Reza Baastani, Iran, HONOURABLE MENTION
I was helping my friend who was selling her household items before migrating; most of them were sold within a week. When we handed over the house key to the owner, I took a last look. Sunlight shone through the windows into the house. I remembered some time ago we had wanted to make a film in that house and were looking for good sunlight hours. I looked at the clock. At around four o’clock in the afternoon in September, the house on Sanaii Street had a very beautiful light.
My friend left. The day after she left, they said there was going to be a war. We did not take it seriously because we were used to it. Then it became more serious. We saw them shoot missiles and show each other teeth. I thought of leaving Tehran. Although it is not possible to leave forever, it is possible for a few days. I drove north and reached Anzali port at night. In the morning, I stopped somewhere to eat something. I saw a small fruit shop that seemed to have good yellow apples. I like autumn yellow apples. They are not puffy, are slightly sour, and have a firm skin. I went to buy some. I chose a few from the tray outside the shop and went inside to pay.
A middle-aged man was sitting still behind a desk. The wall behind him was full of clocks. Wall clocks with different colors and designs, none of which worked. I looked at the other walls. They were also full. None of the hands moved. I thought that now that I was watching so carefully, the fruit seller would give an explanation. He didn’t say anything. I thought maybe he had been asked so many times that he was tired of explaining it. I thought not to ask. I bought the apples and went to have breakfast.
Ever since I can remember, the departure of people around us has been an inseparable part of my memories. Most of the people around us are busy leaving. Most of my friends are far from here today. Earlier, when we were going to make a video call, I would add my friend’s city on my phone’s clock so that I would know what time it was there. Over time, the number of cities on my phone’s clock increased. I don’t like calls. I don’t know if you can tell if someone is happy or not from his voice or his face during a call. I don’t add clocks anymore.
Collective struggles bring hope. I was born during the 1999 student uprising; I went to school during the Green Movement of 2009, and I was a university student in the bloody November 2018 one. When I look at each of them, I see hope, anger and hope in each failure and in each disappointment. Statistics show that the annual number of immigrants from Iran multiplies after each failed uprising. I would like no one to leave. All stay.
Two years ago, after the killing of Mahsa Amini, a wave of protests started in Iran, and this wave soon turned into a revolutionary movement. Protest rallies were held every day in different places in Iran. Workers and students were on strike. Mobile phones were full of video clips of the protests. In the streets every night, you saw people trying to recapture the figures they saw in the videos by repeating them until they could feel for a moment, similar to that image. They stand on trash cans, take off their mandatory hijab and chant, or tie their hair tightly on top of their heads like another clip, like another image. People gathered, lit a fire, chanted, and then danced. It was as if we were in the Spring of Freedom before the victory. I don’t know. Every night in any neighborhood you were in, you could hear the sound coming from the windows. People shouted with all their anger and hope.
But our friends were arrested. Many people lost their eyes due to being hit by bullets. Many were killed. A year has passed. Everywhere was quiet. Did we fail? I don’t know. Everything had changed. We were trying to think that we have won since nowadays most women choose their clothing of their own free will. I think we were lying to ourselves because the street was full of police arresting girls whose clothes they didn’t like. A friend’s bank card was blocked because they did not wear a scarf. Where is this victory?
We found another cinema. We started making films freely. Everyone made what they liked. Had we won? I don’t know. They called us one by one and wanted us to explain why and how we made these films without permits. You couldn’t tell what they looked like or how they thought from their voices on the phone. They were angry and trying to appear scary.
I was expelled from the university. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t go back, and I was desperate to finish my education. I had to go to military service for two years. I didn’t go. I don’t like it. I feel that people become bad after military service. I did not go, so I don’t have a passport. Before this, I never wanted to be outside Iran. I still do not like it; But since I know that I can’t leave even if I want to, I feel like I’m trapped in a big prison. Selfishly, I would like no one to leave. All stay.
After the movement, a new wave of immigration began. People were disappointed again and decided to leave together. During 2024, I was thinking about our selves.
Our selves, which are diminishing till we are finished. I don’t know what will be left of us as a sign that we lived here once.
After I had breakfast, I found I couldn’t stand it. I went to the fruit seller and asked about the clocks. His son had migrated fifteen years ago. “The day he left, I came back and took out the battery of my store clock. I wanted never to forget the time he left. The following week, an acquaintance whose brother had migrated brought a watch and left it here. During these years, every person who has stayed but seen his child, brother and sister, friend, neighbour, or colleague leaving, has brought a clock and fixed it on the time of his loved one’s departure. These are the moments when a part of our life stood still,” he said.
I wish I could put a clock on the wall of my friend’s house. I would like no one to leave. All stay.
