War From an Ocean Away

In the many endings that I picture, my mother and Ali end up stranded on roads, separated in different cities, looking for their belongings in the rubble, or chewing some meagre bread to quell their hunger

- Ali Araghi

The first thing I do every morning as soon as I open my eyes is grope for my phone. In its thick black case, it sits on the cheaply-made white nightstand which stains easily. I unlock it and, with heavy eyelids, I open a browser to check the news on at least three different news websites.

What I am most worried about in the morning is any big event that might have happened in my sleep: infrastructure targeted, attacks on oil refineries, bridges blown to pieces, or the news that America has started a ground invasion in Iran. I usually get out of bed after a few minutes and teeter toward my toothbrush.

Today is the 39th day since Israel and America attacked Iran. As I take a shower, I think about how things have progressively escalated. On February 28, the war started when Israel conducted an unprecedented series of attacks on Tehran, killing the Iranian supreme leader Ali Khamenei along with several high-ranking officials. Iran responded by firing missiles at Israel and American bases in Bahrain and other Persian Gulf countries.

After the shower, as soon as I pull my T-shirt over my head, I tap on my phone to check for any developments. Sometimes a few pictures have been posted, a column of white smoke from a neighbourhood or the news that a general has been killed when I was sleeping.

I prepare my breakfast and, as I eat, I read more news on my phone, which rests flat on the table next to the tub of cheese. I get dressed and step out of the apartment.