In 1977, my father left his home in Tehran for Montréal, Canada. Iran is a time warp for many Iranians who left before the revolution, and even for many who have been able to return. This isn't a political, religious, or cultural statement. It's a statement for humanity, for others to understand and reflect on the loss of time that people like my father face with their countries of origin. Iran for my dad is his first crush in her backless dress at a teenage party, Iran is beehive black hair and knee length cupcake dresses, Iran is a luxurious vacation, its roads lined with flowers. Iran is my father's neighbors, Bahaii, Zoroastrian, Shiaa, Christians, Jews all harmoniously coexisting. Iran is hospitality until argument, three times and then you accept. Iran is fresh noon and lavash, the scent traveling through alley ways, finding its way to your sombol filled courtyard. Iran is poetry so intricate you need to digest it with chaii.
Iran is my father's memory that I will vicariously live through. Iran was his.
|| "Vaqt" || pc: @sanjidawesome || creative direction: @ dad || bottle: @galleryeshgh || 2nd pic is my grandparents' wedding ||