I will participate in the demonstrations tomorrow. Maybe they will turn violent. Maybe I will be one of the people who is going to get killed. I'm listening to all my favorite music. I even want to dance to a few songs. I always wanted to have very narrow eyebrows. Yes, maybe I will go to the salon before I go tomorrow! There are a few great movie scenes that I also have to see. I should drop by the library, too. It's worth to read the poems of Forough and Shamloo again. All family pictures have to be reviewed, too. I have to call my friends as well to say goodbye. All I have are two bookshelves which I told my family who should receive them. I'm two units away from getting my bachelors degree but who cares about that. My mind is very chaotic. I wrote these random sentences for the next generation so they know we were not just emotional and under peer pressure. So they know that we did everything we could to create a better future for them. So they know that our ancestors urrendered to Arabs and Mongols but did not surrender to despotism. This note is dedicated to tomorrow's children... (translated at http://niacblog.wordpress.com/2009/06/19/live-blogging-fridays-events-in-iran/)
I feel so helpless, and yet a sense of great solidarity. This young lady knows what she faces tomorrow. I wish I could protect her, support her, something. I read the blogs vociferously. I open YouTube videos, more than I have time to watch, in all these windows at once. Hoping, against hope that the ayatollahs will see that millions of people are watching, know the world is watching, and not do this horrible thing they do.
And my life seems so trivial in comparison. My dad has moved in with me. I'm taking good care of him. I've been obnoxious enough (and his condition is serious enough) that things keep getting pushed up. I'm scared for him. There may be microscopic cancer in his lungs already. I watch from afar, unable to do anything constructive. As I download YouTube videos for Iran, which I know is a meaningless gesture, I make pots of tea and salads and organic brown rice and lentils for my dad, which is another meaningless gesture. I can no longer stop the possible cancer in my dad's lungs than I can stop the possible massacre in Iraq tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day for Iran. 6 months will decide for my dad. Maybe my heart is breaking for Iran so it doesn't break quite so much for my dad. I feel helpless on all fronts.
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