Since April 2008, when I settled with my family in Halifax, I visited my home country, Iran (in case you’d forgotten) four times. Christmas 2009, summer 2010, christmas 2011 and summer 2012. Each time, Tehran seemed a little more ruined, a little more dusty, a little more smoke-filled, a little more noisy than before. A bit more aggressive, a tad more  hostile.

It was only recently though, only a few weeks ago that I was able to clearly articulate, in conversation, that I actually don’t like Tehran. It’s not that I love Canada, or Halifax, or Dalhousie, I simply don’t like Tehran. Call it the government, the people, the religion, the culture, the traditions, the combination of all these, I simply don’t like my city of birth, and I wish never to live there, ever again, even though I may have to.

If only the Gentle Reader could appreciate how liberating it is for me to utter these treason-filled words!  For the myth that all Iranians subscribe to, no matter where they live and no matter how many years have passed since they set foot in Iran, is that we love the motherland. We all shout it fervently- we love Iran, yes, we hate the government, we’re not religious, hell no, we’re atheists, we’re drunk every night, we blaspheme every Friday, we dance naked in the streets, we spit on religion, but Iran, no. Iran we love. Iran is something else. Alas for Iran, devastated by the government, racked by fanatics! If it hadn’t been for the revolution and the mullahs, our wonderful land would have been paradise on earth. A warm Norway. A friendly Sweden. Amazing food! Amazing art! Brilliant people! Amazing! Fantastic!

Whatever. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t. I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know that in its present shape and form, I find Tehran (and I won’t speak to all of Iran, but how could it be better?) to be an unpleasant, wracked place, and if it hadn’t been for the inconvenient fact that my parents live there and won’t budge, I would gladly never ever go there again. As it is, I know that come  a few months or more, I’ll have to gather up my suitcases, my dollars and my children, and fly 24 hours round the globe to visit them, as our yearning for each other grows too strong to bear. But if they move, say, to Istanbul or Bangkok, I would joyfully visit them there, and never set foot in the cursed land of my ancestors, ever again.



  1. FoXy

    Brave and beautiful.

  2. Sarah

    It aroused my curiosity to know if you’re originally from Iran or have some other nationality. Based on your profile picture I can say you look like Afghans. And perhaps that’s why you talk about Iran and Iranians with utmost hatred. Poor thing.

    • thenewcomer

      And maybe if you judged people less based on their pictures, and more on what they say, you wouldn’t sound like such a stupid, prejudiced, ignorant old hag. You poor stupid old woman.

  3. Sarah

    I don’t have to reply though, but can’t help asking how do you know I’m an old hag?! I’m in my late twenties and the birth date in my email address is that of my beloved man. In place of abusing your “Gentle Readers” try to learn the skill of controlling your nerves. Anyway, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

  4. thenewcomer

    Your mentality is that of a racist, ignorant old hag. And I actually enjoy calling you names, you stupid bitch.

  5. Sarah

    What are you? Some kind of psycho? You seem not to be in your right mind. All those names you call me would suit you better. you DO look like a pretty Afghan woman, and I’m not being a racist merely because I called you to be one. What can’t you stop abusing for? It’s because I took you for an Afghan and you didn’t like it; the right one here to be called a racist is you. You don’t have to reply or publish my comment and if you feel like giving a reply, watch your language or it’s better to keep your gob shot. You ill-mannered psycho.

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