Neda Arshadi

 

I was born in Iran in 1967. My memories from Iran are many, and vivid, especially my family's annual trips through the stunning and historical Silk Road. My father was self-taught and the most well-read person I've ever had the fortune to know. He wanted his children to gain as much knowledge as possible about the Persian language, history, music, poetry and mythology. He managed to plant the seeds of these beautifully in his children's minds and my heritage now; it’s a part of me which is strongly woven into every fibre of my being.

At the age of 11, I witnessed the Iranian Revolution in 1979, and only 2 years later, I lived in the war zone city of Tehran. I witnessed some of the kindest and the most educated people to lose their lives during the following years. These were sincerely dreadful and grim times and many young persons could not see a future unless they actively worked towards it in the undergrounds, for the fear of being prosecuted. My parents were naturally highly worried for me so at the earliest opportunity, in January 1984, at the age of 16, I was sent away to live in Wales.

In my 'Goodbye Party', my beautiful friends were mostly tearful. One said to me that she was crying because I would never see the sight of sun again. Another friend warned me of the cold mannerisms of the British people, and she wished me luck, again, sincerely and very tearfully.

Wales embraced and welcomed a very young and headstrong Neda, however. I made so many friends with very little knowledge of English language at the time of my arrival, and I was even welcomed to a few of their homes. Six years later, I married a Welsh man. I found safety in his company, and in the company of his family. I learnt much about the Welsh culture during my years of marriage and I now have two Cymranian children. Although my marriage didn't work out, it was certainly not due to cultural issues. My friends in Tehran were worried about me rather unnecessarily.

In raising my two sons, I witnessed daily warmth of a thousand suns (minus the discomfort of any sunburn!). In my 37 years of living in Wales, I have indeed met many cold, aloof and even cruel people who were mistrusting towards me. But this was even the case in my home country of Iran. I also met many warm, helpful and friendly people in Wales who are in love with Welsh poetry, mythology, language, music, nature and culture, just as many people in Iran. I've met kind people whom, if in need, nothing has been too much to ask; real life savers with true hearts of gold.

I don't want to lie here and say that my life in Wales has been plain sailing. On the contrary. However, in Wales, I've been safe and have been given many opportunities to better myself. These include studying English, a degree in Engineering Design, and a postgraduate degree in medical studies. I'm grateful for my life and freedom in Wales.

My story is long. Very long. But I'm just especially thankful for the 'Sunshines of My Life' - my two Cymranian children.