On a never-return-home journey

1978 summer, arriving in Japan

Life turned around 180 degrees once I boarded that plane on its way to Japan. I will never forget that hot, muggy day in August when the airplane landed in Tokyo. The humidity was unbelievable, the exact opposite of Tehran, when there is not a drop of rain for months, not even a patch of cloud. I was too excited to be bothered by this humidity, the long flight, or the crowded airport packed with people, evidently, coming back from the summer holiday they could afford to spend aboard. I wanted to see, in close contact, this country with its centuries-old traditions, hand in hand with the state-of-the-art technology on a fast track which had perplexed the world, and its formidable economic presence influencing most part of the world, despite the devastations it suffered during the Pacific war.
Passionately, I followed the line to the arrival desk, and got permission to stay for three months. I still had no idea how long I would stay, but three months was plenty, so I thought. Never had I imagined that I just had set foot to my second home, and that I would never be able to return to Iran. A year earlier, even visiting Japan was still a dream.

What was life like before coming to Japan?

I will continue to write about my life from the day I set foot in Japan. But first, a few words should be said here to give a background of my life situation before coming to Japan.
I was born and raised in Iran, in a middle-class family. My mother, a homemaker, and my father, like most workers, was a public servant. In the 50’s and 60’s most organizations were run by the government under the control of the Shah - the king.
I had an uneventful childhood. One thing, though, that made me different from other children was that I came from a Baha'i family. In those days, as a young child, to be a Baha’i was, and still is, a huge difference. The Baha’i Faith continues to be a minority religion, not recognised by the government. There is a lot of hostility and prejudice towards the believers. It intensified after the Iran’s revolution in 1979; although the principles and teachings are about world peace, unity, and service to humanity.
As a Baha’i child, I attended dars-e-aghlagh (literally meaning lessons of character/morals) every Friday morning, similar to a Christian Sunday School. What does it mean to be a Baha’i? It was taught to us as: “one endowed with all the perfections of man in activity”. This was the first lesson I learned as a child. Although I am far from this perfection, I can still aspire to that goal.
I learned the taste of being different from early age; it was not particularly pleasant. I always tried to hide  my identity as a Baha'i in school as much as possible, especially when I was alone without my Baha'i friends around me. But most children in the neighbourhood  knew, and some were told by parents not to play with the Baha’is. My playmates were mostly Baha’i children on the block; luckily there were more than enough of them.
After high school, at eighteen, I went to Philippines. At university, I attended to all the learning activities and could have the excitements of a university life that students enjoy. The Filipinos are easy going, cheerful, and friendly. There were beautiful beaches within a short distance. I can honestly say I spent the most joyful days of my life in the Philippines.
After finishing an undergraduate program, I decided to go on to graduate school. Up until then I was fully supported by my parents because, as a foreign student, I could not earn money. After that, however, I was told by my parents that they were no longer able to support me financially. I had no other choice but to return home, where I worked as a social worker for a year to save money and returned to the Philippines to finish graduate school.
While doing my graduate studies, an excellent job opportunity came up. I started working as a language instructor, teaching Persian to Filipino doctors, nurses, and technicians in different fields who were going to Iran to work. Iran had a severe shortage of skilled workers. The Shah, following the footsteps of his father, Reza Shah, was leading the country toward modernization and he was in hurry. Those were the glorious days in Iran. Today, the situation is entirely different. The unemployment rate is over 20%. It is sad to see those same unemployed young people who come to countries, like Japan, for work and then get involved in illegal activities.
After graduate school, I returned home, and easily found a full-time position at Tehran School of Social Work as an assistant professor. I was 26, rather young for such a position, especially for someone with no experience teaching at higher education. The job was quite challenging but I was a fighter and enthusiastic to learn.

