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.