Read if you’ve just returned from a summertime visit to Iran and miss home like hell. Or if you’re tired of reading about Iraq.
It’s been a week since I have come back from my annual summertime visits to Tehran. For the first few days, like a lot of people in my situation, I felt depressed, lonely and in total isolation.
You can’t blame me, really. For 2 months and 20 days, I was surrounded by cousins, aunts, uncles, friends who all spoke the same language as me and now suddenly, I’m back to a strange country with strange people with a VERY strange accent (none other than the LOVELY Scotland) and an empty home with my brother and dad (who aren’t the best people for cheering you up).
Being an Iranian teenager can be really hard when you love your country and equally hate the western country you currently reside in. I mean, I’ve been out of Iran for 10 years now and I still visit every summer, even though I have started University. I also seem to never be able to get used to being outside of Iran, otherwise, I wouldn’t really spend time writing this article for my lovely hamvatans to read.
I don’t know maybe I have some serious mental problems, I mean, there are other young Iranians here who are all too bikhiyaal and haven’t been to Iran for years. When I ask them if they miss it at all they shrug and say the old “I miss my family I guess”. Or maybe it’s because everytime I go back, I have such a good time with baahaal people and then come back here to this boring, soccer-crazy, whisky-drinking freckled-faced, freak of a country. I don’t know.
I asked my mamman about it a couple of days ago and she said the same old “you just think it’s like that because you were there for a short time” crap. Which may be true for some people but not me. I PREFER Iran.
Okay, the government situation is pretty shite and the pollution is too high and so is the population and the number of bikar kids who turn to drugs and crime. Yes, I am safe and sound and free as f*** here but the feeling of loneliness, isolation and horrible, horrible feeling of never being able to belong haunts me every single day in this crap, expensive, cold country to a point where I have been clinically depressed in the past.
And my mamman, babba fail to understand that I JUST DON’T belong here and well, lets face it, they’re not the most open-minded people in the world and that makes it 100 times worse. “Na babba, hala miri daneshgah, doostayeh khoob migiri, hamechi khoob misheh” says daddy. I’m now in university with awesome friends and still think about going back to Tehran everyday. Now what babba????
I will finish my degree and come and serve my country, no matter what the government situation may be….well…I mean as long as it’s not TOO dangerous….and……
