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Pretty soon I will leave Belgium. To be exact it will be Tuesday, July 22nd. This time I will go back to America. I should start saying “home”, but no matter how hard I try I can never call anywhere home except Iran. Part of me is still there.
I talked to my mom yesterday. She said she is waiting for me. To be honest I don’t miss America, I miss my parents and the life I have there. There’s a bit of fear in me everytime I have to go back to that life. It is the fear of school, work, and other things. I often feel lonely in America without my sister and brothers. I always feel the need for them to be with me.

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When I was leaving Iran I realized how fast the minutes vanished. One minute I was in my house, talking to them for the last time, laughing, and crying. The next minute I was flying.
Is life always like this? Has it been in such fast speed all along or was it just me who didn’t realize? Everything is in fast speed and ends quick.
I am planning to go see the world. I want to go to Mecca, Egypt, China, Japan, evey single country. I want to live long. I always wonder what happens after this life. Is there reincarnation?
In Iran they say they will go to heaven because they are already in hell.
I also wonder who I would have been if I never lived in Iran. Would I have known what freedom is? Would I have cared about the world?

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I feel safe, protected, invisible, and happy. No one can see my smile, no one can read my mind. No one can stare at me. No one can touch me. No one can see my tears. It is a short yet sweet escape. It is an escape from reality. An escape from all sounds and all voices. Under the water is the best place to rest in. To forget pain, pressure, sorrow, and all feelings. It is a short escape.

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Yesterday we went to a park nearby. The parks in Europe are way different than the parks in Iran. In Iran the people have to sit or walk. In Europe they can lie on the grass; women in bikinies, men shirtless. They can ride boats on the lake without being afraid of falling into the water. They can kiss under the trees and no one will ever care. They can sleep under the sun and …
This is freedom. Freedom is a word full of meanings. In some places freedom is closing the doors to music but letting humans breath. In others freedom is having a life with no remarks, no forces that tell you what to do, how to dress, or what not to write. I come from a country without freedom. That’s why I know what freedom actually is.

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I still think about my last moments in Tehran. I loved being there. It made me alive. I loved the food, the music, and the ground in which I stepped on.
Iran had changed and I had changed with it. I realized even more how lucky I was to live outside of Iran. I wish I could have stayed. I wish I could stay.
In the plane I took one last look at the big Tehran and cried. I felt very lonely. I left part of me in Tehran. I left my heart so I could make our house alive again.

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When we went out I expected to see women in scarves with covered bodies. I was used to see them that way in Iran. Instead I saw women in tank tops and short skirts. Why do these women have these rights and the women in Iran don’t? What makes them different? No one tells them how to dress. They don’t need to wear makeup because they can make themselves pretty with their different clothing styles. The women in Iran have required themselves to fix their faces with makeup in the best way possible. Their face is the only open space where beauty is not hidden. The only place where their secrets, their story, and their dreams are somewhat found.

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It is 1:15 A.M. Thursday. Two more hours and I will leave Tehran.
My close cousin cried and I cried with her. My other cousins came to say good-bye. It was the hardest night for me. My mom’s aunt told my sister, ” Think of it as a dream. You just had a dream that your sister came back.”
I’m very sleepy but I have to stay awake.
5:16 A.M, waiting for the plane to Amsterdam.
I held my tears but the last minute they poured down. I held them in again and now I can’t wait to pour them all out. My eyes are very watery.
I’m in the plane. I read my cousin’s letter and cried. It was the saddest yet the sweetest letter.
10:45 A.M. I was mostly sleep during this flight. I can’t wait to see my oldest brother.
I feel as though I’m still in Iran. My return the second time was the best but its good-bye was the hardest from all my other trips.

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I slept the night for the last time and ate the last breakfast in my home. I am looking at my house one last time, hoping to remember everything once I leave. I keep thinking when will I be back again? Another four years? I really don’t know. But I do know that I will never forget Iran and the life I had. I wish Iranians lots and lots of luck and hope they will get their freedom back. I’ve tried so hard not to be sad, but it’s hard. Harder than I thought.
Good-bye Tehran.

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It is almost over, my trip back to home. I feel both sad and happy. I’m sad becasue I have to say good-bye and happy because I got to come back. Everyday was sweet and magical. It was the most memorable trip of my life. The reason I came back is this: I missed Iran and its people. I missed my home where everyday of my childhood was spent at. There are many who say they love their land, yet they never put an effort or the will to come for a visit. I did with the help of my parents. I did because I wouldn’t have been me if I hadn’t come back. People forget what a life without freedom is and how it feels to be watched and told what to do or how to dress. Where words of complaint can lead to death.

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When I lived as a pure Iranian nothing ever really disappointed me. Not the traffic because we didn?t have a car. Not the heat because I had too much fun to notice it. Not the scarf because I didn?t have to wear it. Not the stares or remarks because I didn’t pay attention. Now with only one month I got very disappointed. I was disappointed by the veiled women at particular crowded places that told ladies to fix their hejabs or wear longer pants. With new styles women wear what they never wore four years ago. Their hair is shown from the back. They put a lot of make up. They wear pink montos and pink shoes. They wear short pants and very small scarves. I was disappointed by the long traffic and the terrible drivers. I was angered by the fact that they never appreciate their nurses the way they really should. I was sorry to see young boys smoking cigars. I was angered and sorry by how many students lost their lives from the demonstrations against a pathetic regime.
You see, I was disappointed over these things in only one month. Now imagine how many times the people get disappointed everyday of their lives.

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