I was living a shallow dream

I have been a lucky person my whole life and never really had major tragedies. I left Iran long before the Islamic revolution and grew up in the U.S. When the Shah was overthrown, I was too busy getting ready for college. My family never talked about it much and I didn’t think much of it. Ten years ago when there was a student uprising in Iran and many were killed, I had a new job in a new industry and was too busy learning the ropes to pay much attention to what had happened. But recently as I watched the images of what had happened then, I realized I was living in a shallow dream.

In June and July of this year, many Iranians were killed. I saw their faces all over my television set and on the internet. I have never felt death until now. I have never seen such suffering with my own eyes. I have never seen such courage up until now. Sure, I have read and heard about it and I have seen it in movies, but I have never felt something so real and so close to home. I feel the pain of all Iranians as if it were my pain and the naïve and carefree girl inside of me has departed forever. I will always remember June of 2009 as the beginning of one of the darkest times in my life and the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I am half American. No, I am not half American by blood but I am half American in essence because The United States is where I grew up for the majority of my life. And I know that Iran does not recognize dual citizenships, but you see, I cannot separate the Iranian and the American in me. They both blend in in a silent harmony.