tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45001426917244849512024-03-05T01:16:05.437-08:00Soheila's BlogSoheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-72571203416878494332012-11-02T13:12:00.000-07:002012-11-02T13:20:08.373-07:00My Journey to Your LoveI cautiously put our picture in a frame.<br />
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You put a beautiful ring on my finger. I look at it with disbelief, and wonder if I'm in a dream, if such happiness can be mine. <br />
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Convinced long ago that happiness, joy and love was not to be mine. Always watched others' happiness. My own had never been more than a few fleeting moments. In my loneliness, I lived with a heart broken and a soul bereft of joy.<br />
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You entered my world with zeal, life and promise of love everlasting, and I wondered if I should believe. You warmed my soul with the kindness of your words, and I wondered if I should believe. You touched my heart with your expressions of love, and I wondered if I should believe.<br />
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I wondered if I was going to wake up from this lovely dream. I wondered, I wondered, I wondered.<br />
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Slowly, with the passing of each day, your love permeated my being, my heart grew closer to yours, my soul bonded with yours, and my being was immersed in yours. Slowly, You became my heart, you became my love, you became my happiness. And I believed.<br />
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I know now that I am the recipient of a great gift, the gift of your love. Your sweet, patient, giving love is my reason to live. <br />
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And to you, my sweet, I promise my everlasting love.<br />
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Dedicated to Steve<br />
<br />Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-19149141532495420822012-04-02T14:56:00.005-07:002012-04-04T08:59:36.027-07:00My favorite song by AdeleI love the song, her voice and the way she sings it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=pufx9Cq_TOQ&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1&safe=active">http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=pufx9Cq_TOQ&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1&safe=active</a>Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-8916229764255781182012-02-24T16:09:00.003-08:002012-03-07T12:45:32.859-08:00My Trip to AustraliaThe night before my departure to Australia, it started to snow. It was one of those Colorado snow storms that makes life miserable at least for me.<br /> <br />I got home at 8:00 PM and started to call cab and shuttle services to see if I could get a ride to the airport in the morning at about 10:00 AM. The shuttle services would not make reservations for the morning due to the weather. I found one cab-company that made reservations for the next morning. <br /> <br />That night I was in such a bad mood. I had been planning the trip to Australia for a few months. Now that I was about to leave, we had a major snow storm. I was wondering if I would make it to the airport on time, if the weather would cause delays, and if I could make my connecting flights. During the night, I woke up several times and saw that the snow was coming down. Each time, I went back to bed cursing the universe, angry at God.<br /> <br />I have been mad at God for a while. I remember the week that I started to feel mad at him, her or it. It was a week of realizations. That week, I realized that I had been defeated in accomplishing many of the things that truly mattered to me in life. After years of struggle, I saw that my efforts had produced no results. I felt abandoned by God. I had always thought that if you want something in life and work towards it, you can achieve it. I had been proven wrong. It was then that I started to feel angry at God for not helping me despite all the good that I had done for others. I had taken care of people even when I felt that I couldn’t take care of myself. I thought that God would give me what I wanted, because I had given so much to others. But that wasn’t how things were. In a way, I lost faith and hope. Sometimes what is ordained by God is contrary to one’s desires. I am trying to accept that. I’m still redefining my life and trying to make sense of it. My life’s journey has been unusual. Spiritually and mentally, I have evolved throughout the years. I have come to question and disvalue so much of what I believed to be right. In some ways, my life has severely gone wrong, and I don’t know how to fix it; I don’t know how to live it. I am in a constant state of conflict with myself. There are moments that I find peace with it all and feel content. At times, I feel a sense of detachment from all that pertains to life. There is freedom in living with detachment. There is value in that. At those times, I feel calm and at peace. Ten years from now, all will have to be different. Maybe then I will see the reasons behind my state of being today. Maybe then I will see the growth that life experiences will have instilled in my soul. <br /> <br />I mostly measure personal success in life by character development, insight acquired, wisdom, patience and understanding gained, service provided and love given. So, I haven’t been totally unsuccessful in life. I am fully aware that what I think of God has to be entirely inaccurate. It is the product of my thoughts and imaginations as I do believe God, the Supreme Being, to be far greater than the human comprehension. I am this insignificant creature in God’s infinite universe. In the grand scheme of things, my needs, my wants and desires are not important. My whole earthly existence is no more than a fleeting moment in the infinity that lays before and beyond us. Nevertheless, like everyone else, I am wrapped up in my own little life, and what I perceive to be reality. On the day of my travel, I was entirely wrapped up in my problems. I was scared of the foot of snow that was in front of the door of my house and wanted to crawl back into my warm bed like a little girl. <br /> <br />My Cab got stuck in the snow in my complex. The cab driver and I dragged my stuff to the cab through 15 inches of snow. The main roads had been cleaned. The cab driver drove very slowly to the airport keep saying, “This way I’m safe, my passenger is safe and my family will get to see me tonight.” I kept thinking, “This way your passenger will miss her flight.” I could not convince him to drive more than 40 miles per hour on a toll road with practically no traffic and no snow. I had the urge to sit behind the steering wheel and drive myself.<br /><br />When I got to the airport, I found that my flight had been delayed by 1.5 hours due to inclement weather. Now I’m thinking, “I’m going to miss my connecting flight in Salt Lake City.” I sat at the airport trying not to stress too much. When I got on the plane, there were technical difficulties, so we waited 30 extra minutes before the plane took off. At that point, I was upset. My life had been so stressful lately, and this vacation was causing me more stress. By then, I was pretty sure that I would not make my connecting flight and therefore, I would miss my flight to Australia. As I was sitting in my seat, I started to cry. After a while, I felt more relaxed and kept telling myself, “In the scheme of things this is nothing, don’t be so upset. Change your thoughts; change your perspective.” I mentally prepared myself for missing my flight to Sydney and spending the night at LA airport. <br /> <br />The plane landed in Salt Lake City when my flight to LA was boarding. I barely made the flight running through the airport like a crazy woman. Once I made my connection, I kept thanking God for helping me that day. I was utterly grateful. So, when an obese woman sat next to me and took half of my seat, I reminded myself how grateful I was to be on that flight. Thirty minutes earlier if someone would tell me the only way I could be on this flight was to stand in the isle the entire time, I would have happily accepted the offer. So 10 minutes later when the same woman started eating her double cheese burger with a ton of onions while talking to me, I was still grateful. In fact, the entire journey, I thanked God so many times for making all my connections. My mood had changed, and I was happy. <br /><br />I got to Sydney at 6:00 AM. When I was picked up by Mehran at the airport, I was surprised that he went to the passenger side of his car. I thought for a second, “Does he want me to drive?” Then I remembered that in Australia, the steering wheel is on the right side of the car, and people drive in the left hand lane. For the first week of my stay there, every time I was a passenger in a car, at every turn, I wanted to scream, “Stop, you’re turning into the wrong lane. You’re gonna kill us.” There were other differences that I noticed. In a lot of places, the sign for “Exit” was “Way Out”, “Yield” was “Give Way”. The word for “Receipt” was “Docket”, “Rental Car” was “Hired Car”. I asked someone why they say “Hired” and not “Rental”. She said, “Hired is short term, and Rental is long term”.<br /> <br />Sydney is one of the most beautiful cities that I have seen. It is hilly with a lot of vegetation and flowers. It has many beautiful beaches and harbors. The streets are narrow, hilly and full of shops. It has a lot of life with a great public transportation system. It is similar to European cities.<br /> <br />I was able to see the Fireworks burst over the Sydney Harbor from the famous Sydney Bridge on New Year’s Eve. On New Year’s Day, we went to the Bondi beach. It was crowded. So many people were in the water. The temperature was about 75 degrees. December, January and February are summer months in that part of the world. I saw many of the famous places in Sydney such as the Sydney Opera House. A friend of mine that I grew up with, and I had not seen since I was 16 years old lives in Sydney. I had lunch with her and her husband at her house one day. It was interesting to see how we have changed through the years. <br /> <br />The main reason for my trip to Australia was to attend the wedding of my relatives’ daughter. Mahta and her husband, Mehran, moved to Australia about 17 years ago. Their daughter, Shayda, was a little girl at the time, and now she was getting married. <br /><br />On the days preceding the wedding, I witnessed beautiful expressions of love between Shayda and her fiancé, Alex. Mahta and Mehran are great parents and have always had a strong bond between themselves and their children. The love and gentleness that was manifested among them was lovely to see. I thought to myself, “This is how it is when things go right.” The end result of their marriage is two children who have grown up to be wonderful adults. <br /> <br />On the wedding day, the bride shinned in her youthful beauty, and the groom looked handsome. I felt joy watching their loving interactions as they said their vows and dedicated their lives to each other. The Baha’i wedding prayers recited were beautiful. During the ceremony, the bride was tearful. The groom held her hand tightly, looking at her attentively. In those moments, I was filled with a strong feeling that something right and in accordance to the will of God was taking place that day and at those moments. In a world full of broken relationships and disconnections, it was great to see this coming together of two people. Love and affection permeated the place. I knew with certainty that the bond of their marriage was going to be everlasting. I wanted to watch their harmonious interactions. My soul needed to experience something so pure and beautiful. <br /> <br />Later in the evening, parents and family members talked and expressed their love for the bride and groom. Mahta, mother of the bride, got up to read what she had written for her daughter, Shayda. With poise and a calm voice, she read what could be described as a love letter. She would look up and smile at Shayda as she read. When she was finished, I wished I could hear what she had just read again. All the love shared and expressed that day had a healing effect on me. <br /> <br />My trip to Australia was relaxing. It allowed me to escape the stresses in my life that had seemed endless for such a long time. Life has been easier for me since I have been back. Finally, some of the stresses in my life have subsided, and I am much more at peace.<br /><br />An excerpt from one of the Baha’i marriage prayers:<br /><br />… Wherefore, wed Thou in the heaven of Thy mercy these two birds of the nest of Thy love, and make them the means of attracting perpetual grace; that from the union of these two seas of love a wave of tenderness may surge and cast the pearls of pure and goodly issue on the shore of life …Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-23539838963283990382012-02-10T16:05:00.000-08:002012-02-10T16:06:24.313-08:00Education Under FireThis website is about the plight of Baha'i students in Iran. They are banned from pursuing a formal education.<br /><br />http://www.educationunderfire.comSoheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-41952289728079303802012-01-31T14:07:00.001-08:002012-01-31T14:11:29.171-08:00Amazing Letter Written By a Former Slave to His Former MasterI was touched by this letter that was written by a former slave to his former master. It says all that needs to be said wonderfully.<br /><br />http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/01/to-my-old-master.htmlSoheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-79614126931460036662011-11-30T12:26:00.000-08:002011-12-15T16:24:14.459-08:00Moving to the US (Part 3)THIS PIECE IS CONTINUATION OF PART 1 AND PART 2 OF MOVING TO THE US. PART 1 WAS POSTED ON DEC 29, 2010, AND PART 2 WAS POSTED ON MARCH 4, 2011.