Do not take it for granted

1968, summer

Japan seemed such a far land in the 50’s and 60’s. Iran’s foreign relations, similar to Japan, were mostly with the west, particularly, England, France, and most importantly, the United States. I don’t recall any history lesson about Japan if there was any, or maybe I was not interested.  It was not until after high school, in 1968 that I heard about a country called ‘Japan’

I could not pass the arduous entrance exam of the national University of Tehran. That belonged to elites or the top students. There were very few universities at the time. Although considered an energy superpower and rich in many natural resources, it makes you wonder why there were not more educational institutions for the young and talented population to attend. I believe, it was because a big chunk of the nation’s revenue used to go into the pockets of the powerful western countries through unfair trade deals, and the rest was taken by the corrupt high ranking officials, leaving little for building universities. In addition, it was thought by many that it would be better for people, especially women, not to become “too highly educated”. Once I heard in a political debate, on social media that the British, knowing the Iranians’ love for poetry, believed that it would be better for Iran to remain the land of “flower and nightingale”, two inspiring objects in Persian poetry.

I was one notch above average in grades, and coming from an ordinary family, would leave me very little chance to attend a university. The Philippines could offer me what my own country could not, so I decided to go to the Philippines for higher education. Unlike Iran, the Philippines had a good number of universities, many built during the Spanish occupation, and the medium of instruction was English, without an entrance exam for foreign students.

It was in one of those hot summer days that I was waiting for the admission letter to a university in the Philippines. I was home alone, listening to the radio. It was 15 minutes before the chanting of Azan, the call for the noon prayer - the sun at its zenith - broadcasted on the radio every day for as long as I remember. “Let’s enjoy a piece of music from the Land of the Rising Sun, Japan”, the radio announced. I am not sure why such time was chosen. Maybe the calm melody, it was thought, to be a good way for meditation. In Persian, the Land of Rising Sun is translated as sarzamin-e-aftab-e-taban. It does not quite evoke the image of Japan, a country blessed with plenty of rain. Actually, this name refers to Japan’s eastern position, as the first land that the sun rises. When I heard ‘Japan’, instantly, I thought of it as a dream land in the legendary tales. That shows how far I was to Japan then, not knowing only a decade later, I would be traveling to this land, and what is more, it would become my permanent home. Never take anything for granted. Never fixate your thoughts on one thing. Life can change in a moment with one step. At times, I would think, now that Japan is my permanent home, my bones would be buried here. Then I think of that first day when I listened to the radio playing Japanese music and continue walking along the road.

2016 - Autumn

The season giving so much joy through its matured characteristics. I am sitting in a coffee shop, looking out the window. Those rich-coloured leaves, dancing in the cold wind of yesterday, are now quietly resting on the wet ground from the drizzle, withered by the relentless time. Indeed, the story of man and his life is the story of wind and leaves, I think to myself. Far off, the crows caw on treetops, but they do not sound annoying anymore; rather, I hear some kind of sadness. The sound of rain takes me back to 40 years ago, reminding me of my first autumn in Japan. Alone, going through major changes in life, happening all at the same time, and I was not sure what to do. Perhaps it’s the drizzle and melancholy air that has finally made me start writing, things which had been feeling heavy in my chest for a long time. The story of my journey in Japan is a letter to my son. When he came into my world, I was initiated into the role of a parent. As a mother, this made Japan to me a gift of God.

In this age of the Internet, overflowing with information, supposedly bringing us closer, a critical issue, still facing us, is lack of knowledge and the attitude toward “others” we create in our minds. We tend to fill what we do not know with our stereotypes causing “fear of others”, a euphemism for prejudice. These biased thoughts have consequences. Inclusions and exclusions cause opportunities to be denied, contributions to be overlooked, yet privileges, unjustly provided to others. Becoming aware of this bitter reality is a starting step to dealing with the problem of societal integration.

As I write this, I am a mother, a wife and teaching at two top level universities. I am also an interpreter/translator in the legal system.  And Oh! The Japanese government finally succumbed to my twenty plus years of applying, pleading, and granted me Japanese citizenship, a rare occurrence.  These might sound like a very ordinary path of life for a Japanese, but for me to get where I am now, there were experiences / stumbles –struggles and at times happy moments I would like to share with you in the hope that through this story, to introduce my country and the challenges of integration for a non-westerner like me.