Story time; so as most of you know my plan for 2019 was to visit Zeba Watan for the first time ever. After a lot of crying and convincing, a blast happened and all my effort of getting the brown parents approval went out of the window. I had already taken time off from work and was extremely annoyed so staying home with folks that wrecked my dream to visit the motherland was a no no. After very little brainstorming, I booked my trip to travel all across Iran, the country that id assumed would come the closest to ‘home’ (in all aspects that is)
I started my trip in Tehran, the least of my favorite Iranian cities, went to Mashhad (my all time favorite city), went to Kish (the island that looks like a cheaper version of Dubai but has a high security women’s beach😏) and made my way to the city of literature and art; Shiraz.. the plan was to continue to Kashan and Isfahan but let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be a Mursal Trip if I didn’t wreck my itinerary last minute now, would it? For some odd reason, my stubborn bum had gotten so mesmerized by Mashhad, the city of tranquility and peace, so I did what any person would do and promised myself to come back for Isfahan another time in the future; and made my way back to Mashhad..
Now when I think back of why it was that Mashhad had made its special place in my mushy little heart, I’d like to assume it’s because even my soul could feel that it had never been this close to “home”. I was only a shy 2h away from my Zeba Watan.. I can’t really explain to you what it did to my heart when I‘d walk past people and hear them speak Dari with the sweetest Harâti accent, or how I felt when I’d be called ‘HamShahri’ as I was strolling through Golshahr. A lady that I met on the city bus even told me that she had a little bit of sand from Kabul that she brought back with her because she missed home so much.. coming from a war torn country absolutely hurts, but seeing all the love we as ‘outsiders’ have for Home warms my heart.. Can’t wait to bow down on my own khâk one day bakhair ♥️