<br /><br />The day that I left Maryland was one of the saddest days of my 17 years of life, for one reason only, leaving my father. My gentle, kind and mild mannered father was the person that I loved the most in life. When I was a child he traveled often for his job. Sometimes I would not see him for weeks at a time. The days that he would come home from his trips were always joyous for me. In fact, the happiest moments of my life to this day were on a Thursday afternoon when I was about four or five years old. My mother had just given me a bath and was helping me get dressed when I heard my father's voice. He had just arrived from a long trip. Hurriedly, I got dressed and ran upstairs to the family room where my father was. I saw him, ran to him and threw myself in his arms. He embraced me tightly and kissed my cheeks. I was overwhelmed with joy. I felt so safe. I clang to him tightly. My world was absolutely perfect at that moment. It was complete, and it felt like it would always be. I truly believed that my father was able to make everything better, and for as long as I was in his arms nothing in the world could ever harm me. It seemed to me that he was a kind of a God. Those moments in my father's arms on that day have remained the happiest moments of my life. I have never felt so secure and protected as I did that day. <br /> <br />Throughout the years I have remembered that day and those moments with my father. In moments of absolute loneliness and despair when even God is nowhere to be found, I have longed for that Thursday afternoon.<br /><br />I came to the US so that I would have an opportunity for higher education. My parents came in order to seek medical treatment for my father. My father had been sick for awhile and no one knew what was wrong. A few months after we arrived here, he was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer, but on the day I left Maryland, we didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was terribly sick. His urine had been full of blood for days. He was weak in bed. We were all in a state of panic and confusion. The initial Dr. visits had not helped in diagnosing the problem. On that day my father was terribly worried for me. I alone was going to move to Kansas and finish my last year of high school there. I went to the bedroom to say good bye to him. He was laying in bed. I tried to comfort him. I told him that I would be OK, that I wasn’t going to be alone. I told him that Mahta and her husband Mehran, my relatives, would help me. I kept telling him that he didn’t need to worry about me. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I leaned forward to give my dad a hug. He sat up. As I embraced him, he put his head on my chest and sobbed painfully. That was the first time I saw my dad cry. I held him tight in my arms and kept telling him that he didn’t need to worry about me. I will never forget the pain that he and I both felt on that day. Looking back, staying in Maryland and graduating from high school a year later probably wasn’t a bad thing, but the idea of it seemed terrible to me at the time. I just didn’t want to delay finishing high school. I was young and felt that life might move by quickly and leave me behind. I was driven and determined.<br /><br />On the day that I was leaving, my brother took me to the airport. He never told me that my flight to Kansas had a stop in Indianapolis. My English wasn’t good enough to be able to read the ticket for myself. I had noticed that giving out as little information as possible was typical of my brother who practically was a stranger to me. He had left home when I was seven. He had come to Iran twice for a visit in the ten years he had lived in the US, but he was very distant in his behavior and mannerism. I knew that he would never be a person in my life that I could rely on. His attitude was that I came to the US alone and struggled; you’ll have to do the same. That was fine with me. I didn’t mind making it on my own. I didn’t have a relationship with my brother after I left Maryland. I never asked him for anything. In all these years, I have seen him only a few times. Many years later in a phone conversation, he said, “Throughout all these years in the US, you never asked me for anything. I thought at some point, you would ask for help in some way, but you never did.” <br /><br />I got on the plane and sat next to two men who were traveling together. They were kind to me. I was seventeen, but I looked younger. They were curious to know why I was traveling alone, especially since I could barely speak English. With my broken English, I tried to explain to them my situation. They understood that I was going to Kansas. When plane landed in Indianapolis, I was totally confused. I thought I was supposed to go to Kansas. How did I end up in Indianapolis? As I was about to leave the plane, the two men stopped me and explained to me that the next stop is going to be Kansas. We were in Indianapolis for one hour. The two men decided to leave the plane and walk around the airport during that time. They asked me if I wanted to go with them, I gratefully said yes. I was afraid of being alone and not understanding something else and being totally lost. They were so kind to me that when the plane landed in Kansas, I felt sad that I would never see them again. A part of me wanted to cling to them just like a helpless child, which I actually was. <br /><br />At the Kansas City airport, I found Mehran and Mahta very quickly. It was good to see them. I stayed with them a little over a month. They were young and newly married. They now live in Australia. In fact, in a few weeks, I’m going to Australia for their daughter’s wedding. They are two lovely people who created a beautiful family. They now have two grown children. It has been a joy for me to see their happiness from afar.<br /><br />The night I arrived, I called my parents to reassure them that everything was fine, and I was happy. I didn’t want my parents to worry about me. They had so many problems themselves. I decided to never complain about things when talking to them even if things were terrible. In the years that followed, there were many difficulties in my life, but I learned to keep them to myself and deal with them the best I could. I wanted to spare them from the pain that I was going through.<br /><br />In a day or so, I went to the high school to register with Mahta and Mehran. I met my advisor Mr. Blackman. He was a nice man who tried to put me in classes that were suitable for me. In contrast to the school in Washington DC there were only five foreign students in this school which had about 1600 students. The first day I went to my American History class, I met my teacher, a woman in her thirties. She started to talk to me very fast saying a bunch of stuff I didn’t understand. I thought if she would speak slower, maybe I would understand something. She stopped talking after about a minute and waited for a reply from me. Since I had not understood anything, I said, “Please repeat”. At which point, she gave me a dirty look and said, “Just take a seat”. I knew life was going to be miserable. This language thing was going to kill me. It seemed like an impossible challenge. I would ask myself, “How am I going to learn an entire language and be proficient in it? How am I going to go to college?” <br /><br />It was the same way in all of my classes. I hardly understood anything. I was lost. My teachers ignored me. I would go to class, be totally lost and then go to the next class and be totally lost. The only good thing was that all my courses from Iran were accepted at this school. So other than American History and American Government, I could take whatever I wanted. So I had a lot of easy classes like Gym, Home Economics and such. A couple of weeks after I had started school, one day, I noticed that the teacher in my American Government class passed around some papers. I had no idea what it was. Then I realized that it was a test. I had no idea that we were going to have a test that day. At that point, I quietly started to cry. I felt so overwhelmed by not understanding English. Tears rolled down my face, and I could not stop them. <br /><br />At home every night, I would try to read my school books with an English to Persian dictionary. It would take me two hours to look up all the words in a paragraph, and then when I would put all the words together, I still didn’t fully understand the content. The sentence structure and how words are used in English are so different from Persian. It was very difficult to do a direct translation of the text. <br /><br />Since the American History class that I was in was too difficult for me, my advisor decided to put me in a different class, a class that only had a few students and was moving at a very slow pace. It was the Special Ed class! My teacher was a sweet and gentle woman who had aged prematurely. She was 44, but she looked like she was 58. All of her hair was white, and her skin looked much older than 44. One of the first things that she said to me was that I was very small and skinny. I was five feet tall and weighed 90 pounds. I have a small frame, and I had always been one of the smallest kids in my classes, but here I was even smaller. The average American is taller than the average Iranian. In that class there were two mentally challenged students and me. My teacher gave me a very small and thin American History book. I would read it on my own and ask her questions when she wasn’t busy working with the other 2 girls. This book was much easier for me. I think it was written for grade school kids. I still had to look up words, but it took less time and the text was easier to understand. <br /><br />A month and a half after I moved to Olathe Kansas, Mahta and Mehran moved to Lawrence Kansas so that Mehran could go to grad school at University of Kansas. During my stay with them, they helped me find another place to live. There was a college in Olathe called “Olathe Nazarene College”. Mehran and Mahta both went to school there. As the name suggests it was a religious college. Through someone at the college, Mehran found a lady who was 70 years old and had a basement that she wanted to rent. She also needed someone to do house cleaning for her. We met her. She seemed nice enough. It was decided that in exchange for cleaning her house, I would rent her basement for one third of the usual price. That sounded reasonable to me. My parents had given me some money, and I was determined to make it last as long as possible. They were not wealthy, and I was very mindful of that fact. The only thing that I did not like about my upcoming living situation was the fact that Mrs. Philips, the lady I was going to live with, had two dogs, and one of them was a huge German Shepherd. When we went to meet her for the first time, I was frightened by the German Shepherd. I had never been around dogs. In the Middle Eastern culture, people do not typically have pets. Animals are not allowed in the house as they are considered unclean. Growing up neither me nor any of my friends had pets. I had never petted a dog before. And this one was huge and scary. It weighed more than my 90 pounds. <br /><br />Two days after Christmas on a cold snowy day, I said good bye to my relatives and moved into Mrs. Philips’s basement.<br /><br />To be continued…Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-90282138611837183322011-09-29T21:45:00.000-07:002011-12-10T19:16:25.101-08:00My Talk<em>I wrote the article below for an event in June of 2011 to honor the Baha’is in Iran who are being persecuted for their religious beliefs. The part of the article that enumerates the injustices inflicted on the Baha’is of Iran has been extracted from sources that have kept an eye on the plight of the Baha’is in Iran over the last 32 years. I would like to thank my friend Charles Rakay for his editorial suggestions in writing this article. It is with humility and awe that the following text has been written in honor of all of those who have fought for justice in non-violent ways. It is their perseverance, uncompromising principles and dignity that has touched our hearts and has left a lasting legacy. </em><br /><br />On August 10, 1980 Dr. Vafai, my brother in law, a prominent member of the Baha’i Faith in the city of Hamadan in Iran was arrested for the 4th and final time by the local government officials of the Islamic Republic of Iran along with 6 other Baha’is. All seven Baha'i men were arrested without any charges or explanation of any wrongdoing. Within a few hours their heads were shaved, mug shots were taken, and they were placed in a prison along with murderers and hardcore criminals. What followed was months of interrogation, and imprisonment in the most appalling and unsanitary conditions where all 7 men were held in a small cell for the next 10 months. <br /><br />During the 10 months of imprisonment, my brother in law and the other 6 Baha'i prisoners were told by the authorities that their only crime was that they were members of the Baha'i Faith. They were told numerous times that if they would publicly recant their Faith, they would be free to go back to their families, and everything that had been taken away from them would be given back to them, otherwise they would be killed. The seven Baha'i men did not recant at any of the given opportunities to do so. <br /><br />During one of the interrogation sessions, the Baha'i prisoners were told by the lead Islamic clergy of the city, “We know that you are good people and are much loved by the entire city. Your reputation is impeccable. You are here because you are Baha'is.” In response the seven prisoners said, “What is wrong with being a Baha'i? We are loved by the community because of the teachings of the Baha'i Faith, which is a religion devoted to service to humanity. Why do you want us to recant our religion?” At which point, the Islamic clergy replied, “We want you to recant because the growth of your religion will bring an end to Islam.” <br /><br />Ten months and 10 days after the day my brother in law and the six other Baha'is were arrested, one night they were taken to an unknown location where they were tortured, their bodies severely mutilated and then they were each shot several times. As none of the shots were to the head or the heart, they died a long and agonizing death. This was how the lives of the seven innocent men, who had served their community for many years, ended. After that, life was never the same for their wives and children who had to endure the difficult years that followed. Soon after the execution of her husband and confiscation of their property and belongings, my sister and her young daughter had to be smuggled out of Iran, since their lives were in danger.