Tonight’s topic is dedicated to several of our wonderful jooooons who have emailed/commented and asked for a post on this (thank you for that):
DATING IRANIAN BOYS… IN IRAN.
I’ve talked about this particular experience before (click here), but I left out all the real details: the drama, cheating and sex at grandma’s. Because let’s be real:
Persian girls aren’t the only ones that bring on the drama.
We’ve all had summer/vacation flings– and sometimes they’re the best relationships because you leave before anything gets “too complicated.” Most importantly, you only remember the good times… all those unreturned phone calls are quickly forgotten.
Unless your fling lasted six years like mine did.
There’s something different about guys in Iran- the way they’re overprotective (which we would normally call controlling), the way they spit out that perfect Farsi– is it just me or is dirty talk kinda hot in Farsi?
(As long as it’s in Iran– the game out here is totally different). It’s funny how it works isn’t it– those same guys come to the U.S.- and they’re “FOBs”- they LOSE their #PersianSwag the second they step off that plane into AMRIKA!
Let me take you through the whole story again… and I promise I won’t leave anything out this time:
I was 14 years old when I met him (he was 17). He lived in my neighborhood and being the “American girl” that I am, I played basketball with him and his friends every night.
*Sidenote: I am definitely NOT the most athletic person out there… which is probably why they never passed me the ball… #realitycheck.
My last week in Iran that summer, we shared our first kiss. AWW… hidden behind a parked car in the alleyway. SUPER ROMANTIC.
But that wasn’t all— I would tell my family I was going to meet up with my neighborhood friend, “Hoda,” but instead Irooni (him) and I would sneak off to the park across the bridge and make out in the trees.
We weren’t afraid of the “komiteh” (morality police), we didn’t think about the consequences of our actions: we were young.
After I went back to the States- I really didn’t give it much thought. It was my first kiss… and honestly, I was just glad to have that OUT of the way.
But he kept in touch. He wrote me emails, sent me pictures of his life, and always sent me “offline” Yahoo messenger IM’s (back in the day when Yahoo messenger was our Twitter)… and it continued for a few months after I had returned home.
I returned to Iran two years later at 16 — we had lost touch– but I was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. I tried emailing him before going, I heard nothing back. I couldn’t remember his phone number or which apartment building in our neighborhood belonged to his family.
Then one night, I looked out the window of my bedroom and there were a group of neighborhood boys standing at the corner store. I ran out of our building … NEGLECTED to put on my hijab and bolted into the streets- covering my hair with a HOODIE.
I ran up to the group of boys and said, “Excuse me- do either of you know ‘Irooni?'” He stepped out from behind someone and said, “Farrah?”
That’s when it really began. He snuck into our garage every single night after that and we spent the evenings kissing, talking, … I started young, remember? (click).
I remember thinking this is what “love” is. I just couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
And then this happens halfway through my trip: My cousin wakes me up at 8am one day and tells me that my childhood/neighborhood friend “Hoda” is there to see me. The same Hoda who covered for me when I was secretly making out with Irooni in the park.
She came to see me because she had been dating Irooni for the past year and a half, and he hadn’t been returning her phone calls since I had come into town.
I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that he had kept that from me especially since we had so many “honest” conversations at night- about our families, life, love, whatever it is you talk about at 16. Hoda’s solution?
“That’s it. We are going to the store he works at – you bring him out and then I’ll walk up.”
Nawww I’m good off that, thanks.
“Yani chi Farrah? You HAVE TO COME.”
That didn’t end well. He yelled at her … and showed up outside my house that night begging for my forgiveness (she lived next door to me).
I remember thinking that since he showed up to MY place and not hers– it meant that I was the one he chose. And for some reason, I was naive enough to think it was HIS decision to determine the outcome of this.
When in reality, it might have had something to do with the fact that she probably didn’t start out as early as me…
Fucked up? Absolutely. But I don’t regret it… because those were some of the best three weeks I had as a teenager. I had never felt so connected to anyone.
He came with my family to the airport at the end of the trip to say goodbye to me.
Because of the government restrictions, we had to pretend to be cousins- so I couldn’t kiss him or really hug him (especially in front of my family) — and I had no idea when I’d see him again.
I cried the entire trip home– or at least until I fell asleep.
Despite our circumstances, our age, and the bullshit he put me through —
He was my first love.
Every time I went back to Iran after that– the next year and the year after that, Irooni and I picked up right where we left off. And in my head, it was perfect.
Granted, I had to fight with my mother to let me go see him- but she realized I couldn’t possibly “do anything” under her supervision at our apartment.
Until I turned 20.
( * sidenote: Irooni wasn’t just some random I chose up off our street. He was a student studying biology at Tehran University — and by night, he DJ’ed at the illegal parties around town).
I let him know when I was coming into town that summer in advance, but when I got to my grandmother’s home in Tehran and called him, his cell phone wouldn’t connect the call. I called his parents and they didn’t know where he was.
I tried calling his cell phone all night- and there was no response. That morning, I looked outside my window and he was sitting right outside our building on the curb. I ran outside and saw that his entire face had been bruised and bloodied.
He was DJ’ing at a party the night before and the KOMITEH had invaded the party, and had taken him to jail.
He had come to our house the second he had been released, and since they had confiscated his cell phone, he hadn’t been able to call me/anyone else. I took him upstairs to my grandmother’s house. She was downstairs at my aunt’s apartment… and that’s when it happened.
I lost my virginity in my bedroom at my grandmother’s house in Tehran.
While it might sound like it was exciting, crazy and “meant to be…”
It lasted maybe 5 minutes? Then it was over, and the whole time I was thinking, “OMG I’m having sex at Maman joon’s.”
That was the one and only time we ever did it.
And it changed everything.
Because when I went back the next summer, my cousin told my mother I had sex with Irooni and I was forbidden from seeing him.
I denied it as much as possible– I told her I lost my virginity to a random guy back in our hometown… and she had an easier time accepting that.
Obviously, things didn’t continue with Irooni and I after this… and not because my mother stepped in the way because let’s be real- I do what I want (sorry mama).
But because the older I got, the more I yearned for something more than our childhood “love.” I wanted something real, something accessible. I wanted to GROW from these experiences whereas he wanted to continue basking in the fun we HAD…
YOU CAN ONLY ACT LIKE A HOPELESS TEENAGER FOR SO LONG.
That shit gets old. And while, I will never forget our time together, I’m ready for my next Irooni.
So tell me joonies- ever had a fling outside the country? Iran? Argentina? Europe? We wanna hear all about it.
Follow me on Twitter if you’ve fallen for an Irooni: @Farrah_Joon