I dream of living to old age and meeting it surrounded by my grandchildren. Walking through green parks and breathing in the clean sea air. Lately, more and more often, I find myself thinking that this is a very difficult task — at times, almost impossible.
Today I overheard a conversation beetween two residents of Kish Island, one of them complaining about his life here. He said he lives as if in a prison and wants to escape as soon as possible.
Escape from paradise, as it seems to me. We wants to travel around the world for realising one thing: how much we want to return to our place of power - home. On Kish Island not so bed. It's rare place in world, where parrots and birds cry out on every corner, and crimson and yellow bushes bloom along the roadsides. He doesn’t yet realize that his prison is his own mind.
And what about having the Persian Gulf right at your side!
Perhaps he simply needs time to understand that what truly matters is not the place, but the people around you who give you their warmth and love.
The evening filled with the scent of winter jasmine and fresh sea air. My husband’s father suggested picking a few flowers and tucking them into my pocket — after some time, the fragrance would only grow stronger. Later, I learned that many Iranian women place the petals directly into their bras — with such a scent, confidence only increases.
It was the beginning of the Arab spring, as my father-in-law explained — the island was being washed by tropical rains, giving way to a refreshing coolness by the end of the day.
That evening, while waiting for my husband and daughter near the house, I met some local boys. The oldest was about 13. At first, they cheerfully shouted “khareji” (foreigner in Persian), but when they heard that I also spoke Persian, they immediately began asking questions:
“Where are you from?”
“Ukraine.”
They looked at each other, laughed, and started explaining that they have sanctions here, that they shot down our plane, and in general — what could possibly be interesting here! Why did I decide to live here? Couldn’t I find a better place? — the youngest asked.
I replied that, in my opinion, Kish Island is one of the best places to be right now. They all laughed and said it’s better to live in Ukraine, even though none of them had ever been there.
This feeling — that life is better somewhere else — seems to live within each of us. But I had no desire to explain all of this to those boys, and they probably wouldn’t have understood me anyway — at their age, deep thinking is hardly in trend. Or maybe I misunderstood them?
That’s how we are — always searching for happiness beyond distant seas, believing it’s better where we are not.
Late in the evening, the Persian Gulf receded, and instead of the softly whispering waves that had been there in the morning, a hardened reef was exposed. I remembered that we were standing on a living organism. I closed my eyes and began to feel its rhythm, thanking it with my heart for its hospitality.
Outside the car's window, bright evening lights rushed past, gently illuminating the shore of the Persian Gulf, scattered with sprawling evergreen bushes. We back finally home.
In the distance, a bright red neon windmill wheel was clearly visible. Suddenly, someone’s phone rang, and the news hung in the air — a second dead whale had been washed ashore.
Once again, there was a fatal feeling that we had crossed a line of nature balance. The dream of seeing a living one quietly faded, teasing with its hopelessness.
On my knees lay a model of a gifted badgir (a wind tower — an essential element of Eastern architecture). It had been given by a native resident of an old traditional village of Kish, where every detail carried meaning and spoke volumes about the place. Inside, there was a warm sense of fulfilled joy from what I had seen — and a frightening premonition of an approaching large-scale catastrophe…
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