Later, every time we passed a mosque on the road, he would go in to pray and wanted me to take a photo. I said, aren't all mosques the same? We've taken photos all the way; there's not much left to capture. Once you're done praying, let's hit the road. He pointed at my nose and said, you don't respect our Allah, I want to kill you. After hearing that, I was really scared and said, come on, just kidding, brother, go ahead and take the photo.

When I was in Tehran, I also experienced Ashura. One day, the owner of the guesthouse told me there was a festival outside and asked if I wanted to join the fun. I asked what festival it was, and she rambled on about a bunch of things. My Persian isn't good, so I didn't understand. I just went out to the street. Along the way, there was free tea and candy being offered, and I was happily eating and drinking. Then I encountered a parade. Damn, a bunch of people wearing white T-shirts were cutting their scalps, letting bright red blood flow down to dye their clothes red. At that moment, there was also a person holding a one or two-year-old boy, who had also cut his scalp, staining his white T-shirt red. My friends were stunned after seeing that, and later I found out it was some kind of commemoration mixed with not forgetting hatred or something like that.

Maybe they themselves don't even know where the fate of their country is headed.