<br /><br />Bahaís hold no political ambitions, are committed to non-violence, and seek only to help in the development of the societies where they live. Yet, in Iran, for more than 30 years, they have been persecuted solely for their religious beliefs.<br /><br />The persecution of the Bahá’ís in Iran has its roots in Iranian history going back to the inception of the Baha'i Faith in the19th century where 20,000 Baha'is were killed in a short span of time. Baha'is in Iran enjoyed a period of relative calm in the early part of the 20th century until the establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran in 1979 when the current campaign of systematic persecution began. In the 1980s, virtually the entire leadership of the Iranian Bahá’í community was arrested and executed or disappeared. Bahá’ís have been detained, imprisoned, and falsely charged with “spying”; they have been denied access to education and sources of livelihood; they have been stripped of all influence in Iranian society and deprived of their right to religious freedom.<br /><br />In contrast to its campaign of outright killings, imprisonment, and torture of Bahá’ís during the 1980s, the Iranian government has in recent years focused largely on economic and social efforts to drive Bahá’ís from Iran and destroy their cultural and community life. The government has also used arbitrary arrests and detentions, coupled with the confiscation of personal property, to oppress and terrorize the Baha’i Community. In the 1980s, over 10,000 Bahá’ís were dismissed from positions in government and educational institutions. Many remain unemployed and receive no unemployment benefits. Efforts to impoverish the Bahá’í community and to deprive its members of their economic livelihood have continued through a variety of means. In particular, government authorities have in many places around the country continued to block Bahá’ís from receiving pensions, conducting business, or finding employment. Even when Bahá’ís find employment in the private sector, government officials often intervene and force the owners of the companies to fire them. And when Bahá’ís start a private business, the authorities attempt to block their activities. <br /><br />Since the inception of the Islamic government Baha'i youth have been denied access to formal education and are banned from attending colleges and universities. In what the New York Times called “an elaborate act of communal self-preservation,” the Bahá’í community in 1987 established its own higher education program to meet the educational needs of as many of its young people as resources would allow. That program evolved over the years into a full-fledged university, known as the Bahá’í Institute for Higher Education. It had a faculty of more than 150 first-rate academics and instructors, and complete course offerings in ten subject areas. The classes for the Bahá’í Institute for Higher Education were held in private homes throughout Iran and what little permanent infrastructure it had was composed of a handful of rented classrooms and laboratories scattered throughout the capital. Because of the continual threat of persecution, the Bahá’í Institute for Higher Education was forced to operate in a highly circumspect and decentralized manner. Then, in acts that speak volumes about the government’s real attitude towards Baha’ís, twice government agents fanned out across the country, arresting Baha’i Institute faculty and staff, raiding homes, and confiscating hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of books, equipment and records in a blatant effort to shut the university down. The most recent raids were carried out, on May 21, 2011 where 14 Baha'is associated with the university were arrested. “The materials confiscated were neither political nor religious, and the people arrested were not fighters or organizers. They were lecturers in subjects like accounting and dentistry; the materials seized were textbooks and laboratory equipment.”<br /><br />When the Islamic Republic’s new constitution was drawn up in April 1979, certain rights of the Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian minorities in Iran were specifically mentioned and protected. However, no mention whatsoever was made of the rights of the Bahá’í community, Iran’s largest religious minority. Under Iran’s concept of an Islamic government, this exclusion has come to mean that Bahá’ís enjoy no rights of any sort, and that they can be attacked and persecuted with impunity. Iranian courts have denied Bahá’ís the right of redress or protection against essentially all forms of persecution; including assault and even murder. — and have ruled that Iranian citizens who kill or injure Bahá’ís are not liable for damages because their victims are, as the Iranian Government calls them, “unprotected infidels.” Among the Baha'is currently in prison in Iran are the seven leaders of the Baha'i Faith. This group of 5 men and 2 women recently started their 4th year of imprisonment. The seven were charged among other things, with espionage, propaganda against the Islamic republic, the establishment of an illegal administration - charges that were all rejected completely and categorically by the defendants. Their crime is nothing more than being members of the Baha’i Faith. Indeed, the trial of the seven in many ways was the trial of an entire community of more than 300,000 Iranian Baha’is. The charges against the seven reflects the kind of false accusations and campaign of misinformation that Iran’s regime has used to vilify and defame Baha’is for decades.<br />The trial of the seven Baha’i leaders ended on June 14, 2010 after six brief sessions, characterized by a blatant lack of due legal process. The final sentence was 20 years of imprisonment.<br /><br />The worldwide Bahá’í community is today one of the most diverse and widespread organizations on earth, comprised of individuals from virtually every nation, ethnic group, trade, profession, and social or economic class. The Bahá’ís in Iran seek no special privileges. They seek only their rights under the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, including the right to life, the right to liberty and security of person, the right to education and work, and the right to profess and practice their religion.<br /><br />The international community has responded to the persecution of the Bahá’í community in Iran with overwhelming sympathy, expressing concern for the Bahá’ís and condemnation of the Iranian government. The Bahá’í community believes that this outpouring has been a strong restraining force against the government, preventing persecution on a much greater scale.<br /><br />The United Nations Commission on Human Rights has passed more than 20 resolutions expressing concern about reports of human rights violations in Iran, and each has made specific mention of the situation of the Bahá’í community there. We are heartened that representatives of the United States government have recently spoken out about the continued denial of basic human rights to Bahá'ís in Iran. We thank President Obama, who on March 20th of this year, when speaking about the Iranian Government’s persecution of the Baha’is, and others, said, “ The world has watched these unjust actions with alarm”. We thank our own congressman Mike Coffman who co-sponsored House Resolution 134, which condemns the government of Iran for persecuting its citizens of the Baha'i faith. Because of support from our leaders like President Obama and Congressman Coffman, and support from the international community, the wholesale genocide of the Bahá’í community in Iran has so far been prevented.<br /><br />It must be said that under the Islamic government of Iran other religious and ethnic groups have suffered as well. In fact, the Iranians citizens have suffered greatly in the hands of this regime and its tyrannical ways. Our hearts go out to all Iranians who have endured, and still are enduring the atrocities inflected on them. We Baha'is dream of a day when people of Iran, the country which is the birthplace of our religion, live in a free, just and peaceful society. <br /><br />Human history speaks of unimaginable cruelties. In the last 100 years, we have witnessed two world wars, the Holocaust and many genocides and acts of ethnic cleansing across the world. Whatever suffering and turmoil the world faces today, however dark the immediate circumstances, the Bahá’í community believes that humanity can confront these trials with confidence that the ultimate outcome will be a just and united world. Baha'is along with other like-minded groups and individuals across the world are committed to helping humankind reach the long-promised age of global peace, justice and unity. The prerequisite for this outcome is the acceptance of the principles of oneness of mankind. Baha'u'llah, the founder of the Baha'i Faith, teaches that an equal standard of human rights must be recognized and adopted. In the estimation of God all men are equal; there is no distinction or preferment for any soul in the dominion of His justice and equity. I will end with the words of Baha'u'llah: <br /><br /><br />O CHILDREN OF MEN! Know ye not why We created you all from the same dust? That no one should exalt himself over the other. Ponder at all times in your hearts how ye were created. Since We have created you all from one same substance it is incumbent on you to be even as one soul, to walk with the same feet, eat with the same mouth and dwell in the same land, that from your inmost being, by your deeds and actions, the signs of oneness and the essence of detachment may be made manifest. Such is My counsel to you, O concourse of light! Heed ye this counsel that ye may obtain the fruit of holiness from the tree of wondrous glory.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-49924454975244050212011-09-07T21:13:00.000-07:002011-09-07T21:14:58.673-07:00My Friend and I<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ed8aVsytICDq8JTQ9DmuRB-M6cF_t5V-ilGLbIC4xEyWHGHMD2tXNNWa3OyRbMYRkWKyo3h2nHfClPwqN4CBDptCoCM6t5PobDB_dq-4n40E5VchErI3LHZe76koH4XZ4WAk5aFdqZOY/s1600/sosh2.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649837432895042674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ed8aVsytICDq8JTQ9DmuRB-M6cF_t5V-ilGLbIC4xEyWHGHMD2tXNNWa3OyRbMYRkWKyo3h2nHfClPwqN4CBDptCoCM6t5PobDB_dq-4n40E5VchErI3LHZe76koH4XZ4WAk5aFdqZOY/s400/sosh2.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div>This picture was taken on 9/5/2011, Labor Day Weekend, with my friend Shari.</div>Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-50182468278833652002011-09-01T16:17:00.000-07:002011-09-13T11:42:13.947-07:00My NeighborMy neighbor Kim and her family moved to the house across the street from me about 6 years ago when I was going through my divorce.<br /><br />Kim is married with 2 young children. At the time, I was so engrossed in my own life and pain that I didn’t notice when they moved in and how many people lived in their household. I lived oblivious of my surroundings. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody or make friends. I intentionally avoided making eye contact with my neighbors.<br /><br />A year after Kim and her family moved in when my relatives were visiting something came up, and I actually had to say hello to Kim when I saw her on the street. That started our acquaintance. I was impressed that after the initial meeting every time she saw me, she said, “Hi Soheila” with perfect pronunciation of my unusual name. She obviously had a good memory. Unlike most people, she remembered how to say my name after hearing it just once.<br /><br />Kim is a stay at home mom who is always outside. She is usually sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette, drinking a glass of wine or a cup of coffee. She is often talking to the neighbors and working in the yard. I see her every morning when I leave my house and every evening when I come home. She is always sweet and warm in all her interactions. She keeps an eye on everything that goes on in the neighborhood.<br /><br />One day about 4 years ago, I got a notice from the homeowner’s association that my lawn didn’t look perfect, and I had some weeds on the edges of my yard. I called and told them that due to the water use restrictions my lawn doesn’t look that great, and I will pull out the weeds. During that conversation, I found out that one of my neighbors had complained about my lawn. They wouldn’t tell me who it was, but I had a strong suspicion that it was Kim who was always working in her yard, had the most perfect lawn and kept a close watch on everything that was going on in the neighborhood.<br /><br />When we had a snow storm with 15 inches of snowfall about 2 years ago, I came home from work on Thursday evening. I worked from home the next day and did not leave my house until Monday morning. When I got home Monday night, Kim saw me and said, “You didn’t leave your house for 3 days. There were no tire tracks on your driveway the entire weekend.” Her observation made me uncomfortable. I got the sense that she was watching everything I do.<br /><br />When my niece was visiting 2 years ago in Dec and had parked her car in front of my next door neighbor’s lawn with 2 of the tires partially on the curb, Kim had knocked on my door and had given her a hard time, at which point my niece had told her, “I didn’t park in front of your house, why are you so concerned?” That day I got a call from Kim at work all upset saying that she didn’t mean to cause trouble, and she didn’t want to upset anybody, but she was concerned that my next door neighbor could not properly shovel the snow on the sidewalk if the tires were on the curb. I told her, “Don’t worry about it, it was no big deal, and no one is upset.”<br /><br />Kim is actually a good neighbor in many ways. When I had left the garage door open one night, she called me at midnight to tell me that my garage door was open. When my car was stuck in the snow, she helped push my car out. When my bicycle was broken, she lent me her bicycle. When my sister’s car broke down, she gave her a ride to where she wanted to go. She is always very helpful and friendly. She is also very religious. She ends each conversation with “God Bless”.