A plant without water

At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we cam.

-Frida Kahlo

A few days away from the horrifying news. Always turning to nature for healing. Trying to regain a positive perspective towards a world that is quickly crumbling. The more I worry, the more it breaks apart. All I can do is try to endure it, feel it, pass through it and live with it. I feel like a plant without water, without sun. I feel like a record player stuck on a track with a deep crack. I feel almost like a ghost wandering through dark days and even darker nights. How easily people decide to kill and destroy. How easy it is for many to watch and not be affected. How scary this world has become.

The world has failed

 

All the burning homelands breathe their smoke into my chest.

- Mohammed Moussa

The world  has failed to protect us. We have failed to create a world that would make sense for our children. We have seen rainbows and sunsets but created bombs and destruction.

Living hurts these days

 

The greatest danger to our future is apathy. 

- Jane Goodall

Last night I dreamed that the war had ended. The capital of Iran had changed to Hormuz and my husband and I were hanging out by the water, close to where that girl was swinging with the smoke in the background. 

I've been looking at the map of Tehran every night. I know it better now than when I used to live there. I keep imagining what Tehran looks like now, bruised, bleeding, broken but still strong with the mountains overlooking the city. The names of the neighborhoods, the streets, and universities take me back to my childhood. The names of the islands in the south of Iran, all take me back to when I was learning about them at school back then. I feel lost. Lost in a world that is losing its meaning.

My brother just called from Vietnam. I like hearing his voice. He said he had a bad dream and was asking if our parents were okay. He has been a light for me even on the darkest nights. He laughs, jokes and remains hopeful. But now even he seems worried. 

Living hurts these days. It's been hurting for three months. I am lost in a purgatory and can't seem to find an exit. The coordinates of my life have changed. The corners have shifted. How can one find their way back? Just knowing how much worse it can get is enough for my heart to keep skipping beats. It's enough for my body to jolt in bed when I am trying to sleep. How much more crazy can one take before they fall out of order? What is the capacity of the world for violence? Can nature heal all this pain, trauma and destruction? 

Is the war over?

She says: when are we going to meet?

I say: after a year and war.

She says: when does the war end?

I say: the time we meet.

- Mahmoud Darwish

جنگ تموم شد؟

“Is the war over?” Asks my 3 year old student, in Farsi as he is drawing a robot who can fight everyone. “No, but I hope it will end soon,” I say. “Yes, because it’s not good. War kills people", he says.

I wish I could’ve said yes, it’s over and it will never come back. I wish I could’ve said what war? What are you talking about? I wish we never had to have this conversation.

Happily, he is here. This child is here and not in fear of bombs falling on their home. He’s not hearing the blasts. He is safe. He knows about it but he doesn’t see or smell the smoke. He asks about it because he sees sadness or stress in his parents’ eyes or he can’t call his grandmothers in Iran. He is trying to understand what war actually is and how it affects us at the age of 3. 

I, on the other hand, was born the year a war broke out in Iran. I woke up, ate my breakfast and went to school in the war. We celebrated birthdays and anniversaries in the war. We danced and cried in the war. I grew up in a war. “You have seen war”, said my dad, in one of our recent conversations on the phone, trying to console me. We have seen wars.

.تو جنگ ديده اى دخترم. ما جنگ ديده ايم

It didn’t help me much being reminded that we had all survived eight years of war together. For me, this war had just opened up a somewhat fresh wound and it was bleeding. A wound from last June. It had uncovered an older secret scar from my childhood. Yes, we had survived wars but the fear is still there. It is ingrained. The trauma is just under the surface.

(all flower photos used are by Taran F.)

I feel numb

The war will end. The leaders will shake hands. The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. That girl will wait for her beloved husband. And those children will wait for their heroic father. I don’t know who sold our homeland. But I saw who paid the price. 

– Mahmoud Darwish

I cry quietly. It comes in waves. I’m mourning the destruction of a beautiful country and it's resilient people. I mourn the loss of that lighter, less bruised and more hopeful person I used to be before all of this started.

As the tears roll down my face I start thinking about our friend who left us so suddenly. I used to be angry at him, for leaving us. For not knowing that the last time I sat next to him at our performance in Stanford was the very last time I would see him. Surprisingly, now I think of him and I smile. The thought of him brings me light and peace away from this world of darkness. It brings his voice and his music to my shattered mind and broken heart and gives me a unique form of relief.

I think of how hopeful I was to leave 2025 behind and start a new year. I think of what I secretly wished for as we were dancing our way into the new year with my high school friend to Persian music from our childhood. I think of a version of me that had no idea how quickly the world can turn dark. I wonder what this experience is doing to me, to my parents, to my family and all the people in Iran and the region. I wonder what will be left of us. I wonder what it’s doing to the whole world and our sense of security and safety and our understanding of law and order. I think of nature and animals. All the cats stranded in the charred streets of Tehran looking for food or shelter. I think of where we are headed and I start feeling dizzy. But mostly, I feel numb. A month has passed. Am I starting to accept this as my life; living with constant worry and my stomach constantly twisting in knots? I think of how hard it is to genuinely smile sometimes. Can life on this planet ever make any sense again?

(photo by Rouin F.)