Intro

Have you ever found yourself standing somewhere that's either crowded or those around are in such hysteria and disorder that you feel you're drowning in all the noise? People are talking and shouting at you but in your head you only hear the wind blowing, and whatever the scene in front of you may be, all you see is a picture in your mind's eye of the sun setting over the ocean as you're standing there and watching it? Well, I've had many similar experiences. There's been so many different scenarios for me that I imagine it would take a full day to write about every single one here. But one that sticks out I must say is my mother's face in full panic shouting at me for directions to do something but I can't remember what it is. All I can remember is that she's very scared and the look on her face that makes me want to close my eyes and pretend I'm standing by the ocean and I'm watching the sun set peacefully in the horizon as the seagulls fly high in the sky. I always see myself as a little girl in those imaginary moments for some reason; sad and lonely. I don't know why. Because, as I recall, I was a pretty happy and rambunctious child. 
So this happened again recently, but I can't remember what the reason/cause/situation was. 
Maybe it's best that I introduce myself before I go any further. I'm a 39 year old female; I'm a two time cancer survivor who considers herself an uprooted tree who has been transplanted land and oceans away from her original home soil. It seems like unfortunately these days we see more and more people who would identify themselves similarly: as an uprooted tree half a world away from where they were meant to be. We left Iran a few decades back when Khomeini still was alive and the nightmare that was the Iran - Iraq war was still playing out and devastating both countries. I was very young but old enough to remember the horrors although thankfully back then I was still too young to make sense of much that was happening around me. Today, looking back at all that as an adult, I try to put myself in my parents' shoes but it's hard to imagine how they must've felt and thought. They would've been about my current age with two small children and a world that was falling apart constantly around them with no end in sight. It's impossible to even imagine the sheer horror that they must've felt not only for their own safety but also that of their young children. With the beginning of the revolution people started fleeing the country. The vague memories that I have from my early childhood is how more and more relatives started leaving the country either secretly or with very short notice and in a haste. I remember how strange it felt to watch grown-ups sit up till very late hours at night chain smoking and trying to come up with a sensible plan that wouldn't feel so outrageous to them. But looking back now I think every second of those unpredictable days were outrageous and unimaginable to most if not all Iranians. Even today I wonder how can a country be turned completely upside down in short period of time? It seems so impossible to me and like a fairy tale. But then I remind myself of Iraq and how that small country was torn apart in a matter of a few weeks. Yet what happened to Iran in the late 70's and early 80's was nothing compared to what happened to Iraq in the 2003.
I've wondered to myself why is it so important to people to be in their homeland? What is it about the homeland that is so important to humans? I'll try to come back to this later, but first let me tell you about my own experience. So once things started to get really out of hand my mom decided that it was time to leave and our destination would be no other place than Sweden. My mom's reasons for that was that it had been a neutral country for over 200 years and it was a remote enough country that no conflict could ever possibly reach its borders. The decision of our migration was made in only an hour. It was hectic and filled with many emotions and no time to process them all. I remember I was told to pack a suitcase with only necessities and I had no idea where to begin. So I packed all my stuffed animals, puzzles, and all other toys and dolls that I just couldn't imagine being able to part with and felt proud and excited that I managed to do all that by myself. When I announced to my parents that I was packed and ready they came into my sister's and my shared bedroom to assess the necessities. I remember how devastated I felt when every single toy, doll and stuffed animal was taken out of that suitcase as my dad turned to me and repeated necessities only. I still remember the sadness and anger that I felt when I found out that none of my beloved toys were coming with us. Just a few months earlier I had my birthday, and I had received more toys, books, puzzles, clothes and dolls and now I had to leave all that behind. My parents kept promising me that it would only be for a short time, that we'd be back home again really soon and I'd be reunited with all my beloved toys again and will get the chance to play with them as much as I wanted to. I reluctantly  agreed since this would only be for a short time. Now looking back and from all the conversations that I've heard over the years, I've come to understand that people really believed this was temporary. No one could imagine that this would be drawn out any longer than a year max. Look at us now! Sitting here so far away from Iran 30 years later! I don't think anyone of those who left would have believed it if they'd been told that they may very well never see their homeland along with their loved ones ever again. How incredible! How completely unimaginable now that I think back and try to put myself in those grown-ups' shoes! Who would've thought? But this was certainly not the worst thing that happened to Iran and its people. The real nightmare was unfolding within its borders. Every day we kept hearing of more people getting arrested, imprisoned and executed. People even secretly told each other about the rumors that they'd hear about horrible tortures that their distant friends and relatives had endured while they were taken away t the hands of the guards who backed the regime. Adults tried hard to keep those horrific stories away from the ears of young children. But as horrible as they were, I was still fascinated by them and in my childish mind it still was just a story that grown-ups would tell each other. At a very young age, I had a fascination of horror stories and scary tales, and these were just more tales that would feed my imagination. None of it of course could be real and I couldn't even fathom what reality of this sort meant. To me, nothing could touch my world within the safe walls of our home and my carefree world of friends and games we'd play. To me, nothing could ever penetrate that and everything that was happening all around us was still so remote and distant from my childish world. Thinking back and remembering all that, I now realize what incredible creatures children are! They are so fragile and vulnerable yet so strong and resilient! How can that be? But I guess if kids had been any different than that very few of them could possible survive childhood and all the physical and psychological hurdles that come their way. 
One fond memory I have of those days is the dusk in summer time with the sun lighting up a wall in our guest room with the window open and a soft breeze sweeping between my mom's lace curtains as a lonely dove is cooing somewhere nearby. It was customary that my parents along with so many other Iranians would take afternoon naps during the hottest hours of the day. But as stubborn as I was I always managed to somehow sneak away from nap time and instead do other things to pass the time. One of those things was to sit by the window and gaze into the yard of the neighbors across the street as the kids were playing in their big beautiful swimming pool. 
The day that we left Iran it never occurred to me that I may never be able to come back again. In fact, those last hours I remember felt very surreal and strange. I hated those hasty goodbyes and to see those tearful and sad faces that would forcefully kiss my cheeks while giving me rushed hugs. I'd been to a few of those farewell trips before seeing other relatives off. And I always wondered when will it be our turn? When can we leave? To me, this was all a big adventure. The seriousness of the situation was a bit much for me to understand at that tender age. All it meant to me was that I was again being forcefully awakened and dressed at some ungodly hour of the day when all I really wanted was to be left alone to sleep. Today, watching movies like September In Shiraz bring back very distant memories that I vaguely remember in disconnected sequences with gaps in between of forgotten parts that I can't recall. But watching that particular movie brought many painful feelings back. Feelings that I had forgotten I'd once felt. Fears that have been deeply borrowed in my memory.  Those horrible things did really happen! They're not just a story line played by actors. Those are the dark realities of so many Iranians and I witnessed some of it even though I was too young to understand that depth of the horror of it. Today though, I'm thankful for having been too young to understand it all. And I'm thankful to my parents who had the will and means to remove us from all that darkness and evil. Yet many others including many of my relatives were forced to stay behind because of various circumstances, and every time I think back my heart breaks for every single one of them! I do wonder to myself how my parents live with their decision of leaving their other loved ones behind knowing that those left in Iran will most likely not do well in so many different ways. It is a very bitter pill to have to swallow, but at the same time you have no other choice. It's an extremely painful reality for many!