21 years 8 months and 26 days...

It's been 21 years, 8 months and 26 days since my family and I left beautiful Iran. I unfortunately don't remember much of my five first years of living in Tehran. It mostly contained of fear and sorrow, but also lots of joy and happiness. The war between Iran and Iraq lasted for eight years, my family left Iran a year before the war ended. My parents wanted freedom and another way of living for me and my brother. But I think they sort of forgot themselves in the decision-making process. Especially my mother who loves the country equally to her children.

I think people forget or basically can't put themselves in the situation if they haven't been in it, how difficult it must be for people that are older moving to a strange country and to another culture, what that means. What that does to you. Mostly people think that the foreigners which have intruded their country came to steal their jobs. But my parents actually fled the country for the soul reason that they wanted my brother and I to have freedom of speech, the freedom to wear and do whatever we want to do with our lives.

I miss my country of birth. It's something about it, the smell of it the air, the people. I can't describe it, but it feels like home. Just listening to all the people passing me in the streets speaking the beautiful language. Looking at the people, they look more like me than the average Norwegian. Visiting my aunt and uncles, hanging out with my friends there and cousins. It's a magical experience for me, since I don't get to do it more than every four years.

I always take the trip back “home” with my mother, and she always makes sure that we visit a different city. To not only see Tehran, but the rest of the country as well. I think she does so I can understand more of the countries history, and all the aspects of being Persian. Hearing the language being spoken in a different dialects or seeing something as beautiful as the city of Esfehan, which once was the Capital of the country.

I sometimes wish that my parents hadn't moved out of Iran. It would make life much easier to not be a Persian in Norway, and a Norwegian in Iran. But maybe that's what makes me and many many others like me kind of special. I have two heritages, I have two cultures, I understand and speak two languages. So maybe it doesn't suck that much? But it sometimes does, as I have mentioned several times in this blog , you just want to fit in somewhere. You don't want to stand out in a crowd, you sometimes just want to be just like your other friends.

But I also want to thank my parents for giving up their lives for me and my brother. For sacrificing their own happiness, their carriers, their friends and families to make sure that we got the freedom we needed to become who we want to be!

So this ones for you my dear, dear parents for being the greatest parents, and people I know!!

Over and out people.

Are you related to Osama Bin Laden?

A couple of years back my mother and brother and I were taking a trip to the Americas to Los Angeles to be precise. Done this before so no hassle, at least thats what we thought... Even though after 9/11, and being Persian we should have known better.

So after I don't no how many hours the plain landed in Houston Texas, and the airport was called, guess this one kids “George Bush International”. WARNING, WARNING if you are from the Middle-East run out of there as fast as you can!

Anyways we get to customs, and the immigration officer looks at all three passports before he gives a nod to one of the other immigration officers who then followed us to the little room in the corner, (where by the way nobody wants to go). So we're sitting there waiting for somebody to come in and talk to us. I'm having all these different thoughts. Why did they stop us? Do they actually think that we''re terrorists? No it couldn't be...

After I don't remember how long, a lady came in with some forms for us to fill out. The first page was fairly basic stuff, name, address and so on, but when we turned the page we got the shock of our lives.

The questions read as following:

• Are you a terrorist?

• Are you related to Osama Bin Laden?

• Have you seen or done any terrorist activities lately? And so on...

I was actually loosing my mind while reading the questions, and was sure somebody would appear out of nowhere and say, “just kidding , you're on Americas Funniest Videos”. But nope, that didn't happen. After about ten minutes the same lady came into the waiting room area, and told my mother and me to stop answering the questions. But my poor brother had to continue answering them. The immigration officer asked him to follow her into the little room. My mother was in shock, and couldn't move an inch. So I asked the immigration officer if I could come and help my brother fill out the rest of the form.

I remember that the experience was so surreal at the moment, that we actually started laughing. We were in shock! I 'd read about stuff like this happening to other Middle- Easterners, but I don't think I ever imagined it happening to me our my family.

After we were done filling out all the forms, they took his picture, and some sort of fingerprint. The immigration officer told us that my brother was only allowed to stay in the US for 30 days, and that he had to talk to immigration before he left the States.

We left the little office and we were hoping to catch our plain to L.A, but no luck there either, it was so late that the last plain had left. We were offered a hotel -room for the night and a phone card. Right after we had received a key for a hotel room, a Danish mother and her three small children appeared. They too had missed their flight, (but obviously for very different reasons). There were no rooms available at hotels near the airport, so my mother offered her our room.

Our plain left 6 am. bright and early the next day, so now we had six hours to kill at the airport. I remember almost starting to cry, when I realized what had just happened to us. Being Persian we're proud and don't compare our selves to Arabs. We are proud of our history with the great Persian kings like Darius and Cyrus. I was mad at the few stupid and ignorant people of what they had done to thousands of innocent Americans. And by doing what they did, they put the rest of us in an unfortunate position and situation . But mostly I was mad at George Bush and the Taliban and Osama Bin Laden. I was mad at being judged for being a Muslim, for people not having enough understanding of the religion and thinking that we're all a bunch of terrorists. I bet a lot of you out there don't even now that Islam actually means peace.

But yes, I'm still mad, mad at all the ignorant people brain washing innocent kids thinking that if they blow them selves up, commit suicide which is not allowed in Islam they''ll go to heaven. I'm mad at judgemental people thinking that all Muslims are alike. Never considering to read a little and understanding the history. I'm mad that everybody thinks that the Middle-East is just one country and the capital is Saudi Arabia.

I feel the constant need to defend my country and my religion. I always feel the need to try and educate others whenever I can. Make them understand that there is a difference between fundamentalist Muslims and regular Muslims. Not every Middle-Easterner hates every American he or she sees. That we too want peace between the western world and the Middle-East. I hope it happens soon cause I'm sick of explaining to people the difference, and i actually sometimes think I shouldn't have to.

