I wish I never had to go through these bitter memories.
But when the anniversary of one event arrives, the memories, no doubt, like dewdrops on the leaves at night, suddenly appear in the mind of the person.
These days are the anniversary of violent protests in February ,2010 in Iran when demonstrators took streets to condemn rig the presidential election. As I think about those times, a heavy pain weighs on my heart, like a blunt dagger trying hard to cut the surface, unsuccessfully…
In those days, I was a completely religious, veiled girl and a university student. I was alone in Tehran, the capital, living in the dormitory. After the election fraud and the beginning of street protests, large crowds took to the streets in various cities, especially Tehran, and the voice of protest was raised from all over with a very persistent type of youth like me.
The events of that day affected me, as I was in the middle of chaos all alone, you might say scarred me for life.
I was at the University all morning, then I decided to join the demonstration in the afternoon. I asked some of my classmates to accompany me, no one but two girls accepted the invitation. One of the boys said to me: “We will be beaten to death!”
I accused him of acting cowardly, as I marched out of there with two other girls.
I still remember those exciting and green demonstrations. We used to call ourselves the "Green Movement" and wore green bracelets and green headbands as a sign of peace and would chant the slogans of reform.
The march had a predetermined route and a huge crowd was moving regularly and silently. The march was silent and peaceful. There was still no sign of the military armed forces of any kind, just yet!
While we moved forward, the sound of gunfire, the roar of the guard's motorcycles, and the sight of plainclothes forces getting close frightened some people. My friends, who were two defenseless girls, told me: “Let’s not go any further! It is too dangerous! Let’s just go back!”
I said: “What do you mean? We just came!! We have to stick together.”
My head was full of thrilling ideologies of reform, resistance, and solidarity.
Frightened, the two looked at me anxiously, wished me luck, and left.
And I continued marching along with a group of demonstrators who were not yet ready to leave the scene. A group of young people who I didn’t know any of them.
There was still a large crowd on the streets, however, as we continued our way, the scene changed rather quickly, as screams, explosions, tear gas, and the hail of bullets dispersed the crowd suddenly.
Everyone ran to a corner. A man shouted running the opposite way: “The special guards have come! Escape! They are armed!”
To be continued …