National 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
A First Impression
As 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Calamity (Part 2)
Continuation of the previous piece:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Calamity (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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
I'll write soon
A lot has happened in the last 3 weeks. I have not had time to write. I will post something within the next week.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Intruder
It was about 10 o’clock at night. I was in my bedroom sitting on my bed, which was by the window. The shade was down. I was studying. Suddenly, I heard someone trying to open the window from outside. He was shaking the window. In one instant, my body was covered with sweat, and I froze in fear. I could still hear the man struggle to open the window when I got up and went to the kitchen and picked up a kitchen knife. I turned on all the lights so that the intruder would know that I have been alarmed and may also think that someone else was in the apartment with me, although I knew that he knew that I was alone.
With the kitchen knife in my hand, I decided to call the emergency number. I was so nervous that instead of dialing 911 I kept dialing 119 and couldn’t register that it was the wrong number. After a couple of tries, frantically, I called my friends’ house and in a shaky voice told them that someone was trying to get into my apartment, and I don’t seem to dial the right number for emergency. They told me to make sure and dial 911 and that they would be there as soon as they could. By this time, the noise had stopped, and I was worried that the intruder was already in the apartment or was trying to get in another way. I looked around me in horror and called 911. I was relieved to hear a person’s voice. Stuttering, I told her that someone was trying to get into my apartment and that he had tried to open the window. She, calmly, said, “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?” I said, “No, I heard him. He was trying to get in through my bedroom window. I’m not imagining things.” Hesitatingly, the woman got my address. I pleaded with her to send someone to my apartment, since by the tone of her voice, I could tell that she didn’t believe me. I hung up totally baffled at the reaction of the 911 operator. I could be raped and killed, and she didn’t care. With the knife in my hand, I started to pray. I didn’t hear any more noises, but it took about 20 minutes for two police officers to arrive. I was wondering why it took them so long. I lived in a small town and less than two miles from the police station. I was relieved to see them when they finally arrived. Two minutes later, my friends Sima and Shahram arrived. The police examined the area outside by the window. There were huge footprints there. They were very visible since it had rained the night before and the area by the bedroom window was muddy. Fortunately, the window of my bedroom was a storm window. It had two layers of glass with a screen in the middle. The outer window had been unlocked and was wide open. The screen was torn, pulled out and thrown on the grass. The third window was still locked. The intruder unable to open the second window had given up probably because he knew that he had lost his window of time for getting in. I felt extremely lucky that the second window was so difficult to open from outside.
I knew I could no longer stay in that apartment. Living there had been difficult for the past six months. I knew someone was stalking me. I had seen him. One winter night when I came home at about 8:00, as I was entering the apartment, I saw a man about six feet tall with a big build wearing a jacket with a hood standing about 20 yards away looking at me. Since it was dark I couldn’t see his face. He stood there and watched me unlock the apartment door and get in. I was scared. I, quickly, got in and locked the door. Shortly after that incident, every night as soon as I would come in to my apartment the phone would ring. I would pick it up and say hello, and I could only hear someone breathing on the other end. I would hang up and a second later the phone would ring, again I would say hello and he would say nothing. This went on for weeks. During that time, I was always scared of being alone at home. I talked to the manager of my apartment complex and also to the police, but nothing could be done. No one had seen anything, and no crime was committed. At the time, I was 20 years old and a college student, and that was the only place I could afford to live. The apartment complex was in a terrible neighborhood. I saw police cars in my neighborhood quite often. Some of my neighbors were drug addicts and one was arrested for selling stolen merchandise. All the men looked at me with hungry eyes and were vocal about what they wanted from me. I knew I had to find another place to live, but I hadn’t found anything I could afford. It was at about that time that I started to have difficulty sleeping. I used to be able to sleep through anything. Before that time, I remember when I was sleeping, and the phone would ring next to my ear, I would barely wake up. But during those few months, I was always scared at home. I made sure that the door and all the windows were locked at all times and all the shades were down. At night, I slept with so much anxiety that the movement of the leaves of the trees outside by a gentle breeze would awaken me. I would get up to make sure there was no one in my room. The smallest noise would make me jump and in the darkest hours of the night I couldn’t sleep.
After that night, I spent the next few weeks at the homes of different friends sleeping on the floor or the sofa. The spring semester ended and I moved to Maryland for the summer to work for my brother. I moved to a different place when I came back to school in the fall. Living in fear for those few months, and the experience of that night had a lasting effect on me. I have not been able to sleep deeply since then and I wake up with the smallest noise.
Another consequence of that night was the recurrence of a nightmare that haunted me for many years. The nightmare was always the same. I was walking alone in the middle of the night in a city, which was abandoned. There was no one in the city. As I was walking I would always notice that there was a tall man with a limp following me. I would start to run, and he would start to run. I would always tell myself, he is a tall man, but he has a limp maybe he won’t catch up with me. But as I was running, I would see him get closer to me. I would try to lose him and hide in a building, but he was always behind me. I would find a staircase and run up the stairs, he would follow me and get closer to me. Finally, as I was running up the stairs he would get really close, stretch out his arm and grab me. At that moment, I would always wake up breathless. My heart would be beating fast and I would be covered with sweat. I would lay in bed terrified telling myself that it was a dream and no one was going to hurt me, but that didn’t help much. I could not shake off the fear and the thought that someone might be in the house. It always took me a while to go back to asleep.