Over and out for this time!

Dedicated to Malin!

One of the first days at college back home our professor divided us into groups to get to know a little about our new classmates. This was when I had the pleasure of meeting the very lovely Malin. I'm not going to bore you with details about how this “getting to know each other session” went on, cause I assume most of you have been through one. But I am going to share one simple detail that still warms my heart every time I think about it.

Well Malin and I were deep in the mist of our conversation, when it came up that I'm not technically a Norwegian. I told her that I was born in Iran. I've probably said those exact words to at least 1000 people before her. And never have I got a response like I got from her: “where in Iran are you from”? (Of course fellow Persians have asked me where in the country I'm from, but never ever a Norwegian). I was a actually in some sort of shock modus, and I think I told her, “yeah I'm from Tehran”. She knows how much this means to me, cause I've told her about a million times. But it was a simple gesture that made me so happy.

Dear reader I don't know if you can relate. Put your self in my shoes, you're in a strange country and you tell the people you've met that you're from x-country. Wouldn't you expect them to ask you where in that specific country you're from? This to my knowledge, has never happened to me before. So I've often wondered why people don't ask me anything else after the “were are you from” question? Is it lack of knowledge? Maybe our generation knows to little about other parts of the world? I especially experience lack of knowledge in regards to the Middle-East. Or maybe the answer Iran is sufficient for them. I haven't figured it out, but I'll keep you posted.

Well anyway this one's for you my dear Malin for giving me more confidence in our generation.

Over and out for this time!

Happy New Year in March?

Norouz which means “a new day” is the most important holiday in Iran. Each year depending on the astronomical vernal equinox, (this usually occurs on March 21) Persians all around the world celebrate the New year. In the west we consider this day as the first day of spring. This beautiful occasion is also celebrated in many other countries because of the great influence of the Persian empire.

Instead of a Christmas tree we have what we call “haft seen”. This is a table that families gather around waiting for the exact moment spring “arrives”. The “haft seen table” consists of seven specific items starting with the letter “s” in farsi (the Persian language). Every item on the “haft seen” has a special symbolic meaning.

So here are the items:

• Serkeh – vinegar – symbolizes age and patience

• Sib – apples – symbolizes beauty and health

• Sabzeh – wheat sprouts growing in a dish – symbolizes rebirth

• Sekkeh – coins – represents wealth

• Senjed – dried fruit of oleaster trees – symbolizes love

• Sir – garlic – symbolizes medicine

Norouz always reminds me of my childhood. I remember really looking forward to it each year. But mostly because all my friends already had gotten their presents for Christmas three months earlier, and finally it was my turn. I remember that it was difficult for me, after Christmas break everybody was showing what they had gotten for Christmas, except me...

My mum is in some ways a very traditional Persian, so when I was younger she didn't want us to celebrate Christmas. Maybe you can understand my agony? being a kid, and walking around seeing all the beautiful decorations. But not being able to join in the party... After years of nagging and complaining, my mother finally caved. Oh joy, happy days, i could join the party!

The thing is that being able to celebrate Christmas, made me feel more normal. Instead of always being different. Made me feel more like my friends. Not having to explain to other 10 year old's why i don't get my present until the end of March, is probably the best present my mum ever gave me.

Over and out people!

The stereotypical Norwegian couple!

A few nights ago we went out, and a friend of mine needed a picture of a "typical Norwegian couple". He asked two of my friends, who even I could say fit the stereo typical assumption of Norwegians. They are blue eyed blondes, and both of them are tall.

I got somewhat affended, and I had to ask him, hey what about me and my boyfriend, he said come on you know what I mean... I'm sorry I don't, cause what makes my two blonde friends more norwegian then us? Then me? My boyfriend is a full-bloded Norwegian by the way, but he's not blonde.

I've even lived longer in Norway then one of my friends mentioned in this piece, so why doesn't that make me more Norwegian then her? My conclusion is appereance, and mistunderstandings. Because I believe that being of any nationality has absolutely nothing to do with the way you look, and everything to do with your understanding of your self, the culture and the language of the country you live in.

So my dear German friend i highly disagree with you, I too can be "a part" of a stereotypical Norwegian couple

Over and out for this time.

Fake American accent

So since I've been in Dublin I've gotten a lot of remarks from the Irish if I'm from the Americas. Well I've watched a lot of American movies,and embraced the culture as everybody else. But sorry my dear Irish people this ones not Americano.

I find this somewhat amusing and confusing. I as so many others my age am trying to, find some sort of understanding of life, and even more important my self. Who am I, where do i belong are questions rambling in my head half the time. So peoples constant need to question my identity is disturbing my search of these questions.

I can understand that many might think that this shouldn't even be an issue, so why do I even bother? Cause I have yet to find my "true identity", and as time passes my list of being misunderstood is growing. But I'll get there one day soon I hope.

So over and out for this time!

So hello to you!

I've been in Dublin for over a month now, and I've met a lot of people. From different countries, and we've been talking a lot about misconception. A friend of mine is actually making a documentary about it for one of our classes over here.

But what I want to talk about is how I get misconcepted or misunderstood. Let me tell you the whole story. I was born in Tehran/Iran, we left the country when I was five years old and moved to Norway, and I've lived there ever since. But I've never felt at home, I don't think it's because of the people.

Human beings are curious by nature, and they want to learn more about you, but sometimes i just wish I could be anonymous. Blend in, be like everybody else... and that I didn't have to answer questions like, "where are you from?", and you give the answer but they are never pleased. Through my entire "Norwegian-life" I've only met one person who never asked me my country of origin. He just accepted me for my personality, and not my appereance.

So here we go, first posting. There's going to be many more.
Over and out for this time!