A new view of ancient horror
I am one person. sacred. This is my country. My whole life.
My lineage came from the ancient world. Russia. My mother was born in Liverpool.
Inheritance? nothing. Immigrants came without anything. No relatives here – no one.
The grandmother, which did not speak English, was cleaned on the lower eastern side. Grandpa, a tailor did not earn any money, keep enough to apply for legitimate citizenship. To pay the price of their taxes, mortgage, children, doctors, education, food, aging, transportation, the future – no help from the government.
Forget stories about immigrants who arrive with hidden jewelry sewing in their skirts. There were no jewels. No insects.
Difficult life
When I was in public school, so long but so painful that I have so far remembered her – although at this moment I cannot remember where I left my phone – at that time I got a used used dress. Plus blue. Silk texture. Decorated with a fake fur is fluffy. Enthusiastic, I offered it around our house.
Enter the tragedy. Stain. From where, how did you get it, who knows. Nothing was nothing but scissors. I was crazy. unbearable. “No problem,” my mother said. “I will wash it.”
wash? Teacher with fake fur?
Fake Crapola immediately turned-like cardboard-and is peeled. My mother worked two functions to be able to feed me, wear me, took me to doctors, and buy medications because I was always sick.
But this was the only party dress. You cannot solve. This is 90 years ago. I still remember it.
By the time I was able to buy my clothes, I was a worker in Asia. Los Angeles has reinstated in Los Angeles to survive the horror of Naja. One in Jakarta, the other in Tehran.
Jakarta. The non -governmental mobs were immersed. Fight streets. Angry with some official decree. He came with guns, fire, knives, flags, signs, and usual. We were closed in traffic. frightened. I have a foreigner. Only the driver, who knew the contact with someone while our car was shaking side by side, and bottles were thrown on our windows – people came to save us.
An exciting escape
Another time. Iran. A guest of the Shah, I was a country in Evan, a hotel owned by his double sister at the time, Princess Ashraf. I was in their official black car. Their official driver. On the way to return to Tehran. The first days, at the fine moment, began this step to expel the Shah. A small village through which we watched their cinematic theater.
If you are not protected by the Shah, who knows what may happen. We grabbed his people on our way, we wore rifles to the hotel, watched while I was packed and then threw me at 5 am on a plane from Iran and the house.
This story – and Saga is one of the embassy employees protected by my late Canadian friend Ken Taylor – I may not be here today. It is, too, to protect me outside and generally waiting for a plane. The story was immortalized in the 2012 ARGO Award Ben Affleck.
It is terrifying. They are looking forward to turning us to Syria, Iran, Venezuela and Russia – the boiler from which they fled?
