English/Iranian
Having sought asylum from Iran to England when he was 14, my Dad found his way to London in his late teens where my Mum was living after spending some time in New York. In their 20’s they both would visit a wine bar in the city where they ended up meeting through mutual friends.
I have always been lucky that my family is very open and supportive. My Grandmother would joke about how she would find my sister and I a suitable Iranian, Jewish husband (on second thoughts I don’t think she was joking) but I do know as long as we were happy, she would have been happy… eventually. Growing up, Saturday evenings were spent at my Grandparent’s where my Grandmother would cook up a Persian feast. Although I wouldn’t say I follow any certain traditions to retain my culture, I am a massive foodie and I love exploring Middle Eastern foods. During lockdown, I experimented with baking everything from sourdough to nan-e nokhodchi and baklava. The older I get, the more I want to learn about my culture, and I know I’m only just getting started!
Since the loss of both my Dad’s parents in the last few years, I’ve struggled a bit with regret. Regret in the sense that I wish I knew them and their experiences with Iran better. I long to ask my Grandma a thousand questions about fleeing from Iraq to Iran in her teens, how she coped having to leave her home behind again when she became a refugee in London in the ‘80s and how on earth her tahdig would always manage to feed the whole table no matter if there were six or sixteen mouths to provide for.
But, of course, these conversations are delicate and difficult to have with a family who has been in certain circumstances and made all types of sacrifices. Over time, I’ve made peace that Iran is and always will be a part of me. I don’t have to have physically been somewhere to feel a connection to the place. Iran is in the conversations I have with my Dad about his childhood, Iran is in the mirror when I’m doing my makeup, Iran is in my favourite (Peckham) Persian restaurant.
I’ve learnt not to feel like an imposter when people ask, ‘have you been to Iran?’ or ‘do you speak Farsi?’. I’m happy to take the time to explain my answer to people that are genuinely interested. I couldn’t be prouder of my roots. My Nana is a badass. She’s 86 and uses emojis on Whatsapp! She lives in North Yorkshire, in the same village my Mum was born, and is a local hero, not that she would admit it. She holds natter nights in the local town hall, goes to French lessons, and even attends regular Pilates classes. You could ask my Nana to fix anything, and I mean ANYTHING, and she would have the solution. If I’m ever even half the woman she is, I’d be very content.
I’ve been told that I have a hard exterior and to be completely honest I would have to agree. It’s weird because, growing up, I was a very sensitive and emotional child and then suddenly it was like that part of me switched off and I was very conscious of it. It’s something I’ve been trying to fight more recently as I don’t favour that part of me but I guess it’s there to sort of protect myself.
Being mixed-race and growing up in culturally diverse South London has encouraged me to have openness and willingness to immerse myself in different cultures. I love travelling and exploring pockets of the world; we can learn so much from experiencing others.
I remember I had just started secondary school, so around 11 years old. A conversation around being mixed-race came up and I said I was mixed. I had never questioned my identity up until this point, it was just a fact, but I was met by kids telling me I was wrong, that I couldn’t possibly be. I’m White passing so I didn't conform to their idea of what a mixed person looked like. That was the first time I was made to feel insecure about my identity. I felt embarrassed that I had claimed a title that I didn’t feel I could justify. My immediate family all live in the UK.
In 2020 my big sister made one of her best decisions to move to Amsterdam for work. She will hate me for saying this, but I still go through waves of finding it really hard without her. We recently spent the weekend in Portugal together and I don’t think there’s ever been a time I’ve said goodbye to her without crying.
Thank you so much for your platform. I've been following for three years now and there have been so many stories that I can relate to. I hope that someone feels the same about what I have to say.