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.)