Almost every day, there was fighting and violence at our house. From the moment I opened my eyes, I grew up surrounded by yelling, fear, and chaos. There’s one scene I’ll never forget—
I was six years old, on the way to northern Iran, driving through the Kandovan tunnel, when their fight got out of control and my mom jumped out of the car—right there, in the middle of the tunnel.
When we got home, after all the psychological attacks my dad had thrown at her, my mom smashed every dish in the display cabinet.
These aren’t just random memories—my entire childhood was filled with these moments. Every day, every night. Then, just a few days later, as if nothing had happened, they’d sleep together.
My dad would kick my mom out of the house a hundred times a day, but they always hid this war zone from everyone.
You can’t say this only affected one of the kids—unless the other one was a total idiot.
There was nowhere I could talk about it. Not at school, not anywhere.
No one wanted to listen.
This was what it was called: the filth of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
I told my dad many times,
“man, have you ever thought about your kids?”
And he shamelessly replied,
“It’s all your imagination.”
Imaginations that the whole family, neighbors, and everyone else saw with their own eyes.
He scared my mom away from getting therapy. Wouldn’t let her get help. Wouldn’t let her be saved.
And now one thing is clear to me:
In the future of Iran, this hell must never, ever happen again—not even once, not even to one more child.
every day, there was fighting and violence at our house. From the moment I opened my eyes, I grew up surrounded by yelling, fear, and chaos. There’s one scene I’ll never forget—
I was six years old, on the way to northern Iran, driving through the Kandovan tunnel, when their fight got out of control and my mom jumped out of the car—right there, in the middle of the tunnel.
When we got home, after all the psychological attacks my dad had thrown at her, my mom smashed every dish in the display cabinet.
These aren’t just random memories—my entire childhood was filled with these moments. Every day, every night. Then, just a few days later, as if nothing had happened, they’d sleep together.
My dad would kick my mom out of the house a hundred times a day, but they always hid this war zone from everyone.
You can’t say this only affected one of the kids—unless the other one was a total idiot.
There was nowhere I could talk about it. Not at school, not anywhere.
No one wanted to listen.
This was what it was called: the filth of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
I told my dad many times,
“Man, have you ever thought about your kids?”
And he shamelessly replied,
“It’s all your imagination.”
Imaginations that the whole family, neighbors, and everyone else saw with their own eyes.
He scared my mom away from getting therapy. Wouldn’t let her get help. Wouldn’t let her be saved.
And now one thing is clear to me:
In the future of Iran, this hell must never, ever happen again—not even once, not even to one more child.
Persian Translation:
تقریباً هر روز خونهی ما دعوا و کتککاری بود. از وقتی چشم باز کردم، با داد و فریاد و ترس بزرگ شدم. یه صحنه هیچوقت از ذهنم پاک نمیشه—شش سالم بود، تو راه شمال، زیر تونل کندوان، دعواشون بالا گرفت و مامانم، درست وسط تونل، از ماشین پرید پایین.
وقتی رسیدیم خونه، بهخاطر اون حملههای روانیای که بابام بهش کرده بود، مامان زد و همهی ظرفای ویترین رو خرد کرد.
اینا یه سری خاطرهی تک و توک نیستن؛ بچگیِ من با این چیزا پر شده بود. هر روز، هر شب. بعدم خیلی ریلکس، چند روز بعد، انگار نه انگار، با هم میخوابیدن.
بابام روزی صد بار مامانم رو از خونه بیرون میکرد، اما این میدون جنگ رو از همه پنهون میکردن.
این چیزا رو نمیتونی بگی فقط روی یه بچه تأثیر گذاشته، مگه اینکه اون یکی گلابی بوده باشه.
نه تو مدرسه، نه هیچ جای دیگه، جایی نبود که بتونم حرف بزنم. هیچکس نبود که بخواد گوش بده.
اینجا اسمش بود: کثافت جمهوری اسلامی ایران.
چند بار به پدرم گفتم:
“مرد حسابی، یه لحظه به بچههات فکر کردی؟”
با وقاحت جواب میداد: “همهش تخیلاتته.”
تخیلی که کل فامیل و همسایه با چشم دیدنش.
مامان رو از درمان میترسوند. نمیذاشت نجات پیدا کنه.
و حالا فقط یه چیز واضحه:
تو آیندهی ایران، این جهنم نباید حتی یه بار دیگه، برای حتی یه بچهی دیگه تکرار بشه.
shirin bolourchi 