<br /><br />It is just that she truly is watching everything that goes on around her. Last winter, I got a call from her saying, “Your mother’s bedroom window is open about 8 inches. It is going to snow, so you may want to close it.” Sure enough, the guest room window where my mother stays when she comes over was open about 8 inches. I was wondering how she could see that from her house. Does she use binoculars? When my mom fell at my house and broke her back, as soon as the ambulance arrived, Kim was in my house wondering what was going on and if she could help.<br /><br />Last summer one morning as I was leaving my house, I put the trash can outside so the trash would be picked up. As I was getting into my car, I heard a voice calling my name. I looked around, but I saw no one. I heard someone calling me again. I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from again, I looked around and saw no one. The third time I heard my name, I looked up in the sky and thought to myself, “Is this voice coming from the heavens? I don’t see anybody anywhere.” At that point, I heard the voice say, “It’s Kim, I’m up here in the 2nd floor bathroom of my house. I’m looking at you from the bathroom window.” I said, “Oh, Hi Kim. I can’t see you.” She said, “Is your trash pickup company Pro Disposal?” I said, “Yes, it is”. She said, “They already picked up the trash. You missed them.” I thanked her amazed at how nothing escaped her keen eyes.<br /><br />So in the last few years living as a single woman again, I have dated a lot, in fact too much, and Kim has watched different men come into my life. First there was the guy with the Honda, then there was the guy with a Mustang, then the guy with a Porch, then the Acura guy, and then there was the guy with the Corvette and so on… Kim has watched these men come and go and surprisingly has not said anything as she has watched the traffic from her porch.<br /><br />So when a couple of months ago, my friend Rick came to pick me up with his motorcycle, as I was putting on the helmet and the leather jacket that he had brought for me, I bursed into laughter knowing that Kim is watching and wondering. I got on the back of the motorcycle and as we drove away, I saw Kim looking at us with her mouth wide open. I tried really hard to tell myself that she is not really there.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-27496967113609450612011-07-19T10:22:00.000-07:002011-07-25T20:38:27.621-07:00Love LostI want to bury you in the deepest darkest corner of my heart and never remember that I once loved you.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember that you were once my heart, my pulse and the reason for my every breath.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember that you once permeated my entire being.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember that you once loved me.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember that I died a thousand times loving you.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember how I came to life when you loved me.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember that you were once my happiness.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember the coldness of your hands, your eyes and your heart the last time I saw you.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember how my heart was ripped to pieces the day you left me.<br /><br />I want to bury you and never remember how I drowned in the sea of my sorrows once you were gone.<br /><br />I want to bury you in the deepest darkest corner of my heart and never remember how I suffered loving you.<br /><br />I want to bury your love.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-61500815180842349682011-06-27T13:50:00.000-07:002011-06-30T10:54:40.426-07:00A SongI love this song by Leonard Cohen.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pA5UhNaYw0&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1&safe=active">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pA5UhNaYw0&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1&safe=active</a><br /><br />Below is Leonard Cohen's words about his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">inspiration</span> for the song. It makes the poetry more meaningful.<br /><br />'Dance Me To The End Of Love' ... it's curious how songs begin because the origin of the song, every song, has a kind of grain or seed that somebody hands you or the world hands you and that's why the process is so mysterious about writing a song. But that came from just hearing or reading or knowing that in the death camps, beside the crematoria, in certain of the death camps, a string quartet was pressed into performance while this horror was going on, those were the people whose fate was this horror also. And they would be playing classical music while their fellow prisoners were being killed and burnt. So, that music, "Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin," meaning the beauty there of being the consummation of life, the end of this existence and of the passionate element in that consummation. But, it is the same language that we use for surrender to the beloved, so that the song -- it's not important that anybody knows the genesis of it, because if the language comes from that passionate resource, it will be able to embrace all passionate activity.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-41753468412743629292011-06-07T10:47:00.000-07:002011-07-27T09:54:43.931-07:00Plight of the Iranian Baha'isBelow is the link to the Colorado Public Radio's interview with my sister and I about the plight of the Iranian Baha'is.<br /><br />http://www.cpr.org/article/Bahais_Work_to_End_Years_of_Persecution<br /><br />For more information about the Baha'i Faith, please go to www.bahai.org.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-26523069822217463142011-03-04T16:16:00.000-08:002011-04-15T15:20:13.060-07:00Moving to the US (Part 2)THIS IS CONTINUATION OF PART ONE THAT WAS POSTED PREVIOUSLY.<br /><br />The people on the plane were mostly Iranians. Two of the four flight attendants were American. I had seen 2 or 3 Americans in my life before, so seeing the very fair skinned, tall, blue eyed and light haired women was interesting to me. The flight took about 22 hours. We stopped in France and England. With each stop more Iranians left the plane and more westerners got on the plane. I started to hear less and less Persian spoken on the plane. We landed in New York City at about 2:00 AM. Going through the customs was a huge challenge. The immigration agents had all sorts of questions. My parents didn't speak any English, and I only spoke a few words. I had to run around and ask the other Iranians who spoke English how to say what I needed to say in English. I remember feeling overwhelmed and scared. I thought, “What did I get myself into? It’s going to take me forever to learn English and until then I don’t know how I’m going to live.” <br /> <br />My brother and his American girlfriend were waiting for us once we left the immigration area and officially entered the country. That night we drove about 4 hours to Maryland where my brother lived. His house was entirely made of wood in contrast to the houses back home that are made of brick with very thick brick walls separating the rooms. The house seemed fragile and paper like to me. It had 4 small bedrooms with wood floors, and you could hear people talking in other rooms, since the walls were made of thin wood (drywall). When I woke up the next day, I looked outside the window and saw how lush and forest like the area was. I couldn't believe that I was in the US. The scenery around me was so different from what I was used to. It was all very surreal. It all seemed like a dream, the feeling that I was in a dream lasted for several months. Every so often, I would stop in my track and remind myself of where I was and be amazed by it. Everything was so different, the people, the places, the language, the cars, the food, the signs and etc.<br /> <br />I remember on the second or third day of my arrival, my brother's girlfriend accidentally dropped something on the kitchen floor and said, “Oh shit”. I didn't know what that word meant. At night, when my brother came home, I asked him what it meant. He told me, but I didn't believe him. To me the “S” word was a very dirty word to utter loudly for something so minute. It’s equivalent in Persian was not even in my vocabulary. I could never say it out loud. I thought, “How could she say that word so causally in front of someone else?” One of the things that I soon realized was that Americans are totally comfortable using vulgar language in routine conversation. Over the next two years, I heard all the common vulgar words in the English language. I was shocked every time I heard a new one, but eventually I got used to it. Ten years later, in an argument with my first husband, Paul, I heard myself say the “f” word. I was shocked and appalled at myself. It was a word that he and every young person around me used often. I had become numbed to it.<br /><br />Another thing that was a huge adjustment for me was the food. On the second night of our arrival, my brother took us to McDonolds and said, “This is a place were all Americans go to eat.” He ordered Big Macs for us, since we didn’t know what to order or how to order. I didn’t like the smell of my Big Mac. With hesitation, I took a bite and nearly threw up. I could not swallow it. I kept it in my mouth for a few minutes before I finally swallowed it. I thought that it was the worst thing I had ever tasted. The taste and smell of the sauce and melted cheese were unbearable to me. I put the Big Mac down and didn’t have another one until 4 years later, at which point my taste had changed so much that I loved the Big Mac I ate, and it became a part of my unhealthy college diet. There were a lot of foods that just tasted so odd to me that I could not bear to eat them for years. One of them was cheese. I was used to Feta cheese and variations of it. I had never had American cheese, Cheddar cheese, Swiss cheese and etc before. The texture of the cheeses common in the US felt like plastic to me. It took years before I could eat cheese. It took 10 years before I could eat a grilled cheese sandwich. It took about 10 years before I could eat Nachos. I couldn’t stand the texture of melted cheese for many years. A lot of these foods, I now love. <br /><br /><br />It took a few weeks until I was able to register at a high school. My brother was very busy with his job, and it was finally his girlfriend who took me to a school in Washington DC to register. It was a huge school with a very diverse student body. About one third of the students were African American, one third white and one third were foreign students. Since the high school was in Washington DC there were a lot of kids from other countries at that school. I was supposed to be in 12th grade and already had enough credits to graduate, but because my English was so poor, I was told that they wanted to hold me back one year, and have me take some of the classes that I had already taken back home again, so that my English would improve. The classes that I enrolled in were physics, Algebra, Physical Education, English As Second Language and an English reading class. The school was huge, and I was lost in it. I had a hard time finding my classes and once I got to my classes, I didn’t understand anything that was going on in the class. I would leave the classes with a ton of homework, but I couldn’t read any of my books, since I didn’t know English. I went through my days with a strong sense of doom not knowing how to read, write or do my homework. It felt like I was in an impossible situation. There was only one class that wasn’t horrible and that was my English as a Second Language class. That class was at my level. The teacher spoke very slowly and used very simple words. I would translate each word in my head and then put the whole thing together, and if I knew all the words then I understood the sentence. I was at that school for about 2 hellish weeks. My teachers didn’t even care that I didn’t understand anything in the class. The only students that occasionally tried to talk to me were the foreign students. The path that I was on was familiar to them.<br /> <br />Getting back and forth to school was difficult also. I had to take the city bus and walk a mile or so each way. Since I didn’t understand much English, the first week or so, I kept taking the wrong bus and it was an ordeal finding my way home. It seems that I was always lost and had to rely on the kindness of some poor soul that would take the time to explain to me how to get home in the simplest possible terms.<br /><br />One day when I was standing at the bus stop, I saw 2 young men talking. I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but they kept repeating the words “thirty three”. That was the first time that I became aware of the “th” sound. It is a sound that we don’t have in Persian. It sounded very odd to me, how you put your tongue between your teeth to make the sound. That was the first time I realized how the “th” should be pronounced. Back home in my English class, I had heard my teacher pronounce that sound like the letter ‘t’. Another sound that was one that I eventually realized we don’t have in Persian was the “w” sound. So I used to pronounce “w” like a “v”. <br /><br />One afternoon when I was walking home from school, I saw some construction workers. They started talking to me, but I didn’t understand what they were saying. One of them said something to me, which I didn’t completely understand. I thought he asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I just lied and said yes so that he would leave me alone. When he heard my reply of ‘yes’ he smiled and said, “I’ll make you happy.” I paused and translated that sentence in my head and understood what he meant. Suddenly, I felt terrified. I thought he might want to touch me. I said, “no, no” and walked away really fast looking back to make sure he wasn’t following me. What he had asked me was if he could be my boyfriend, and he thought that I said yes. In my mind’s eye, I still see that man’s face clearly. In the first couple of years of my life here, there were a number of times that guys approached me for a date, wanting to talk or get close, and I never knew how I was supposed to handle those situations. Part of the time I didn’t fully understand them and when I did I didn’t know what to say if I didn’t want their attention or if I did want their attention. So there were a lot of awkward and weird moments as far as men were concerned. I probably came across as very odd to them. I was in a deep culture shock for the first two years of my life here. In my culture, the relationships between men and women are much more guarded, formal and have the appearance of aloofness on the women’s side even if they are interested. Of course, all of that is changing with the ever-growing influence of American movies and culture in Iran. <br /><br /><br />After a couple of weeks of school in Washington DC, one day I talked to Mahta one of my relatives who lived in Olathe, Kansas. She said that when she came to the US, she went to a high school in Olathe, Kansas. In that high school, all of her credits from Iran were accepted, and she only studied American Government, American History and English and was able to graduate from high school in a year. She told me that if I move there and go to school there, it would be easier for me. That sounded great to me, since I had taken a lot of math and science courses in Iran, and at the Washington DC high school, they wanted me to take all those courses again, because my English was so poor. I didn’t want to repeat all those courses. I wanted to learn English and take the classes that I needed in order to graduate. So two weeks later, I alone was on a plane to Kansas. <br />To be continued...Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-19396878954859720682010-12-29T19:40:00.000-08:002011-01-05T19:14:13.125-08:00Moving to the US (Part 1)I moved to the US when I was 17 years old totally unprepared for what was waiting for me here. Life under the Islamic Republic of Iran was very difficult for us Baha’is, the largest religious minority in Iran. Baha’is were and still are persecuted by the Iranian government. Baha’i youth are banned from attending universities and colleges. If I had stayed in Iran, I would not be able to pursue my formal education. I will write more in the future about my life in Iran as a child and the circumstances under which I left Iran.<br /><br />Growing up, I always thought that I would live in my own country, go to college there, get married and have kids there, grow old and die there. When our lives became difficult in Iran, it was my mother who initiated all the work needed for me to move to the US where my brother had moved to 10 years before. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave home. The thought of losing all that I was familiar with and was attached to was painful. It was with mixed emotions that I decided to leave Iran. During the time that we were trying to secure visas and such, I wished something would go wrong and prevent me from leaving Iran. I thought that I would probably have a better life in the US, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity if it became available to me. But if the decision was not mine and the circumstances prevented me from leaving, then I would not have a reason to blame myself for making a bad decision. <br /><br />Not knowing English scared me the most. I knew as much English as kids here, in the States, typically, know Spanish. I knew the English grammar and had limited vocabulary, but I wasn’t conversational at all. In fact the language that I had started studying and liked was French. French sounded much more pleasant to my ears than English. So the summer of my sixteenth year of life, I went from getting ready for my senior year of high school to getting ready to move to the US. I remember when school started on September 21st, I watched my classmates go to school with longing. I so wanted to be with them and graduate from high school with them. I left Iran in early October. During the last couple of weeks before leaving, I looked at everything differently. In my own way, I said goodbye to my house, my belongings, my school, the streets of my hometown, the shops, the trees, the mountains, my bicycle, which was my constant companion, my books and so many other things. I would walk on the streets, look inside the shops that I used to go to and look at the familiar people who worked there thinking that I may never see them again. I went to my favorite bookstore and left it remembering all the excitement that I felt every time I would go there to buy a new book. <br /><br />There were so many people to say goodbye to. When I went to say goodbye to a couple who were good friends of my family, the wife said, “Soheila, marry an Iranian when you want to get married, don’t marry an American.” Her husband said, “She is going to America, what are the chances of her marrying an Iranian.” I smiled and said nothing. Marriage was the last thing on my mind, and American men were this incredible unknown. How things have changed since then, I have married and divorced two American men. I have dated many American men, and American men are the only creatures on the planet that I know very well, in fact too well. There is, absolutely, no mystery to them for me anymore. During the last days my oldest sister, Zhaleh, who has always been like a mother to me, since she is 20 years older than me, kept giving me advise about different things. Finally one day when we were in the kitchen of her house without making eye contact with me after a long introduction she said, “Soheila, make sure you won’t end up pregnant when you are all on your own.” I was shocked to hear those words from her. I knew how difficult it was for her to say them. Our culture is very conservative, and certain things are understood but never talked about. I was surprised that she felt that she had to verbalize those thoughts. And, I also thought that it was not necessary for her to even worry about such a thing. I was a very serious, driven and goal oriented young girl. I wanted to do great things with my life. I thought I would never be so irresponsible, or so immoral. Having kids out of wedlock was definitely considered immoral based on my upbringing. I smiled at her and said, “Of course not”. <br /><br />When I was packing my belongings, I put all the things I wanted to take with me in my suitcase. It was hard to decide what to put in a single suitcase. I had about 10 books that I wanted to bring with myself to the US. These were my favorite books. I often wrote my thoughts about the story or the subject matter in the margins of the books I read. That was another reason that I wanted to take those books. I wanted to be able to know in the future what my thoughts were as a teenager. When I was done packing, my mom looked inside my suitcase and said, “You can't take all these books. We have to put this Persian rug in your suitcase. You might have to sell it someday.” She proceeded to take all of my books out of the suitcase and then put the small Persian rug, which was about 2.5 feet by 3.5 feet, in my suitcase as I watched sadly. I still have that little Persian rug. It is on the floor of the guest room in my house. It has a great sentimental value to me now, and I do not want to part with it. <br /><br />The night before I was going to leave home when no one was in the house, I sat on the floor of our family room, cried and prayed to God fervently. I begged him to take care of me and not ever leave me alone. I knew I was going to start a new life that would be full of challenges and unknowns. I have remembered that night from time to time. I have thought about that young girl with her unshakable faith and determination to do everything right in life and the naïve belief that it was possible. <br /><br />I left Iran about 3 weeks after my seventeenth birthday. The day of my departure was a beautiful sunny day with the temperature about 80 degrees. In my mind's eye, I can still see the events of that day clearly. On that day, I said goodbye to my family, got on a bus with my parents, left my hometown of Hamedan and traveled 8 hours to Tehran, the capital. The next day, we flew out of Tehran. My parents were, also, coming to the US with me. They were planning on staying in the US for a couple of months and then return to Iran. They wanted to come to the US for medical treatment for my father who was not yet diagnosed with prostate cancer. <br /><br />I remember the hustle and bustle of the airport on that October day. The airport was packed with people. Hurriedly, we went through the crowd trying not to miss our flight. Soon I was seated in a window seat flying over Tehran. After we took off, I looked out of the window at the city that was getting smaller and smaller until I no longer could see it. As the city disappeared, I felt a deep sense of sadness. I had left my home and was getting further and further away from it. I remember wondering when I would see it again and hoping that it wouldn't be long. But I knew it would have to be a long time before I could go back home. I had just left a country whose government's official mandate was to persecute my coreligionists. Life for the Baha'is was going to be fraught with pain and calamity. Little that I knew that being back home would remain a dream that may never be fulfilled. I have not been back to Iran since I left it when I was seventeen. The policies of its Islamic government have not changed. <br /><br />In the last days, as I said goodbye to friends, there was one person whom it was difficult to say goodbye to. It was the boy who loved me. My departure was the most painful for him. For the first few years of my life in the US, he wrote to me, called me and always managed to find me. Finally, after about 4 years, I told him that we should end our communication, because I wouldn’t move back to Iran, and he couldn't leave Iran. I have heard from friends back home that still after all these years from time to time he seeks out people who may have some news about me. He still lives in my hometown and has a business. I have wondered if I could have found a good life partner in him, since that is something that has eluded me in life. I sometimes wonder what he looks like now, what his life is like, if he is married, if he has any children. I hope and pray that he is happy. <br /><br />To Be Continued...Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-62233437720718557322010-12-08T15:25:00.000-08:002010-12-08T15:40:18.625-08:00Oh No, Please!As I was reading an online publication last week, I saw the title, ‘Sarah Palin says “refudiate,” and creates a word controversy. What’s the big problem with refudiate?’ My first reaction was, “Oh my God, she doesn’t know that the word is repudiate and not refudiate. Refudiate is not a word.” I was shocked and somewhat disgusted. She had used the word in one of her tweets that thousands of people read. Again, I thought, “This woman is uneducated. The fact that she wrote refudiate and not repudiate indicates that she probably has not seen the word in the written form, which indicates that she doesn’t read.” Repudiate is not an obscure word. This woman tweets to thousands of people and doesn’t bother to do the most basic check in writing, the spell check. If she had checked the spelling of her writing, she would know that refudiate is not a word. I write a little blog that only a few people read and at the minimum, I check the spelling of the words I use. By the way, English is my second language, and I don’t aspire to run for the presidency of the United States.<br /> <br />In her response to the criticism that refudiate is not a word. She replied, “English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!” Yes, English is a live language. Words are created out of necessity. Some of the words created or used differently than what was originally intended are: email, google, input. We say, “I emailed you; I googled it; I inputed the data.” All these are new additions and new ways of using the English language. And, yes, Shakespeare coined new words, but his coining new words was not out of ignorance. He had characters in his plays that were supposed to be uneducated and used words incorrectly. There is a big difference here. Her response indicated that not only she is ignorant, but also she is insolent. If she had said, “I made a mistake and didn’t use the correct word.” I would think, “She is human, and she admitted to her mistake.”<br /> <br />When I first saw Sarah Palin introduced as John McCain’s running mate, I was hoping that she would be someone that I could come to respect and even admire. But during the months before the 2008 elections, I came to be disappointed by her lack of knowledge and simple and narrow views on issues. I remember when she was asked about what she read, I thought, “Name something, anything, Time, Newsweek, The New York Times...”. But she didn’t. Another thing that bothered me about her was her divisive way of talking in her speeches that were repeated over and over. She used phrases such as “good patriotic Americans” to refer to people who shared her political views, as though people who didn’t have the same views were unpatriotic. This sort of language only fuels hatred and judgment and is not constructive. Even her Tweet that had the non-word refudiate in it had a prejudiced tone. My issues with her have nothing to do with her politics, and they have to do with her person. It is obvious that she is not well informed. Her perception of things is limited and yet she is extremely ambitious. She didn’t even finish her first term as Alaska’s governor so that she could pursue her political goals. <br /> <br />America, today, is the greatest nation in the world. I have come to understand that this country has become what it is today, because of the vision and the foresight of the founding fathers and some enlightened early Americans. It is because of their insight that this country has such a strong foundation and a great system of laws. I have, also, read about the Women’s Suffrage in this country. The struggles of these amazing women who fought for their right to vote are no less than heroic. I have seen the rise of women CEOs, scientist and inventors in the recent history. I would love to see the first woman president in this county someday. I hope that she will be one that I can admire, respect and be proud of, someone with a great mind and intellect who is, also, educated. It is terribly jarring to hear the leader of the free world use words that are not in the English language. I’m still trying to digest president Bush’s use of the non-word “misunderestimated” in one of his interviews.