The Mountain Still Lives in Me

I was seven years old when, for the first time, I ascended the small hill behind my grandfather's house in Baneh, in the Kurdistan province of Iran. It was not a mountain in terms of size, but in the mind of a kid, it seemed enormous. I reached the summit and gazed out over the top of the rooftops in our village, engulfed in silence, unaware that such a moment would remain with me years after leaving it all behind.

I did not leave Iran voluntarily. I was pushed out, not in terms of fear, but in terms of certainty. If I remained, I would have been arrested, tortured, or worse. My uncle was already assassinated for his politically active beliefs. Then, pressure mounted for my family as we were interrogated, harassed, and treated as suspects. Eventually, I realised the danger was no longer one of evasion, but one of inevitability. I left to survive.

I have lived in the United Kingdom since 2016. Year by year, I've adapted to what's here. The systems, streets, and people have become my own by now. Now, I speak the language, help out as and when possible, and exist day by day as a part of this nation. It hasn't been easy, but it has been possible. I've built a new life, not because I desired to do it, but because there was no choice for me. I state this with utmost conviction: going back to Iran would be a death warrant. My political views are no secret now. I have criticised the regime on the internet. I have joined demonstrations in the UK. My photo, my voice, and my name are no longer anonymous. If I go back, I would be imprisoned, tortured, and most probably would simply vanish as have countless others who have spoken up before me.

That's not speculation. That's reality for ethnic minorities and political activists in Iran, the Kurds in particular. They disappear without warning. Families are left asking for explanations that don't materialise. I know what happens to individuals such as myself, and the knowledge haunts me each day.

I do not write with anger or bitterness. My wish simply is for my words and my existence to be understood fully. My intention is not to manipulate, embellish, or gripe. I intend to speak the truth.

I have constructed my existence in the UK, not for the ease of it, but because there was no alternative for me. I have worked to assimilate, remain hopeful, and persevere even when the prospects were bleak. This website forms part of it. It is a place of contemplation, remembrance, and silent resistance.

I will not go back into the mountains of my childhood. I have accepted this. And the mountain exists in my mind not simply as a memory, but as a metaphor for endurance. I remain here. I continue to speak. And I continue to think that no one should be silenced for expressing a desire simply to live in peace.