I had this recurring dream every 3 to 4 months for nearly 16 years. While I was married to my ex-husband Jason every time I had this dream I would wake up in fear like always. Then I would stretch out my arm and touch Jason. When I was reassured that he was laying next to me, I would feel better. After a few years of sleeping next to Jason the nightmares didn’t scare me as much, and I finally stopped having them.
With the kitchen knife in my hand, I decided to call the emergency number. I was so nervous that instead of dialing 911 I kept dialing 119 and couldn’t register that it was the wrong number. After a couple of tries, frantically, I called my friends’ house and in a shaky voice told them that someone was trying to get into my apartment, and I don’t seem to dial the right number for emergency. They told me to make sure and dial 911 and that they would be there as soon as they could. By this time, the noise had stopped, and I was worried that the intruder was already in the apartment or was trying to get in another way. I looked around me in horror and called 911. I was relieved to hear a person’s voice. Stuttering, I told her that someone was trying to get into my apartment and that he had tried to open the window. She, calmly, said, “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?” I said, “No, I heard him. He was trying to get in through my bedroom window. I’m not imagining things.” Hesitatingly, the woman got my address. I pleaded with her to send someone to my apartment, since by the tone of her voice, I could tell that she didn’t believe me. I hung up totally baffled at the reaction of the 911 operator. I could be raped and killed, and she didn’t care. With the knife in my hand, I started to pray. I didn’t hear any more noises, but it took about 20 minutes for two police officers to arrive. I was wondering why it took them so long. I lived in a small town and less than two miles from the police station. I was relieved to see them when they finally arrived. Two minutes later, my friends Sima and Shahram arrived. The police examined the area outside by the window. There were huge footprints there. They were very visible since it had rained the night before and the area by the bedroom window was muddy. Fortunately, the window of my bedroom was a storm window. It had two layers of glass with a screen in the middle. The outer window had been unlocked and was wide open. The screen was torn, pulled out and thrown on the grass. The third window was still locked. The intruder unable to open the second window had given up probably because he knew that he had lost his window of time for getting in. I felt extremely lucky that the second window was so difficult to open from outside.
I knew I could no longer stay in that apartment. Living there had been difficult for the past six months. I knew someone was stalking me. I had seen him. One winter night when I came home at about 8:00, as I was entering the apartment, I saw a man about six feet tall with a big build wearing a jacket with a hood standing about 20 yards away looking at me. Since it was dark I couldn’t see his face. He stood there and watched me unlock the apartment door and get in. I was scared. I, quickly, got in and locked the door. Shortly after that incident, every night as soon as I would come in to my apartment the phone would ring. I would pick it up and say hello, and I could only hear someone breathing on the other end. I would hang up and a second later the phone would ring, again I would say hello and he would say nothing. This went on for weeks. During that time, I was always scared of being alone at home. I talked to the manager of my apartment complex and also to the police, but nothing could be done. No one had seen anything, and no crime was committed. At the time, I was 20 years old and a college student, and that was the only place I could afford to live. The apartment complex was in a terrible neighborhood. I saw police cars in my neighborhood quite often. Some of my neighbors were drug addicts and one was arrested for selling stolen merchandise. All the men looked at me with hungry eyes and were vocal about what they wanted from me. I knew I had to find another place to live, but I hadn’t found anything I could afford. It was at about that time that I started to have difficulty sleeping. I used to be able to sleep through anything. Before that time, I remember when I was sleeping, and the phone would ring next to my ear, I would barely wake up. But during those few months, I was always scared at home. I made sure that the door and all the windows were locked at all times and all the shades were down. At night, I slept with so much anxiety that the movement of the leaves of the trees outside by a gentle breeze would awaken me. I would get up to make sure there was no one in my room. The smallest noise would make me jump and in the darkest hours of the night I couldn’t sleep.
After that night, I spent the next few weeks at the homes of different friends sleeping on the floor or the sofa. The spring semester ended and I moved to Maryland for the summer to work for my brother. I moved to a different place when I came back to school in the fall. Living in fear for those few months, and the experience of that night had a lasting effect on me. I have not been able to sleep deeply since then and I wake up with the smallest noise.
Another consequence of that night was the recurrence of a nightmare that haunted me for many years. The nightmare was always the same. I was walking alone in the middle of the night in a city, which was abandoned. There was no one in the city. As I was walking I would always notice that there was a tall man with a limp following me. I would start to run, and he would start to run. I would always tell myself, he is a tall man, but he has a limp maybe he won’t catch up with me. But as I was running, I would see him get closer to me. I would try to lose him and hide in a building, but he was always behind me. I would find a staircase and run up the stairs, he would follow me and get closer to me. Finally, as I was running up the stairs he would get really close, stretch out his arm and grab me. At that moment, I would always wake up breathless. My heart would be beating fast and I would be covered with sweat. I would lay in bed terrified telling myself that it was a dream and no one was going to hurt me, but that didn’t help much. I could not shake off the fear and the thought that someone might be in the house. It always took me a while to go back to asleep.
I had this recurring dream every 3 to 4 months for nearly 16 years. While I was married to my ex-husband Jason every time I had this dream I would wake up in fear like always. Then I would stretch out my arm and touch Jason. When I was reassured that he was laying next to me, I would feel better. After a few years of sleeping next to Jason the nightmares didn’t scare me as much, and I finally stopped having them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
