am I the one who needs to be comforted when they are the ones under daily destruction, uncertainty and trauma?

I was not just sad but angry. I was not just angry at the world but at them for not leaving Tehran when they could. For not leaving to come to stay with me in Palo Alto just for a little while. How can they stay and help the poor and feed the cats when their own daughter is falling apart? I had missed work the day before because my stomach and head had taken the worst of the situation. When my mom said that they decided to stay in their city and home to help during a crisis even though they knew this would cause tension for me, I lost it. This was not tension. Every day life had tension. This was destruction. My heart felt like it was on fire and not in a good way. I felt like I hadn't been able to breathe a calm breath since it began. Since the beginning of January really with the government in Iran killing thousands of people just for wanting their basic human rights. Then our friend passed away in a tragic accident which sent us deeper into a dark hole. And now this. Why is this happening to us? What is happening to the World?

Then I started crying and I told them I was sorry to cause them even more worry and anxiety when all I had to do was ask them to stay safe and hope to see them soon. When all I had to say is that I appreciate their strength and envy their resolve. But I felt that I was not as strong as them. That maybe courage had skipped a generation. I told my mom that I was a wreck and had missed work and that I felt helpless not having any control over this situation.

Then I said I was never as good a person as them. That’s when my dad stopped me. He took over the phone and said: No. You are strong. You love us and you are worried. But you have to try your best to give us hope that this will end, that we will see each other again. And we have to do the same. That is our job now. We DO have control over things. We can control how this affects us mentally. We have to be strong for each other. You can do it, azizam he said. YOU can do it. Something snapped back in place in my heart.

My father asked me to write. I was writing. I was writing poems and crying. But maybeI had to write more. I had to pour my thoughts and worries out. He had asked me from the start of the war to not watch the news. He said leave it alone. Most of it is lies and the rest is out of our control. Listen to music, play music, cook, go for walks. He must have been doing all that himself or else how could they keep up their spirits? How can they be the light in such darkness? How can they have so much hope? I asked him that and he said that is what we have to do. We have to have hope. Hope, that this will end soon and that we will see each other again.