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-74357299017109693392010-11-19T16:53:00.000-08:002010-11-19T16:56:25.513-08:00I'll write very soonI have been so busy with life and work, but I will post something within a week. <br /><br />On a different note: Today was a great day. I was so happy, productive and content with everything.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-36459574034766408852010-11-04T15:48:00.000-07:002010-11-04T15:50:07.861-07:00Human Rights Abuses in IranUN Secretary General voices concern over human rights abuses in Iran<br /><br />UNITED NATIONS, 18 October (BWNS) — The Secretary General of the United Nations, Ban Ki-moon, has once again expressed strong concern over Iran's ongoing human rights violations, including its persecution of Iranian Baha'is.<br /><br />In a report issued Thursday, Mr. Ban highlighted his continuing concerns over Iran's use of torture and the death penalty, its poor treatment of women, and repeated violations of due process of law and of freedom of assembly, speech and religion.<br /><br />The report also strongly criticized Iran's failure to protect the rights of minorities, including the Baha’i, Sufi, Baluch, and Kurdish communities.<br /><br />Over the last year, Mr. Ban said, there was "a noticeable increase in application of the death penalty, including in cases involving political opponents and juvenile offenders. Discrimination persisted against minority groups and in some cases amounted to persecution."<br /><br />The Secretary-General has been "deeply troubled" by reports of "excessive use of force, arbitrary arrests and detentions, unfair trials and possible torture and ill-treatment of opposition activists in relation to the post-election unrest in 2009." <br /><br />This year's report quite specifically highlighted Iran's ongoing "discrimination and harassment" of its Baha'i community. <br /><br />"Members of unrecognized religions, in particular the Baha'i, who comprise the country's largest non-Muslim religious minority, face multiple forms of discrimination and harassment, including denial of employment, Government benefits and access to higher education," said the report.<br /><br />"Some members of the Baha'i community have faced arbitrary detention or the confiscation and destruction of their property.<br /><br />"Fires had been deliberately set to partially or totally destroy homes and vehicles, and a cemetery in Marvdasht had been vandalized. The incident was allegedly reported to a number of<br />Government agencies, but no official action has been taken," the report said.<br /><br />The report also took note of the trial and reported sentencing of seven Baha'i leaders, observing that the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights has expressed "deep concern" over the absence of international observers and the lack of due process in that trial, which concluded in June.<br /><br />"The High Commissioner voiced grave concern that the criminal charges brought against the above-mentioned individuals appeared to constitute a violation of the Islamic Republic of Iran's obligations under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, in particular those of freedom of religion and belief and freedom of expression and association," said the report.<br /><br />Mr. Ban's report was released in response to last year's resolution of the UN General Assembly on human rights in Iran. That resolution specifically asked the Secretary General to report on any progress Iran makes during the year on human rights issues. It is the third such report that Mr. Ban has issued on human rights violations in Iran in as many years.<br /><br />"What is surprising is the degree to which the government of Iran has completely ignored these annual reports from the UN Secretary General, who has so clearly articulated in them the international community's concerns about Iran's failure to meet its human rights obligations," said Bani Dugal, the principal representative of the Baha'i International Community to the United Nations.<br /><br />"For three years now, Mr. Ban has called attention to Iran's abusive and illegal treatment of women, juveniles, minorities, and journalists, not to mention common citizens who merely wish to voice their own concerns. <br /><br />"Mr. Ban has also repeatedly expressed concern over Iran's systematic and on-going persecution of the Iranian Baha'i community, who are discriminated against solely because of their religious belief.<br /><br />"We believe that the time has come for the UN General Assembly - to which this report is directed - to appoint a special envoy to monitor the human rights situation in Iran," said Ms. Dugal.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-20136666708526529932010-10-16T15:54:00.000-07:002010-11-03T14:23:42.144-07:00StruggleMy birthday was last month. It was on a beautiful and sunny Sunday with the temperature in the 80s. I was determined to have a good day. I went to a BBQ with some friends at a park. What I enjoyed the most was playing with my friends’ three-year-old son. He was such a happy child full of energy and life. And he had the most adorable face being half white and half Hawaiian. He had big round brown eyes and red hair. He was at first shy of me and hid behind his dad when I tried to talk to him, but within a couple of minutes, he ran to me, pulled my arm and made me run with him on the grass and play with him. The urge to pick him up, kiss and squeeze him was overwhelming. <br /><br />As I watched the children play, I thought of my two miscarriages, and my heart ached. If my babies had lived they would have been 9 and 7 years old. I keep track of the years and try to imagine what they would have been like at different ages. I have grieved those losses and have come to term with them, but sometimes I can’t help be reminded of what I have lost. <br /><br />I didn’t feel much emotion about my birthday until the next day. Monday at about noon, I came across a piece of writing that really upset me. All the thoughts that I had pushed back resurfaced. I saw my life as meaningless and empty. I thought of what I had expected my life to be like and what it actually was. I thought of all my futile struggles in life and all I had not been able to achieve. I thought of all the people who have hurt me, and how gullible and vulnerable I have been. I thought about all the times that I felt used by different people. I thought about all the times that I trusted people when I shouldn’t have. Sitting at my desk at work, I started to cry. Life seemed really ugly to me. It seemed like a burden, a burden I could not get rid of. I remember thinking, “Some day it will all end, and I’ll be free”.<br /><br />Half an hour later, I checked my email. Don, a man that I dated briefly about 3 years ago, who lives in Albuquerque, had sent me an email wishing me a happy birthday. I read the email and started to cry again. I replied to the email with an emotional response, telling him that I felt like a failure in life explaining to him all that I thought was wrong with my life. Everything poured out of me, totally, unfiltered. I felt comfortable telling Don how I felt. I guess, through our conversations over the last couple of years, I have come to feel safe with him. This is a major change considering during our very short time dating, I concluded that he was a superficial man wanting to explore as many women as possible, which would not have been difficult for him to do, since he has GQ looks, is an educated professional and intelligent. When we ended our very short relationship, I thought, “I will never see or hear from him again”, but nine months after the last time we had spoken, he called me one night from Albuquerque. He said that he has thought about me from time to time and wanted to be in contact with me. When I told him how insignificant he had made me feel when I last saw him, he apologized to me. We have stayed in contact since, and I have come to know him better. My opinion of him has changed.<br /> <br />What ensued from the original email were a series of emails going back and forth between Don and me for the next few days. In his first reply, he listed all that he thought I had going for me. He wrote, “You are not a failure! You are intelligent, beautiful ... Don't live in your head so much. You are your own worst judge.” He was right. I analyze everything too much. I think about everything too much. I judge myself too severely. In the next email I wrote, “My being "intelligent, beautiful…" hasn't brought me much happiness." He responded, “That is because you don't trust the validity of the experiences those qualities bring you. We heady people screw up most in the moment. Perhaps you should and be more in the moment.” I have always had a hard time living in the moment. Our correspondence helped me move on from the place that I was stuck on emotionally. Don made some good points using his own life experiences. By the end our week long communications, my outlook towards my life had changed. Yes, my life has not been what I had expected, but what I have has a lot of good in it. I am grateful to Don for taking the time to help me sort through things. He gave me all the assurances that I needed in order to feel better about myself. Despite all appearances, I am very fragile emotionally and struggle with life constantly. I often feel like I don’t know how to live and how to make sense of my life. Almost nothing in my life has turned out the way I wanted. On the outside, I may seem happy and confident, but often that is just on the surface.<br /> <br />So, after that Monday, I decided to live in the moment and try to enjoy what I have. I planned a series of activities for myself. Tuesday night, I got together with Vince. I had not seen or communicated with him for about a year and a half. I decided that it would be fun to have a conversation with a very smart and intellectual guy. Vince is a very interesting person to listen to. He is articulate, contemplative, well informed and discerning. He puts ideas and concepts into words in such a poignant way that I sometimes want to say, “Say that again, I want to write it down.” It is enjoyable to listen to him. <br /><br />Wednesday morning, I had a meeting at 9:00 AM. I tried to leave my house early enough to get to the meeting on time. I would have been on time if the traffic on I-25 wasn’t so bad. At about 8:45, nervously, I called my boss to tell him that I would be a few minutes late. As I was approaching downtown Denver, I got in the right hand lane, which is only for buses until 9:00 AM. The traffic was bad, and I didn’t want to be too late for the meeting. As I was speeding in the lane that I should not have been in, I was pulled over. I thought, “Now, I’m going to get a ticket and be very late.” The police officer was a tall African American man with broad shoulders and dark blue eyes. He was striking. After a brief conversation, I gave him my driver’s license. I was sure I was going to get a ticket. I was at fault, but I decided to relax and not dwell on it. I was more concerned about my meeting. While the officer was checking my driver’s license, I put on my makeup. A few minutes later, he came to me and said, “You just had a birthday.” I said, “Yes”. He said, “How was it?” I said, “so so”. He said, “Why just so so?” I said, “I don’t know, just life.” He smiled and gave me back my driver’s license. I said, “No ticket?” He said, “No ticket.” I was so happy that I could have kissed him. This was the first time in my life that I was stopped for a traffic violation and didn’t get a ticket. I said, “thank you” and drove away carefully. I got to my meeting 30 minutes late.<br /> <br />Wednesday at noon, I went for a long walk at lunch. It was a beautiful day. I tried to be mindful of the beauty of the nature around me and the warmth of the sun. It was a pleasant walk. On the way back, when I was standing behind a red light, I noticed a nice looking and well-dressed man in his forties looking at me on the other side of the street. He continued to look at me as I crossed the street. Once I got to the other side, he got close to me and said something funny. I laughed. He then took out a business card from his wallet and introduced himself. He said, “I’m a lawyer. I practice Family Law; if you ever need my services or if you just want to go to lunch you should call me.” He exuded confidence. I looked at his left hand; he was wearing a wedding band. I said, “But you’re married.” He laughingly said, “Yes, that ring is a chick magnet.” I said, “I don’t think so” and walked away. This was the second time in the last couple of weeks that some married man had hit on me. Trying to remember all the things I’m grateful for, one more thing came to my mind. I’m grateful that I’m not married to this guy. I thought of his wife and felt sorry for her. I could not handle being married to a man who cheats.<br /> <br />On Thursday, another beautiful sunny day, I went shopping during my lunch hour. I went to my favorite store in downtown, The Loft. I love that store. They carry a good selection of petite sizes, and all the clothes in my size always fit me perfectly. It is as though, their designers used my measurements to make their size 2 petite. I found several things I really liked. I was so happy, I cloud not contain myself. I looked great in everything I tried on! For one hour, I was in a shopping coma; nothing else existed in the world. I had no other thoughts except to see what I looked best in. I was perfectly happy, didn’t need anything else, didn’t notice anyone else. Life in that little dressing room was perfect. I felt loved by the world or at least by the clothing industry. I do love those designers and manufacturers. They make me happy. This shopping experience was therapeutic. I, totally, lived in the moment. I lived in the hour! Five items of clothing and $230.00 later, I had no regrets. I was exhilarated. Walking back to work, I thought, “Shopping, clothes, shoes and accessories make me so happy. How did Mother Teresa wear the same habit decade after decade?” <br /> <br />A side note, after mother Teresa’s death, the text of some of her letters and diaries were published. They revealed that she struggled with feelings of abandonment by God for nearly fifty years until the time of her death. She had a spiritual experience, in 1946, which she called the "the call within the call". This experience led her to dedicate her life to serving the poor. But for many years after that, she felt disconnected from God and struggled with faith. She wrote, “Where is my faith? Even deep down ... there is nothing but emptiness and darkness ... If there be God—please forgive me. When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven, there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my very soul ... How painful is this unknown pain—I have no Faith. Repulsed, empty, no faith, no love, no zeal, ... What do I labor for? If there be no God, there can be no soul. If there be no soul then, Jesus, You also are not true.” When I first came across such writings of Mother Teresa, I was surprised to see how she struggled with faith. I was not disappointed. I think we all struggle with faith from time to time, but by the life she lived, I thought that she probably always lived in the state of knowing and believing. What is referred to in the Baha’i faith as “Certitude”. She was more human than I thought. She had her struggles just like the rest of us.