Sasan Asvandi -Toronto |They launch missiles, they bomb relentlessly, drones and tiny flying machines—whatever those things are—attack without mercy. From afar, I am powerless, trapped in helplessness, struggling to stay connected, to hear news, to speak. But how? The internet is weak, barely there. Direct phone lines no longer work. Satellites offer no connection.
I remember the war with Iraq. Family abroad would always speak with worry and fear. We thought they were selfish and scared. We were here, in the heart of the war—in Khuzestan back then—and we did not feel terror, only worry. Worry for today, worry for tomorrow, and a deeper worry: will there be a day after tomorrow for us at all?
The first day of the war, I went to school. At the assembly, with a brief speech, schools were closed, and the war was official. War? To me, it was something in books and movies, distant and unreal. But now it was right next door. Only the next day did I realize I was living in the very heart of war. I returned home, and the flood of refugees poured in—from Khorramshahr, from Abadan, from Ahvaz. Close relatives, more distant family, friends, acquaintances, relatives of relatives, and neighbours of neighbours. There was no room to even walk inside our home. This was not just our problem; all neighbours faced the same. Everyone had fled their city with only a suitcase and a small bag, thinking they would return tomorrow or the day after. For some, it took eight years to return. For others, it never happened.
Gradually, the guests displaced by war decided to move on to larger, farther cities—Shiraz, Isfahan, Tehran, and the north. Days passed, then weeks, months, and years in the shadow of war. Schools ended. I served in the military during the war. One advantage of youth is not overthinking. The disadvantage is not fully grasping the pain of parents waiting, worried and grieving. The heavy, harsh experience of losing friends and comrades, witnessing people who never come home again, homes erased forever, families left endlessly sorrowful—this is a burden that will never leave me.
The war ended. But the war makers and war mongers carry an eternal curse with them. Those who lived through two world wars are now either very old or no longer with us. It seems now it is our turn—and I wish this turn had never come. Being far away brings its own hardships. You are alone and fragile. After one call today and before the next call tomorrow, you fall into a black hole of despair, fear, and sorrow. Your hands and heart tremble. What will tomorrow bring? You wish tomorrow would never come, you wish for a miracle, you wish everyone would come to their senses, you wish you could leave sooner—so many wishes, all dark and heavy.
Imagine there were no borders. Imagine countries did not exist. Imagine a world without war to conquer land or grow a nation. Then there would be nothing to kill or be killed for. Imagine that time when all people live side by side in peace.
