My mind is in a few different places at once now. I can’t decide whether to stay up tonight on Twitter following the protest scheduled in Iran or get some sleep so I can be up on time to go to the protest in Westwood.

The last couple of days have been quite difficult for me. Difficult in the sense that it was very hard to concentrate on anything but Iran – everything else, work, life, even food just seemed secondary. Everytime I complained about something, like the fact that my car had a malfunction, followed by a towing, I regretted it. My concerns, my pet peeves or insignificant struggles could not and can not compare in any way, shape or form to those in my hometown.

At times, I can’t believe this is all happening, unfolding in front of the world’s eyes – I keep imagining how those who voted for change feel, how upset and angry and passionate they must have been to say, “you know what – NO, I will not stand up for this, I will stand up for what I believe in.” That takes real courage, courage that many of us have never known in our lives.

Every day, while I read the tweets, listen to the news and watch the videos, I am reminded of the situations my parents and entire extended family must have been in during the 1979 Revolution. I cannot even begin to fathom what life was like, it many ways it wasn’t a life at all, but then in other ways, it was like they were REALLY living. I’m not sure how to fully explain what I mean by that last sentence. I mean, it’s as if everything in life that didn’t matter just melted away and the important things hung around. The ones you love, the fight for social justice, morality and human rights – that’s what took over.

For example, this is a personal blog and although I can post whatever I choose at this very moment, I cannot bring myself to do it. Something is getting in the way. Something is telling me, “No, it’s not appropriate. There are bigger things in play. There are lives at stake.”

Things worth mentioning in regards to the Iran Election 2009:

1. The outpour of support from around the world, especially the U.S is just amazing to me. It is so touching and amazing – everywhere you look in Twitter, you see a green tinted icon and messages offering all in Iran their support.

2. Social media – All hail the power of social media. I hope Maureen Dowd realizes how wrong she has been about Twitter.

3. Journalism – You can stop buying newspapers, pay us close to nothing, but let’s face it- you still need us. We’re important. When the times are really tough, we are the most important profession on the face of the planet. And it’s amazing.

My mind is racing. I just read that someone received a “goodbye” email from Iran. My mom told me earlier she had heard that many people decided to write their wills and send out their goodbyes, because they knew if they went into the rally, they wouldn’t come out alive. This entire thing is weighing heavily for me and I’m hoping for the best, and fearing the worst. My thoughts and prayers are with all with enough courage to stand up for what they believe in, even though it might mean death.

“Mousavi we support you. We will die, but retrieve our votes,” they shouted, many wearing the green of Mousavi’s campaign- BBC

By now, mostly everyone around the world, that is if you care for the news and utilize Twitter, not counting those who fall into my age group who do not see the resourcefulness of such a powerful tool with the world’s voices at your fingertips has been following the election and subsequent protests, rallies and chaos taking place in Iran.

The rehashing of events by the likes of me would be more than unnecessary and not very useful, since I have no first hand knowledge of the events that occurred. What I lack in personal experience, however, I make up for in personal connection.

Born in Tehran, I am a post-1979 Revolution child, who slept through bomb sirens, spent nights in the basement with my parents and eventually left as a refugee to Los Angeles by way of Greece.

At 24, I don’t even have to worry about more than half the things my parents did when they were my age. I’ve been told more stories from those fateful years where a once revered and liberal Iran – the Paris of the Middle East, turned into a extremist country with no regard for human or women’s rights. My uncle, who was one of the Shah’s guards, saw so much violence that he used to tell my mother the smell of iron from the blood would not leave his nose.

And now, I feel as though whatever I did not and could not  retain as a very small child is replaying before my eyes. There is something so deeply personal about watching the passion, commitment and fury happening in the streets of Tehran, where my parents grew up and my grandparents before that. I wish I could be there, as a writer and as an Iranian citizen – these are the moments in the world and in life where I realize why I wanted to become a journalist. These are the moments when I think, I want to be where the action is, I want to talk to those involved, to be a part of something so instrumental in causing change.

I still have relatives in Tehran, and a call to them tonight didn’t go through but I’ll try again soon. Hearing first person accounts would be amazing and the only vessel I have to do that now is Twitter, which has been the most useful tool in this entire process.

First three photos by .faramarz, last one by Hamed Saber