Dear mum

Iran is incredible. The landscapes are breathtaking, the land so old.

The history, wow, the history goes back to the times of Dariush and I can see it through the development of the architecture, colorful as the sky, nostalgic as a sunset, unique as a sunrise.

I feel safe and welcomed. If you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry. I decided not to buy a SIM CARD. I don't need it. People call me from the streets, offer me a lunch, host me for the night. I haven't slept in the tent once, nor in a hostel.

These people, the heart of Persia. From Arash to Ehsan, the hospitality is every day a new surprise.

I met teenagers that know more about movies than people after a master's in cinema.

I spoke about nieatzche and Foucault with a taxi driver, I met poets in the most humble houses and even in the smallest villages in the mountains I heard people declaming old literature.

I met families families who are not scared to help a stranger, who comes from the road, full of dust, with just 1 bicycle and 3 t shirts.

They were not scared to share their meals, to open their houses, to offer their carpets to sleep.

I met the revolution, and it has the face of women who are not scared to fight for freedom. You know, mum, they remind me of you.

Dear mum

Once again I write to you in the dark.

The same dark that hides the afghan girls every morning, while they walk to school. They can't study, still, they escape their prisons to get private lessons before sunrise. They wake up at 4 and are at home at 7, then they start reading literature from countries far away.

I have been scared, these days. And I am sorry if you are hearing these stories just now first the first time; I didn't want to scare you.

the first night during the hazara festival, some fights started against the talebans. I was watching the sky from the house when I heard the shots.

That dark sea full if light turned red, and some stars fell to earth, weeping in tribute to two young lives lost.

It was so close to me, mum, the death. Just A couple of streets ahead.

I have been thinking about our lives, in the western world.

What are we doing? Chasing a status that allows to pay for needs that we, humans, have never had.

We lost any spirituality, we believe in money.

In a corner of the world scarred by war,

I found determination, adaptability, depth.

But also an open door or a cup of tea already waiting.

I found a sense of community far greater than the individual,

than personal achievement.

I found a sense of community that goes beyond gunfire,

that goes beyond the interrogation by al qawda amd the talebms in which I was suspected of being an american spy.

I found a community called the world.

And to truly live it, all I need are the clothes I am wearing and a dream to chase