The following articles chronicle my time in Tehran. Unlike my other posts, they’re mostly descriptive and argumentative in nature and tend to drift away from the narrative. Because of this, I think it’s important to highlight what Tehran means to me. This way the you have an easier time digesting and understanding why I say what I say and where it all stems from. This post is an introduction to a series of articles on me, Tehran, Iran and Iranians.
Here I was, sitting at the Fiumicino airport once again waiting for the boarding call to be announced. Even though being back in Italy was a detour, spending few nights in Rome had been delightful. My sister and mom had met up with my dad and it only made sense for me to drop by and complete the set. Seeing everyone together was nice. Over the past few years, occurrences of all four of us being in the same place at the same time had become a rare experience. Although I could probably fill pages after pages on my family and my relationship with them, I want to focus on something, or perhaps more accurately somewhere completely different. Right now, I’m at the airport waiting for my flight to Istanbul and then to Tehran.
I was born in Tehran some 26 years ago. I lived there for the first 12 years of my life, after which I moved to Canada. I visited the city on multiple occasions, all for three to four weeks. This trip was going to be the same length, however I had different plans on how I was going to approach my time in Tehran this time around.
Tehran holds a special place in my memory. It defines my childhood and early adolescence. Just like any other 12 year old I had no responsibilities or worries at that age. I used to ride my bike around Tehran’s wavy roads and deep potholes, play soccer with a double layered plastic ball and do a round of “Stop-Havaai” with the kids on the street. I knew everything and everyone I needed and felt comfortable and secure in my little world. Life was carefree and my only concern was making sure I do good in school. I had friends, my family and a comfortable life with nothing that could possibly stress me out. Tehran was a paradise and I was its king. Life was good.
I feel kind of old recollecting on my childhood as a far off fantasy world with no worries or responsibilities. I say this, because of all people I should know better. This is not something unique. Most people feel the same way as they get older. As life becomes more focused on our responsibilities and things we have to do, we easily become envious of our careless past. Unless you had horrible a childhood, most people associate the same carefree values with being a kid. However unlike most people, right around the time I was to become more aware of the world around me, I left Tehran for a new life in Canada. I never grew up in Tehran. That city froze in time and became a gateway to my childhood. Associating that carefree time with Tehran became intuitive and something I had time for a long time.
Anyone who spends any time studying US politics is probably familiar with the an old campaign trick, employed usually by the Republicans that focus on the message of “America is no longer the America it used to be.” This tactic usually appeals to the same sense of peaceful and worry-free connection most people have with their childhood. It’s all too common seeing a politician on a podium speaking of his younger years when his mother used to bake him a pie. When he used to play with the kids around the block. How he enjoyed going to baseball games and fishing trips with his dad. These type of banter is usually followed with the message “I miss that America, it’s not longer like it used to be, we need to get it back”.
What most people don’t realize is that life was peaceful and carefree cause they were young, not cause US was a magical Utopian paradise 30-40 years ago. in fact, looking back, 30-40 years ago with the looming possibility of a nuclear holocaust and an unwinnable war with Vietnam, you could argue US was in a worse shape than it is now. In that regard I am no different. Although my life In Tehran was carefree and easy, I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed for not growing up in it. However that’s not the focus of this post.
For the longest time following my move to Canada I had viewed Tehran as this far away fantasy land that still held my carefree and innocent childhood. It had become a place frozen in time. Every time I visited Tehran I would find myself walking the same streets I used to play in as a child. I would visit the same hangout places. All the while wishing the buildings and the stores were still in place. My relationship with the city and its people had become one of a 12 year old and his friends. I refused to acknowledge certain realities in Tehran and Iran in general and filter out anything that could possibly damage my picture perfect city. After all, a 12 year old doesn’t care much for unemployment, drug problems and rising youth suicide.
My relationship with Tehran and my perspective on the city had spilled over on my view on Iranians. I would find myself forming unstable relationships with other Iranians. Some could be attributed to my naive perspective of that country and its people. I had kept myself stuck in a time capsule, incapable of seeing people beyond how I perceived them during my childhood years. This had a reached a point, where if a dialogue was in English I was capable of being witty and mature but when it was switched to Farsi I was a 12 year old with a silly hat on. Every time I met an Iranian I liked, I would view them as a possible childhood friend. I became overly trusting and shortsighted in my relationships with them.
However all of that was about to change.
Like a father, who watches his daughter grow up, we all have to come to terms with realities of life. Nothing stays the same. As the good times and the bad time roll, our environment and the people around us change. All we can hope for is that we become a better person through the experiences. Although it’s an old cliche that I have no personal experience with, one could argue that perhaps doing so is as difficult as watching your daughter grow. Seeing her go on her first date. Your little girl is no longer little, and as hard as it can be you start seeing her experience things that you wish were “unexperienceable” But you know this day was to come and it doesn’t have to mean that she’s something less. It’s time to accept her as someone different and change your perspective so you can deal with the world you both live in on a mature level. Perhaps Tehran had become my daughter, and it was time to accept that just as I have grown, so should my perspective on the city and its people.
Therefor, this time, I will not spend too much time walking through my childhood neighborhoods. I won’t sit at parks I used to go to and won’t daydream about all the carefree time I had in the streets of Tehran. It’s time to see this city for what it is. I’m going to treat it like an adult and do what I would have done in any other city: Meet as many people as possible and party like there is no tomorrow.
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