<br /> <br />Thursday evening, I went to some networking party with my friend Lisa at a restaurant called “Little Europe”. The owner was from Ukraine, and the food was mostly Russian, and it was free that night. My job doesn’t require me to do any networking, but I went mostly for the free food and hanging out with Lisa. I met several people throughout the evening. One was an older heavyset man, named Frederico, from Chile. He owned a translation company. I told him that I have done a lot of translation from Persian to English and vice versa. He got my number to let me know of translation jobs that may come up. We talked for a bit. He said, “I love Persian food. You will have the key to my heart if you cook me Persian food.” I thought, “I don’t think I want the key to your heart or anything else you might own.” I told him that one of the authors that I like is Isabel Allende who is from Chile. He said, “Oh, I don’t like her. None of her work is original. She just imitates the style of the great Latin writers. Literary people of the Spanish language do not respect her.” I was somewhat disillusioned. About ten years ago, I read 4 of her books that were translated to English. I thought she was a gifted storyteller. She writes historical fiction, and her stories are well researched and fascinating. I had read some Latin American literature before reading her books, so I had noticed some similarities. She uses “magical realism” in her writing, a style of writing originated from Latin America. Listening to him, I wished I knew Spanish so that I could read and find out for myself. As I expected, a couple of days later Frederico called me to ask me out on a date. I told him, I gave my number to him for translation work not to go out with him. I told him I wasn’t interested in dating him. He was polite and told me if he had any translation jobs, he would call me. Of course, I know he won’t. That wasn’t why he wanted my phone number in the first place. I get asked out by guys that I would not even consider going out with a lot. It gets frustrating at times.<br /> <br />Friday morning, as I put on a pair of pants that I had just bought, I thought, “I hope my butt looks good in these pants.” When I got to work, Andy, the young man that I work with sent me an instant message saying, “I know you told me not to give you any more compliments, but you look really hot in those tight pants.” I thought, “I guess, I don’t have to wonder how my butt looks in these pants.” The reason that I have asked Andy not to give me any compliments is that all of his compliments have a sexual undertone, and that makes working with him uncomfortable for me. <br /> <br />Friday night, I went Swing dancing. I learned the East Coast Swing a few years ago, but I hadn’t gone dancing in a long time. That night I had the most fun I had had in a long time. The place was filled with people who were serious dancers wearing dancing shoes and clothes. As I started to dance, what I had forgotten came back to me. I danced with Dave the dance instructor who taught me the Lindy Hop. Once I learned the steps, I was able to dance with him in sync. As we moved in perfect harmony with each other and the music, I laughed. I became aware of what I was feeling. This was “joy”. Something I hadn’t felt in years. I tried to hold on to that feeling for as long as I could. I wished that I could freeze that moment. I danced with a lot of different people that night. It was really nice to dance with guys who knew how to dance well. Everything would fall into place naturally, and I was able to follow their lead easily. There were some really old dancers there. After all, Swing is a very old dance. I danced with guys in their sixties and seventies. At one point, I danced with a guy who was about 80 years old. He looked very frail. When he asked me to dance I thought, “I hope he won’t have a heart attack while we dance.” He didn’t. He had very strong arms. He pulled and pushed me into different moves and led me into sophisticated turns. He was a good dancer.<br /> <br />Sat. morning as I was getting ready for my day, I was listening to a program on NPR. It was an interview with an author. He read a piece he had written about his struggle with cancer. He was first diagnosed with cancer in his twenties. Now, at the age of 46, cancer had come back as the result of the radiation that he had received to treat the cancer when he was in his twenties. He explained that what had to be done was the removal of one arm and one shoulder; the area invaded by the cancer. That was the only treatment possible. He had written about trying to get used to the idea of not having an arm and a shoulder. He was trying to visualize it in order to minimize the impact of the loss when it finally happens. As I listened, my heart ached for him. I kneeled and put my forehead on the floor. I cried and prayed. I asked God to give him what he needed in order to go on with life, to give him strength. Then I thought of all the suffering that exists in the world. I remembered that my nephew who is in his twenties is battling stage 4 Lymphoma. He will have to receive radiation after his chemotherapy is finished. He could be going through what this man is going through later in life. I thought of the story of the concentration camp survivors and the unimaginable and abhorrent cruelty they went through and witnessed. An image came to my mind; a picture I saw at the Holocaust museum in Israel. It was of a teenage girl in one of the Nazi concentration camps. She was skin and bones, barely able to walk; two people were holding her arms so that she could stand upright. She was looking straight at the camera. She was one of the human guinea pigs that Nazi doctors used to perform experimental surgery. She was standing next to a hospital bed. I remembered the story of a Tutsi woman in Rwanda, a genocide survivor. In a documentary that I saw a few years ago, she explained how her husband and two children were killed in front of her. Then she, who was pregnant at the time, was imprisoned and raped daily for about four months. One day, she begged one of the men who was about to rape her to not do it, at which point, the man stabbed her in the belly and then raped her. Months later, she gave birth to her child alone and sick in a field. Unable to take care of the baby, wild dogs surrounded her and ate the baby alive. I have often wondered how she continues to live; how can one go on with life after such experiences. I remembered more of other people’s sufferings. We live in a cruel world. Life in the US is so amazingly comfortable and good compared to so many other places. As I laid on the floor crying, I felt ashamed about complaining about my life. Much has been given to me in ways that I take for granted. I have been spared so much. I could have been the Tutsi woman in Rwanda. I could have been the girl in the concentration camp. I could have been so many other people dealing with extreme suffering. <br /> <br />That morning, I spent a long time thinking and acknowledging all that I have in my life. I thanked God for all that I have received without deserving. I thanked God for not testing me beyond my abilities. I, also, decided that I’m not going to be attached to my ideas of how things should be. That has caused me a lot of misery in life. It has stopped me from enjoying things the way they are, and things are good a lot of the time. I think the happiness that we, often, dream of is mostly an illusion. It is a mirage. It is a fantasy.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-60076081678046109872010-10-07T16:35:00.000-07:002010-10-19T11:40:51.433-07:00"Never Let Me Go"I saw a movie last weekend at the Esquire movie theater in Denver. It was called “Never Let Me Go”. It was a British movie based on the book written by the Japanese born British writer, Kazuo Ishiguro, who is also the author of the novel “The Remains of the Day”.<br /><br />The story is a very powerful and emotional story told masterfully. It is the story of an enduring love in very unusual circumstances. The lives of the characters are described and their emotions are expressed so poignantly that it is impossible not to identify with the characters.<br /><br />The story, also, takes the subject of Genetic Engineering beyond the intellectual realm. It forces the viewer to consider the human aspects of what we may someday be able to do. It raises some serious ethical questions.<br /><br />This was the best movie I have seen in a long time. It is deeply moving and thought provoking. Time magazine named the novel the best novel of 2005 and included it in its “TIME 100 Best English-language Novels from 1923 to 2005”.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-67338928955516392652010-09-30T17:34:00.000-07:002010-10-19T12:02:21.473-07:0050 Great VoicesNational Public Radio (NPR) started a series in January of this year called “50 Great Voices, a year devoted to 50 of the most acclaimed singers from around the world.” I have listened to this program and have known some of these great voices.<br /><br />One voice was the voice the great Egyptian singer, Umm Kulthum. She is, perhaps, the most famous singer of the 20th century in the Middle East. She sang in Arabic. Although we speak Persian in Iran, she was still famous and was listened to by Iranians. She has a soul stirring voice and way of singing.<br /><br />Another singer celebrated on the program was Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He has been referred to as The Voice of Pakistan. I first heard his voice about 13 years ago on the sound track of the movie “Dead Man Walking”. It was a great voice. He was chanting in Urdu. I loved the way he sang. I do like classical Indian and Pakistani music. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s music often has a meditative quality to it.<br /><br />Another familiar voice featured on this program was the voice of the American singer Roy Orbison. I have listened to this program throughout the year wondering whose voice will be featured next. I have been impressed with the effort that has been put into discovering these voices globally.<br /><br />Monday morning, as I was driving to work and listening to NPR this program came on. I heard the words “… Mohammad Reza Shajarian may be the most famous singer in Iran. Shajarian is the latest singer we are featuring in our year long series 50 great voices…”. As I heard these totally unexpected words, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Tears rolled down my face as I listened to the program explaining the qualities that make him the greatest Iranian classical singer while his songs were being played in the background.<br /><br />On the program, Iranian-American scholar Abbas Milani talked about Shajarian’s voice. He said, "When I still hear it, I get a chill to my bone and think that this is not the voice of a mere mortal — this is the gods speaking to us." What he said, totally, resonated with me. I heard Shajarian’s music throughout my childhood. I came to appreciate classical Persian music and specifically Shajarian’s voice and style of singing as a teenager and have listened to him my entire adult life. His music has always made me feel close to the Divine and has helped me find that quiet and peaceful place within my heart. It has nurtured my soul and has helped me transcend this material world. It has put me in touch with that which is noble and sanctified within me. This is the power of art. Baha’i writings state that art is the ladder of the soul, and its existence is necessary for achieving exaltation and progress in the world. In a talk given by the Baha’i painter, Otto Donald Rogers, he describes art as “our human response to a voice on high”. Art gives sustenance to our lives, without it life would not be bearable.<br /><br />There were other reasons for my emotional reaction to the program that day. When you are an ex-pat living in a foreign country any sign of what you have left behind makes you homesick and nostalgic. When I hear Persian music, when I inhale a fragrant that often permeated the air of where I lived, when I eat certain foods, when I see a building that is similar in some way to the Persian architecture, when I see a plant or flower that was common at home and so on, I am taken back to my childhood and life in Iran. For example, the smell of burnt wood always takes me back to my mother’s ancestral village as it was present in the air most of the time. When it rains gently, I’m always reminded of my hometown as the rain was always very gentle and quiet there; vivid memories come to surface by these little reminders with a strong sense of longing. Hearing Shajarian’s voice had the same effect on me.<br /><br />Another reason for my reaction was the mere shock of this program choosing someone from Iran and further realization of the contribution of this artist to enriching a culture, which is mine and very close to my heart.