IRQR - Iranian Railroad for Queer Refugees (www.irqr.net --- info@irqr.net)

Dull Window and Nurses in their damned white attire (November 3, 08)

By Shar M, An Iranian Lesbian asylum seeker in Sweden

(IRQR: We received a thank letter from Shar in Persian for YOU who supporting her (you can read more information about Shar here: http://www.irqr.net/English/159.htm). This is the translation of her letter by Alex.)

Looking at discouraging walls and their cold attitude beside my bed…

Why every time that I open my eyes to that dull windows, I have to face a nurse in damn white attire…

She is bringing the medicine box again... asking me if I still don’t want to have any visitor. I stare at her, wishing she never came back again. Do not want to argue… just drop the meds and leave me alone... that is all I want.

My cell phone again, new missed call, 10…11… who cares! In this dark cloudy sky at Stockholm, who cares about you? Who cares if your love is a woman and your same sex or you are just a person who call herself a “Normal”! Who cares if you go or stay? Honestly, no one!

Try to hide myself in a shity blanket… everything goes around my head… It’s 30 minutes that she’s gone. I guess even the medicines are not effective anymore. Can feel the cold sweat all over my body… want to vomit… world goes around.

Hey, I can hear the sound of Setar playing (a Persian musical instrument)…yes… I can hear it, it’s Parisa’s Setar which is playing… Parisa… Parisa… is that you?

I’m so frightened… somebody is holding my hands… you damn nurse again… I can’t resist. Start to cry, and cry... was waiting for this moment for such a long time... let me go… let me go… I have to die tonight... I just want to go... start to feel numb… more and even more.

Open my eyes again. Watching the ceiling. Where am I?! My headaches again…what time is it? It is dark outside… another night perhaps…pick up a poetry book by Akhavan Saless,

“Your greetings they'll ignore.
With their heads resting on their chests,
They seek warmth from their breasts,
None affords to lift a head to greet the guests.

Vision is limited,
The road's dark and slick.
Your extended friendly hand is refused,
Not because they are confused;
They rather keep their hands where they are warmed.
It is frightfully cold. Do not be alarmed.” (translated by Iraj Bashiri)

My phone is ringing… hello?

It was Arsham Parsi, asking me how I feel today. He was worried. I could feel it in his voice. My phone again… hello? It’s him again. Saying his friends going to drop by for a visit if it’s fine with me… I’ll accept… calling the nurse and telling her I want to see my visitors this time.

Days are passing. Many called… came over… we talked… didn’t know them at all… their voice was that supportive and friendly like you have knowing them for such a long time. But still waiting for a call from someone who we shared something special together.

Arsham use to call every time. Feel more confident to know there are some people in another corner of the world who care about you and your feelings. I owe them a lot.

It’s been few days that I’m dismissed from the hospital. Weather is still cold and I can hear the sound of Parisa’s Setar being played all around… hope I can hear something from her soon… can’t wait...

And the end I would like to thank Arsham Parsi who followed up every step of these crises that I have been through, even being busy by dedicating his time and his life to help people like me. And also thank all of my friends and my new family… near or far… for your calling and supports.