cr: nabicoree
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@azizamiii
cr: nabicoree
survivor’s guilt feels a lot like homesickness
i love you in all the quiet ways.
in the way my body softens
when you walk into the room.
in the way every bad day
feels a little less heavy
when i can come home to you.
you did not erase the pain from my life.
you simply made me feel
like i no longer have to carry it alone.
you are my safest place,
my favourite person,
and the life i would choose
again and again.
i am so grateful
that in this lifetime,
i found you.
ever since i was little, summer belonged to iran.
we travelled to other countries during other holidays, but every summer, without question, we went back. at first, i acted like i hated it. maybe part of me even believed that. but deep down, i loved the tradition of escaping structured, quiet germany and returning to a place where loneliness did not follow me everywhere. the warmth and love of my family in iran were always greater than anything waiting for me here.
when my grandparents died, they left behind a space that was never filled again. iran never felt exactly the same after them, but we continued going every year. eventually, my longing became so strong that once a year was no longer enough, and i started going twice.
during the last few years, i could feel something changing. there was more anger in people, more exhaustion, more frustration. the warmth was still there, but it carried a heaviness it did not have when i was a child.
then i got engaged last year and somehow everything changed again. being there with my fiancés family made iran feel a little like it used to. for a moment, i recognised the feeling i had known as a child.
now i dream about nothing more than seeing my family again.
when i tell people that i want to return to iran, especially other iranians, they think i am naive. maybe they are right. i understand why they say it. but there is the hunger inside of me to get on the next plane and go home.
i want to smell the streets of tehran again. i want to stand where my grandparents house used to be, even though they tore it down. i want to find out where the street cat i loved has gone. i want to buy the strangest flavours of crisps and ice cream from the supermarket nearby. i want to taste my aunts cooking and disappear into my uncle’s arms.
this summer, i am carrying an unbearable amount of longing and anger.
longing for everything i love.
and anger because i know iran will never feel the way it did to eight-year-old termeh again.
- i miss my family
he’s the love of my life
a plate shattered in my hands today.
my hand was covered in blood.
it wasn’t even a deep cut,
but i couldn’t stop crying.
my pizza,
the one i spent so much time making,
was left untouched.
- maybe it was never about the plate.
Cats of Tehran, Iran, by Akbar Mehrinezhad
i miss tehran so much that sometimes i feel like i’m grieving a person instead of a city.
my life feels like a to-do list i have to work through.
wake up.
study.
answer messages.
sleep.
repeat.
somewhere along the way,
i stopped feeling like a person.
i don’t sleep.
i am haunted by anxiety.
by the things i saw.
by the things i try not to remember.
i spend so much energy pretending i’m okay
that i have none left for anything else.
i’m not suicidal.
i just wish this pressure inside my chest would stop.
i wish my mind would be quiet for one day.
i think i’ve been surviving for so long
that i forgot what living feels like.
:‘)
it feels like a confession to admit this.
i sit in university classes talking about trauma, war, displacement, how to help refugees, how terrible events shape people, how pain settles into the body.
and all the while
i am trying not to think.
because the moment i truly let myself feel it
i collapse.
so i keep living.
i study.
i laugh sometimes.
i answer messages.
and somewhere inside me
there is this unbearable guilt
for continuing my life
while my people are suffering.
i feel numb so often that it scares me.
and then suddenly it all comes back at once
the fear
the grief
the anger
the homesickness
the faces i miss so much it physically hurts.
i am not the same girl i was before all of this.
sometimes i don’t know if i will ever become her again.
and what hurts the most
is how easily the world keeps moving.
how something so horrific slowly becomes “normal.”
sometimes i even catch myself trying not to think about iran at all
because thinking about it hurts so deeply
that i can barely breathe.
and then i feel horrible for it.
like i am betraying the people i love
just by surviving.
تهران 💝
my favorite city on this planet
I finally have access to internet after 70+ days of internet block out at the hands of the Islamic Republic of Iran (yes, the same one you first-world country people are so eager to defend).
You have been brainwashed and you don't even know it. Do you have the slightest idea what it feels like to be cut off from the rest of the world? Yet you defend our oppressors.
Where are the "human rights" activists now? Are we not human enough for you?
Fuck your fake morality.
22 is the year you become the world’s best friend.
maybe that starts with being softer with yourself.
with letting yourself be loved.
with accepting the hands that reach for you instead of learning to carry everything alone.
turning 22 felt heavy for a second,
but my fiancé never lets sadness stay beside me for too long.
somehow, he always finds a way
to make the world feel softer again.
maybe this year is not about having everything figured out.
maybe it is just about love,
about peace,
about learning that being held is not weakness.
- happy birthday to me🤍
Polaroid by Andrei Tarkovsky from the book Instant Light: Tarkovsky Polaroids from Thames and Hudson.
i work in a refugee shelter alongside my studies, where i lead a girls group. there is one situation that hasn’t left my mind. a seven year old girl from afghanistan asked me if i was fasting. i said no. she asked me why, and i told her that i’m not muslim. her response was that i would go to hell.
i wasn’t angry. in that moment, i didn’t see a “mean” child. i saw a child carrying things at seven years old that she shouldn’t have to carry. i explained to her calmly that we don’t say things like that, that every religion has its place, and that everyone is allowed to believe in what they choose.
but the situation also made me reflect on my own beliefs. i was never truly religious. i tried, and my cousin, who is very faithful, tried to bring me closer to allah. but i never found the right words for what i believe in. i still haven’t.
i just know that i don’t belong to any one religion. and yet, i believe. i believe in something greater than us. in a god who isn’t limited or owned by any one belief system. for me, god is everywhere. in me, in nature, in the water i drink every day. i find him in the birds in the morning and in the sunset at night.
my god doesn’t expect anything from me except to be a good person. to live with a clear mind and a good intention.
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