Fear of the Dark

I don’t know whether it was the war and the bombings lodged in my memory or something else that made me terrified of night and darkness. Whatever the reason, for a long time I had to leave my bedroom light on to sleep. It made no difference whether someone else was in the room. When it got dark, fear filled every part of me. My mother was worried and searched for a way to help. One night when Agha Bozorg came to visit, she told him about it. I heard her and felt so ashamed that I went to my room, sat by the bed, and fought back tears. Agha Bozorg came over and knocked, even though the door was open. “May I come in?” I nodded. I didn’t want him to hear my voice shake. He sat beside me on the bed and said nothing. Perhaps ten minutes passed in silence. He just looked out the window. Finally I lifted my head. “Why aren’t you saying anything, Agha Bozorg? Are you going to scold me?” “Scold you? When have I ever scolded anyone, son?” “Then why are you so quiet?” “We don’t always have to talk. I didn’t come to talk. I came to be with you. I know you’re afraid. Well, I get afraid too.” I stared at him in surprise. “I came to sit beside you so we could be afraid together.” “Are you afraid of the dark too?” “Yes, I get afraid.” “Grown-ups get afraid?” “Fear, like every other feeling, is part of being human. It doesn’t depend on age or whether you’re a boy or a girl. Sometimes you’re happy, sometimes sad, and of course sometimes you’re afraid. The shape of the fear may change. Maybe grown-ups learn how to live with it. “I’d be lying if I said that after a certain age grown-ups stop being afraid. I’d be lying if I said you’ll grow up and fear is only for children. No, my dear. As you get older, your fears grow with you. The winner is the one who learns to live with them, even befriend them. That’s the person we call brave. We call someone brave because they face fear, not because they have none.” “How do you learn to live with it?” “The first step is to accept that there’s a real reason for your fear. Then look at it closely and make it so small in your mind that it can’t loom over your thoughts. Your mind will grow taller than your fear. “But remember, fears don’t end. One passes, another comes, then another. That’s all right, because you’ve learned to grow taller and reach higher. “Look at trees growing far from other trees. They’re much shorter than the ones in a forest. Do you know why? In a crowded forest, other trees cast shade, and there isn’t enough light. Rather than be frightened and wither, or beg the other trees to move, they grow taller to reach the sun.” For some reason I felt lighter. “Has there ever been a night that stayed night and never became morning?” he asked. “No.” “Then your fear of the dark ends every night too. The dark is only a few hours tall.” He took his pipe lighter out of his pocket and lit it. “Now turn off the light.” I did, and he said, “See how small and helpless the darkness is? My lousy little lighter has lit up the whole place. That’s how little power it has.” He was right. I’d made the darkness so much bigger than it was. My compatriot, my fellow Persian speaker, my friend and a part of my own flesh: the Islamic Republic and its darkness and oppression are too small to deserve our fear. I won’t say there’s nothing to fear; that would be a lie. I say, let’s be afraid together. Let’s grow taller together, reach the light together, and make this fear small and insignificant forever. Let’s kindle the fire in our hearts with the lighter of our conviction and smash the Islamic Republic’s darkness. Together, let’s make light triumph over darkness. Long live Iran. Long live the Shah.