<br /><br />In an era, which almost all the news that comes out of Iran is about the cruelty and inhumanity inflicted on the people of Iran by the Islamic Republic of Iran, a government, which has been in power for the last 31 years; In a country, where people’s basic rights to live, believe, think, read, write and express have been taken away from them; At a time, when people of the Baha’i faith, the most persecuted religious minority in Iran, are denied the most basic human rights; In a place where Baha’is are put in prison, tortured, executed, their properties confiscated and their youth are prevented from attending colleges and universities solely because of their religious beliefs; At a time, when Iranian women are stoned to death for committing adultery; And when women receive 100 lashes for showing their hair in public; In a land, where the life of a woman is worth half of that of a man; In a place, where if a man is murdered the punishment of the murderer can be death, but if a woman is murdered, merely, paying a sum of money is sufficient punishment, because a woman’s life is less valuable than that of a man; In a country, where it is legal for a man to have 4 permanent wives and many temporary ones; In a place, where participating in a political demonstration will get you years in prison, raped, viciously tortured and killed; At a time, perhaps the darkest period of the Iranian history, when so much has been done by the fundamentalist Islamic regime to suffocate a nation; At a time and place where evil reigns, humanity is still alive. The violence inflected on the people has not been able to extinguish what is sublime and beautiful. It has not quenched the light of the soul of a nation. The human spirit is amazingly powerful and resilient. It is a sign of God’s mercy to mankind. It is a sign of God’s marvelous creation. It is a reflection of God in this physical world. It is beautiful.<br /><br />P.S. I know that the style of the last paragraph is different. It has been written in a Persian literary style. I have received comments about it from different people saying that it doesn't fit the English paradigm well. I was aware of it. This is how it came out. May consider revising later.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-25115962654807782012010-09-22T09:19:00.000-07:002010-09-22T09:26:17.118-07:00New Picture<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4o6EW2-yj6MJjF5KrMB5Dmvgtn6OnS3wB_aKW17ZUhbD1YVBZExw0zK6cQvlyreoE3wwedlz5raiXARp933cZdu9YLj84UnATFU0gyhhL-wFOI69kKQCtzaVJSrMQYnN-1eiSty3gEn_X/s1600/sozee.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519774828984555554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 388px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4o6EW2-yj6MJjF5KrMB5Dmvgtn6OnS3wB_aKW17ZUhbD1YVBZExw0zK6cQvlyreoE3wwedlz5raiXARp933cZdu9YLj84UnATFU0gyhhL-wFOI69kKQCtzaVJSrMQYnN-1eiSty3gEn_X/s400/sozee.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div>This picture was taken 3 days ago. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-10591761212085137252010-09-15T08:55:00.000-07:002010-09-15T08:57:25.215-07:00A First ImpressionAs I walked along the Las Vegas Strip at 2:00 AM the night I arrived, there were too many lights, too many tacky imitations of world’s architecture, too many people walking on the streets with drinks in their hands. The imitation Eiffel Tower, the fake Egyptian structures, in fact, all the fake facade looked so gaudy and cheap. The pavement was littered with flyers for places dedicated to the satisfaction of carnal desires. <br /><br />My hotel lobby was filled with middle-aged gamblers sitting at slot machines and card tables, concentrating intensely. They seemed unaware of their surrounding, deeply involved in pushing the buttons and flipping their cards as though they were in a semiconscious state of being. Heads were down, eyes were focused, serious expressions were on the faces. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filled the air. <br /><br />Young and mostly over-weight women were wearing very short and revealing dresses, flaunting fat and cellulite, young men, all with drinks in hand, were happy and loud. Looking around, almost everyone was fat and out of shape. Everyone seemed totally happy, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. This was the picture of happiness. Fat Americans enjoying a city entirely dedicated to the pleasure of the senses. The place was devoid of what makes life worth living for me. It had no soul.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-58203879819299586592010-09-07T20:23:00.000-07:002010-09-08T10:41:55.595-07:00Calamity (Part 2)Continuation of the previous piece:<br /><br />I told Soudi, in the gentlest possible way, that Firuz was in the hospital, he was OK, but there was a tumor in his chest. Then I said that they have done a biopsy, and it may be cancer. Soudi started saying, “Oh my God, oh my God…” Then she asked, ”Is it cancer?” And I said, “Yes, it is cancer, but he is in a very good hospital with very good doctors.” At that point, Soudi started to sob painfully. She dropped the phone. I listened to her sob for a few minutes. She was unable to speak. My sister Azi picked up the phone and told me to hang up. I hung up the phone, while I could still hear Soudi’s cry. Feeling horrible about the bad news that I had just delivered, I laid in bed imagining the atmosphere of Soudi’s house and what she and her husband were experiencing, perhaps, the most painful moments of their lives. I felt like the executioner who has just delivered the final blow. Life had changed for them forever. I will never forget the sound of Soudi’s cry; it still resonates in my ears. An hour later, I called again. I talked to Soudi for a few minutes. She was still crying, but managed to ask a few questions. I kept telling her that I will do whatever I can to help Firuz, and he is not alone.<br /><br />Firuz has been doing his best to cope with his situation. At times, he has cried and has found life unbearable and his future dark, and at other times he has been determined to fight the cancer and has had hope for the future. He has started chemotherapy, and is no longer in the hospital. <br /> <br />When I was with Firuz in Aug., one day he was told that his cancer had not responded to the chemo and was now in stage 4. The tumor had grown to 12 centimeters. His oncologist told him that once the tumor gets to be longer than 10 centimeters the cancer is in stage 4. They would have to modify his chemo treatments. On that day, future seemed even bleaker for him. He took the news the best way possible. I was impressed with his calm and resolve. During the 3rd week after his first chemo treatment, he started to lose his hair in handfuls. He shaved his head so that he would not have to see the hair coming out in bunches. Most of the time, he had pain, extreme night sweats, which is one of the signs of this kind of cancer and difficulty breathing. He was also trying to recover from 4 operations. He was very weak. <br /><br />Soudi is now with Firuz in Nevada. She has lost so much weight in the last 6 weeks. She tries to stay strong for her son, but she is in terrible emotional pain. She cries every time I talk to her on the phone. <br /> <br />No one knows what things will be like a year from now. Life has been terribly unfair and difficult for Firuz. The worry is constant. We all wonder how he will overcome stage 4 cancer. And if he beats it will it come back again? It is painful to see him weak, sick and in pain. What breaks my heart is to see someone so young in this situation. He hasn’t really lived life yet. His dreams and aspirations may never come to fruition. Will he be able to pursue them with an illness that may never really be cured?<br /><br />I am sure of one thing; Firuz is a very strong person. He has handled this situation with so much grace. He has been tested to the core. He has accepted his fate and has come to terms with it. At times, he has comforted me when I couldn’t hold it together. If he can overcome this, he will become a much stronger person. My dream is to see him and his parents happy one day. <br /><br />I, continually, ask for God’s mercy. I have worried for Firuz for many years. I have fervently prayed to God for his wellbeing for many years given the difficult to manage illness that he was already fighting. But things got worse for him instead of better. This has been a test of faith for me.<br /><br />In my personal life as well, for a long time now, the harder I have tried to achieve what I want the further away I have gotten from it. I have struggled with no positive results for so many years, it seems as though the doors have been shut and will never be opened. Life for the most part has been an ugly and unpleasant struggle. The disappointments have been many and great. I have lost my faith in people and am constantly working on detachment from all that pertains to this life. I used to think that opportunities were unlimited and my fate was in my hand. Now, I feel powerless, unable to change my fate, neglected by God, resigned to accept my defeats in life, knowing that the only thing that I truly have in life is me and me alone. I am the only person I can depend on and trust.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-68252205516953946452010-08-19T22:38:00.000-07:002010-09-08T10:25:57.288-07:00Calamity (Part 1)The last several weeks have been unbelievable. For the first 10 days I was in disbelief. It seemed like I was in a nightmare, but it was, all, real.<br /> <br />About five weeks ago, on a Saturday, I got a phone call from my nephew, Firuz, from the emergency room of a hospital in Nevada. He was unable to breathe, he had a high fever; his left lung had stopped working and was filled with fluid. There was a mass in his chest cavity. He had been told that there was a 60% chance that it could be cancer. In the subsequent phone calls, I found out that the mass in his chest was a cancerous tumor, which had spread to different parts of his abdomen. <br /> <br />Life was already very difficult for him before all this, how could it get any worse? He has been dealing with another chronic illness not related to the cancer for most of his life, which at times has paralyzed his life and has nearly brought it to a halt. I have seen him suffer greatly and fight vigorously. I always worried for him and tried to help him. He came to live with me and my ex-husband as a teenager, and he has been a part of my life since. Given the challenges that he already faced, this was more than he could handle and more than I could bear to watch. <br /> <br />I never forget the phone call that put all doubt and hope to rest, the one where he told me that it was definitely cancer. My heart dropped, I started to cry and didn’t know what to say to him. All I could say was, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry that you have to go through this.” I couldn’t believe this was happening to him, he was so young only in his twenties. I wanted to spare him from the pain and agony that was waiting for him. I wanted to make it better somehow, but there was nothing I could do. All pain was just starting, and I already felt that life had come out of him, the physical and the emotional pain was all too much for him to go through and too much for those of us who love him to see. <br /> <br />Three weeks before the day he called me from the emergency room, during the early hours of the morning, I had a dream about him. I dreamt that I was hearing him calling me from the depth of a well saying, “I have fallen into a well, and I don’t know how to get out.” In the dream, horrified, I looked down the well realizing how deep it was I thought, “Oh my God, this time I cannot help him.” I woke up in horror. I was so relieved to realize that it was just a dream. But three weeks later what I felt in the dream became a reality, and there was no waking up. <br /><br />Soudi, my sister who is nine years older than me and is Firuz’s mother, lives in Iran with her husband. I am the closest person to Firuz in the US, and he has always come to me in times of trouble. So this time also I was the person he called from the emergency room, and the person he continued talking to as things unfolded. The emotions he felt ranged from horror to devastation, depression, anger and despair. I felt all those emotions along with him. I felt his pain and was angry at God for testing him so severely, feeling helpless just like my dream; I tried to be there for him. I kept telling him that I love him, and that I’m here for him. Between me, his sister and his dad’s sister, we made sure that someone could be with him at all times. He had 4 operations in the span of two weeks. His days were filled with agony and pain, and my days were filled with the thought of his agony and pain. <br /><br />When Firuz was first diagnosed with cancer, advanced stage three Lymphoma, his initial reaction was that he wanted to die and didn’t want to fight it. His compassionate oncologist is credited with igniting in him hope and optimism. A week after his diagnosis Firuz decided that he needed to tell his parents in Iran that he had cancer. He first told my sister Azi, his aunt, in Iran via a painful and emotional phone call. Then he called me and said that he didn’t have the heart to tell his parents, and he wanted me to tell them. We arranged for me to call them on Friday afternoon at about 4 PM Iran time, which would be 5:30 AM Friday morning Mountain Standard Time in the US. We asked that my sister Azi be present at Soudi’s house when I call. On Thursday I pretty much cried all day at work. I just couldn’t stop the tears. I didn’t know how to break the news to my sister Soudi. How was I going to tell her that her young son had advanced cancer? I wasn’t able to sleep that night. I tossed and turned and went over what I was going to say over and over in my head. I wondered about my sister’s reaction when I would tell her. At 5:30 Friday morning, I got up, said a prayer and dialed Soudi’s number knowing that what I had to say to her would devastate her and change her life. I already could feel the pain that was going to be inflected on my sweet and loving sister. The phone rang and Soudi answered the phone. I said hello. I could hear the anxiety in her voice as she spoke. She knew something was wrong, otherwise why I would call her at 5:30 in the morning. She immediately asked, “Is Firuz OK?”…….To be continued.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500142691724484951.post-56083214378370008592010-08-08T21:21:00.000-07:002010-08-08T21:25:30.993-07:00I'll write soonA lot has happened in the last 3 weeks. I have not had time to write. I will post something within the next week.Soheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505473115191059200noreply@blogger.com1