What I will Hang to the Wall of My Room till the Day I Live

A cartoon dedicated to my father, Siamak Pourzand, by the most prominent young cartoonist of Iran(my dear Mana Neyestani)published in Radio Zamaneh website. He has named it "Salvation".

Suicide

The last photo that I have of you...

Really? You threw yourself off the same window by which you stood everyday to imagine us come home to you? When I came to visit you for that short trip that was monitored by the intelligence service five years ago, you held my hand, took me to this same window, showed me an elementary school that was across the street and told me,” It’s a girl’s elementary school. Do you hear them play in the yard with their white scarves? My little Azadeh is still among them. You are still there, playing in the yard. I wake up every day and listen to their morning ceremony while imagining my little butterfly, Azi, among them.” Then, we both were silent and watching them play and scream in the yard. Then, you made me promise you to one day bring a baby to this world just will look just like me. You promised me to stay alive for as long as I get into Harvard, write our story and to start a beautiful family and bring a little cute grandchild to come and play with you so that you are not bored of solitude and house arrest anymore. Then, we started to laugh and I said, “Daddy, I will call my son Siamak.” And we both smiled. Then you said, “But now it’s too early to think about these things. I just want you to know that I cannot wait to see Ms. Azadeh’s little child one day and till that day, god willing, I will keep myself healthy until we reunite.

What happened, Siamak Pourzand? You promised me to wait at that same balcony. And then you could not wait anymore. I don’t blame you not even for one second. You had all the rights to seek freedom this way. Just know that the thought of your shattered head on that ground, your beautiful smile and all the things you have ever told me are both making me stay strong and die a hard death every second right now.

I heard you grabbed onto the edge of the balcony for a second before finally letting go. Is it because you were regretting having jumped down the balcony? Or is it because for a second, you thought you heard me knocking on the door? The thought of you holding on to the edge of that balcony for a second before you let death take over is killing me, like a sharp thorn it is penetrating my eyes.

I miss you so much, Dad. I have been missing you for years. But, at least I could pick up the phone and hear your voice every day. But now what? Who is going to call me and leave those silly and funny messages for me every day? Who? Are you really gone? I cannot believe it. Did this really happen? Did you really throw yourself off that window? What went through your mind when you threw yourself off the 6th floor and floated in the air until that damn moment when you let the earth kiss your head? Did you think of us? Did you send me a goodbye kiss? I think I felt something on my cheek some time that night. Was it you? Was it? Tell me it was.