Sick of Goodbyes

I didn’t need to see this sorrow


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Sick of Goodbyes
by Azarin Sadegh
20-May-2008
 

I woke up by the morning light. It was still too early, everyone else was sleeping. I panted in silence. Our new cell had long windows with a view of the prison backyard. A view to the sky. I looked at grey clouds and didn’t worry about the rain. The shadows of the night slowly disappeared and I distinguished shapes and objects, brightened by a timid blue sunrise.

On the dirty wall by the bed, I recognized handwritten messages of old prisoners. Images of Rostam and dying Sohrab, broken hearts and broken arrows, poems of Hafez and Khayaam praising the futility of life, the simple one lined drawings of men, women or objects, pictures of flowers and skeletons, sexual objects and sexual insults, names and phone numbers. Most of them were signed in Turkish or else, in black, blue or green. Some of them dated from the time I was a kid. The most visible one was written in blood, in big letters and it was in English: It read “Sick of Goodbyes”. The fainting image of a little girl was drawn under it. It was signed almost a decade ago. The whole wall was stained with grease and ink, but nothing could cover up this image. The image on the wall, imposing and sinister, was unique and isolated. As if it belonged to another place, another race of humanity or another dimension. Or as if the time had stopped and all prisoners were linking together through one’s despair. But what is the use of catching these moments to spread it to the end of times? What could be behind this desire of capturing this image for unborn generations? What kind of use might the eternity have for this useless unhappiness?

I didn’t need to see this sorrow. I wouldn’t have written this nightmare. I wouldn’t have taken this picture. It was the vision I didn’t want to see. It was the words I didn’t want to read. It was forcing the silence I didn’t want to break. Almost like the truth I didn’t want to defy.

The symbol of a life I didn’t dare to live.

I never liked farewells. I never liked to say goodbye. My mother always complained about my lack of respect. I didn’t hug my father on that last day. I didn’t hold tight my mother at the airport. I didn’t continue writing to most of my friends leaving. I didn’t say anything to my only lover the day he left me for good.

Sick of goodbyes, too many goodbyes.


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Feshangi

Dear Azarin

by Feshangi on

I could not believe your article when I saw it. It were as if you had written it just for me and for the situation I was in!  It was very meaningful to me and I thank you for it.

 

I still have one more dog, Natalie, and a little cat named Callie. Feshangi  was not a name of a dog, but as you mention, it makes a very good name for one. May be I will call my  next dog Feshangi.  

Feshangi


Azarin Sadegh

Dear Tahirih,

by Azarin Sadegh on

I liked very much your comment and I am more curious to find out about those walls of pain of yours.

But aren't we all here the victims of some post traumatic stress disorder?

I used to have walls around me too...and I never was outspoken. But the revolution broke those walls that used to protect me. My wall was made of imagination and abstractions. I used to read philosophy and poetry and Kafka! I guess it says it all :) I liked my walls, but alas they were destroyed and in this process as they were falling, they messed up the lovely world I had created in my mind.

But now, after so many years I feel exactly the same as you do, because I let go of my historical muteness. I feel empowered and free. In a way, like you, the old me is dead, but it doesn't matter because anyway she had never lived.

Thanks,

Azarin   


Tahirih

Dear Irandokht I totally relate to what you said...

by Tahirih on

We don't need to be in a prison to feel confined. My experiences after revolution has put me in an invisible prison for so many years. and now looking back ,I can even see the walls of pain containing my soul and spirit. But a few years ago I almost lost my life and it was an amazing experience, since it broke the wall and I did escape it,all the sadness poured out ,they called it post traumatic syndrome, I call it freedom and running away from demons who were hunting me(IRI).

I have always been such a strong and expressive person, but they have broken me, and I was lost in pain.But when I came out of that jail, I could see my shining wings and started to soar. I could not believe the same old person was back again . That's why I decided that , no matter what I will be vocal and not let the same thing happen again.

Going back to the subject of saying goodbyes, for many years ,I was not able to say goodbyes or tell my friends and family that I love them. Because I thought deep down  that I will lose them anyway. But now I am not afraid to say I love you and to give them a tight hug and kiss them good bye.

Dear Feshangi , so sorry about your dog.

Respectfully,

Tahirih


Azarin Sadegh

Sorry Feshangi

by Azarin Sadegh on

I guess my page "sick of goodbyes" was posted at the right time for you. 

I'm so sorry for your loss, since the 40 minutes have alraedy passed. I am sure you did the right thing especially if he was in pain for 6 long months and there was no other way to calm him down. I hope you would keep the good memories of your Albie.

Azarin

PS: I just realized that Feshangi could have been a nice name for a dog :) Did you choose this username after another dog?

 


IRANdokht

Sad story

by IRANdokht on

Sorry Feshangi jan, so it's time? I am sure it's a painful thing to do. I witnessed a dear friend of mine go through that a while ago too.

Azarin jan, I was not officially in prison, but sometimes it sure felt like it. Some day soon I will tell you my story...

IRANdokht


Feshangi

Thank you.

by Feshangi on

I liked your piece very much.

 

I also hate saying goodbyes.  nf fact in forty minutes I need to be in the animal hospital. At 5:00 P.M. the vet is putting down my dog, Albie. He is 13 years old and I have been dreading this moment for the past 6 months. I hate to say goodbye to him. But sometimes we have to, no matter how hard and painful it is. So, goodbye my dear friend. Goodbye my dear Albie, goodbye.   

Feshangi


Azarin Sadegh

Robert Frank's photography

by Azarin Sadegh on

"Sick of goodbyes" is the title of one of Robert Frank's works that is posted in this page. I was very much impressed with this haunting image and so I used it as one of the elements of the prison I imagined for my story.

Voila a link to Frank's wiki page: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Frank

Dear Irandokht, thanks for your lovely feedback! ...But I just hope that what is familar for you in this page is not the description or the image of a prison my dear!

Azarin


IRANdokht

goodbyes...

by IRANdokht on

Saying goodbye used to be so hard for me. Although I had to say too many of them in my life, I really never got a hang of it... 

This piece is all too familar and very touching Azarin jan.

Thank you

IRANdokht