OPINION | Tragedy broke Iranian community's heart. An outpouring of love will help it heal
'These are my people': Memorial emcee reflects on support of non-Iranians during time of grief
I was standing on the second floor at the Saville Centre, watching the team of volunteers prepare the stage about three hours before Sunday's memorial.
Baskets of flowers were being moved around and large framed pictures of the victims of Ukraine International Airlines Flight 752 were being placed in front of the podium.
Even from that distance, I could see the faces of the victims. It was as if they were watching the volunteers work.
Nasim Rahmanifar's picture, with her beautiful smile; I could imagine so vividly how she would be one of the people helping, if her face was not stuck in that frame forever.
How could a smile that beautiful be trapped forever inside a wooden frame?
The picture of Pedram Mousavi and Mojgan Daneshmand with their two little girls fit so effortlessly among the flowers. My goodness, if Dorina or Daria were not gone, they would have been too young to attend this memorial! That is a piece of reality I don't have the strength to focus on.
A few feet away, in yet another wooden frame, Dr. Shekoufeh Choupannejad and her two daughters Sara and Saba Saadat were standing side by side. On the far left side, Elnaz Nabiyi's photo somehow looked like the only one who was watching me as I looked at them from above.
I cried in silence all through Sunday: getting ready as the emcee, in between the speeches, listening to the tributes, walking up and down from the podium.
I cried as I watched people coming in, as I hugged friends and families, as I looked at the non-Iranian crowd who showed up to pay their respects even though they likely didn't know anyone.
A green room was assigned to the speakers and dignitaries; again, I cried as soon as I stepped into the room.
Going in, I wondered if my professor from back when I was a student would remember me.
Dr. Joseph Doucet, now dean of the school of business, saw me and came forward. Before I knew it, I was crying in his arms.
It was as if I had graduated a week ago. It's amazing how 12 years can feel like a week and a week can feel like months. Sunday's memorial was a beautiful event.
And I'm not thinking that just because everything went well. The presence of people is what touched many grieving hearts.
With a loss this big, there is no relief. Nothing can help but time. And time doesn't always move like a river, especially not now.
Looking down at the main floor, watching the crowd come in, I thought to myself, "I wish I could tell you, one by one, how much it means to see you here."
Going down the stairs for sound check, I passed by the media in the room. A CBC camera tech waved at me; I went down the stairs in tears.
How supportive everyone has been, every reporter, news anchor, radio host, freelance writer that I met after this tragic event.
How did this happen? I asked myself. When did all these people become my friends? And friend is an understatement. What is the word for a person that you just met, who looks you in the eyes and makes you believe that you are not alone?
I looked at the people, Iranian and non-Iranian, sitting side by side. It looked like a freshly knitted scarf, meshed like one piece.
I thought, did we always feel so connected, so much like we belong?
When I went behind the podium to start, I felt a little tremble inside. I could see the first words that came out of my mouth, floating like snowflakes, dancing so calmly.
I looked at the crowd and at my words floating in front of me, and all of a sudden I felt so strong.
These are my people, all of them, Iranian or not. I knew that in my heart.
As O Canada was being sung, speaking in front of them didn't seem so hard.
I only found out on Monday how many of my friends and co-workers had either attended, or watched, the memorial.
Now, a week after the crash, our hearts like broken ceramics, we know it's time for us to speak up.
To glue ourselves back together, one piece at a time, with resilience and all this shared love — like kintsugi, the elegant ancient Japanese art of mending pottery.
The Iranian community has formed a new bond with Canada. This tragedy did break us apart but the love and support we received glued us back together, even stronger now.
And like kintsugi, we will slowly heal, and with every day that goes by, we will become closer to our hosting country.
Not ashamed of our scars, we understand that our wounds are what makes us, us.
It was –35 C on Sunday, and I believe I speak for every Iranian in Edmonton when I say we had never felt so warm.
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