Here I am. Sitting on an outside table of lloyd Pub in Hammersmith, drinking beer, looking at people pass by- women with their hair blowing in London’s afternoon wind, men with their girlfriends, wives, kids, strollers. pigeons are always on the stone yard. One month ago, at this same time, I was in Tehran – this  disshevelled city- exhausted, desperate, tired, torn out, so nervous and fearful of what was ahead of me. Paying my bills, renting my flat, and working to death for my employer, teaching those who were supposed to do my job after me; Did they get what I instructed them, those dumbs?

Yes, I was desperate, but I was also looking forward to the moment I would get on the plane to Qatar on the way to UK. It seemed it would never goingn to happen. I was fleeing from a country in which I was born, had married twice, had two kids, and I was leaving my kids, my parents, my siblings behind.

There was one person accompanying me, however; my beloved, my new wife.

Why? Why did I do that?

Let me go back a little…