We were throwing a congratulatory lunch party for a colleague (AA) who is leaving to Hawaii tomorrow to get married by the end of the next week. I was sitting at the table with another colleague (VM) who is originally from Iraq. We started chatting and I was trying to memorize some Spanish phrases he was trying to teach me(he speaks Spanish); then one thing led to another and finally I found myself telling him about my dream (actually nightmare) last night.
When I woke up I found my whole body aching and all my muscles tense. In my dream there were military planes dropping bombs on the city I was in. I had experienced similar events in real life, being in Iran during the 80s, only I was a kid back then and in my dream last night I was the mom I am, trying to find a shelter for my A! I was then remembering my parents, and all those staying in Iran during the bombardment days and weeks and months, sleeping in the basement, the whole family, and listening to my father telling "Nokhodi"'s stories, and me listening to the sound of the military planes, the sound of the bombs exploding somewhere, and then thinking about my classmate who was crying in the school shelter that same day when the siren invited us all there, then imagining the cry of a baby were the bomb hit and scream of mothers and fathers. I was afraid of the lizards too, who resided in the basement. We were kids. Pure kids. And they were mothers and fathers. Sheltering us under the roof they shared with us. One for all and all for one? Was that the motto? I am amazed how they and we survived all that. And I was telling VM, an Iraqi, about this all ...
VM's life is really like a story itself I should tell you bits and pieces I know in another post may be, God willing.
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