Making sense of all the things that are happening in the world is just hard. For me, the harder part is facing all that is happening here in Tehran.

As I’m writing this, we are in the middle of a sad war. I always knew this was coming, but I just tried to silence my mind, to be calm, to ignore all the signs—and yet, with all of that effort, I could not.

It was obvious from so many years ago. The economy collapsed, and it was obvious. I saw the rich shops closing, then the middle-class shops, then others one after the other. How people got poor—and it was horrible. I saw how, one by one, things in my life became harder and harder to buy, and then at the end, impossible to have. I hated everything about that.

Somewhere in me, I started to believe that my life was about to end. I felt like there was a temporary space in time where I am safe, where I can make money, and then it will end.

When the global pandemic broke out, I was convinced that this is it—that the world is about to end somehow. But then it didn’t; we survived. That survival, however, wasn’t easy. Much of what I loved got destroyed. And then they killed Mahsa, and all the nightmare days of the Zan Zendegi Azadi movement started. It was a nightmare to live inside of. I hated everything about Iran and wished I was dead. To me, only surviving because of my loved ones was a thing—nothing else.

I lived these past years believing that this is all temporary, that everything that I make is going to be destroyed soon.

My honest belief was disbelief. I just thought that I have to live day by day and don’t think about the non-existing future. I was nervously buying much of the things that I had wished to have. I wanted to have the calm of knowing I have experienced these things in life.

Over the years, however, things changed. I started to create a life for myself, and later, together with Zea, it became our lives. But I was living something temporary—something destined for ruin and oblivion.

So my life changed. I started to go to therapy again and discovered how much my path is a danger to me, how unstable everything about me is, how much I should change.

When my last job ended, I was happy. I felt like I needed a refresh. I needed to find meaning and routine for my life. When I got this new job, I was so happy. I felt like there is huge hope here, residing in all of this—hope for a better day. I thought that finally I have gotten the chance to do something meaningful, to go back to being an effective member of this society. But then the last week happened.

And what a week it was.

When I had gone back to therapy, I saw this frame on the wall. On it, there was this text written:

For me, this was huge. I thought: maybe that is right. Maybe that is how it really is. I really didn’t want to think otherwise. I tried a lot and tried a lot to get out of that thinking. In the past week, much changed for me—so much changed.

To me, the start of the past week was good. For the first time in many years, I went to work in an office with some of the best and brightest people in this country. I was so happy. In the nights, when I tried to come back home, I didn’t feel bad—I felt happy. I could hug Zea and be super happy about my life.

When I didn’t have the keys to the office, my new lovely colleagues invited me to the HQ. I was so happy that day. I was introduced to all of these amazing people doing all of these amazing things. I felt so happy to be a part of this.

Then I thought to myself, oh boy, things are really changing. Then I went to my Dad’s birthday, surrounded by his friends, eating fruits, drinking their nice wines, reading poetry to each other. It was so lovely—after all of these years, all of these bad days—that was an amazing day. After I thought I had discovered safety with Zea, meaning in work, and happy social parents, I was so happy.

And then today I’m writing this. Why? Because the rest of the week went as follows:

Nika and aunt Azin came to Tehran. We went out with them—me, my Mom, their mutual friend aunt Hanie, and her daughter. I saw my Mom with her friends just like I saw my Dad, and thought she is happy and content.

Then, at the end of the week, I went to my favorite stationery shop and saw high-quality, expensive things that I always had wished them to bring to their store—things that no longer could have been found in Iran. To me, this was amazing. I felt a sense that I had only felt last in my childhood. I was only wishing more and more to get my paycheck and go buy all of those things.

Yes, the world was not ending for sure. I felt this when I got to the new beautiful buses in the city.

And then the war happened.

I was in deep sleep when the ground shook. I woke up and heard the sounds “poof,” “poofy,” “poof.” I thought maybe that is the construction site nearby, but then there was no light. They were off—probably in deep sleep too. What happened was horrible. I felt incredibly stressed. I felt I could not sleep, I could not breathe, I felt heavy in my chest. I felt shocked. I remained in bed, remembered the past attacks, and felt this is war happening.

Minutes later, it happened again, and again.

It didn’t feel real till I saw our neighbors’ lights turning on. I rushed out of the room trying not to stress Zea out in her sleep. I opened Safari and went to CNN, only to discover: yes, this is a war by ██████. I could not breathe.

I sat there, motionless, talked to Tanya and my Mom. Then calls happened. I tried to calm down people while myself I was very afraid. What should I do? I didn’t know. So I went back trying to get some sleep, and then Mohammad—Zea’s cousin—called. He was extremely afraid for Zea’s safety, and so Zea woke up stressed and freaked out. I told her what had happened and she got even more stressed. We cried, freaked out, and then calmed down.

Zea had her university test, which she had so much tried for, had studied a lot for. She insisted that this is all like the previous time, where it will end and there is no reason to be afraid. I was angry that this is not okay and you should get out of here as soon as possible. I forced her to go back, went so far as to find her a ride, and for an hour she agreed. Then she canceled. We talked with friends and everyone. She was convinced that things are good. But then the sirens went on. We heard lots of those “poofs,” and our bellies felt ill.

We took shelter. We hugged each other. We cried so much. We were so sick and felt so horrible.

Do you know how war feels? I’m recently qualified to tell you just that. It feels like one of your dearest people has died. You feel horrible in your stomach. You feel more than afraid—it is like that feeling after an earthquake, that feeling that all of this might happen and will surely happen again. It feels like you no longer have any hope, and how much you feel helpless. You no longer have any feeling of hunger, and you never feel safe anywhere.

I hate that feeling.

I tried my best that night to sleep. I wanted to get some rest. I wanted Zea to be safe with her parents. I wanted to be with my parents, with my loved ones, and move them out. I pushed Zea to go back, and she finally did. I love that girl more than anything in the whole world, and I was just so happy to see her safe.

When she was going, we cried a lot, never knowing if that was the last hug, the last kiss, the last chance of looking at each other. It was a nightmare that I had for years coming into reality. I then went back home.

Back home, I understood we are out of gas. We are trapped in this house. Soon, the roads out of Tehran all got jammed and impossible to get out too.

We got trapped in here.

Wasn’t the world coming to an end?