The house is almost empty except for a few boxes and packing material still lying around. Ah yes and the giraffe, half packed, still with her long neck showing. The last object standing after 4 years of living in Iran. The rest is gone, All the things that witnessed how much we loved this city and its people have disappeared. A few days was all it took.

The silence is overwhelming too. My husband and daughter are still asleep. I lost count on how many times in these years I was the first to get up to catch the early rays of sunshine, the drops of rain or the flakes of snow depending on the time of the year.

It is now summer, the heat is soaring but still there is nothing like the morning light in Tehran. It always appears shy and somewhat hesitant but it soon floods our terrace with warmth.

How many times did I sit in the terrace, holding my first cup of coffee?  How many mornings, rain or shine, even with snow and frozen cheeks, looking at the mountains and Sa’dabad palace?

I look around again and in the emptiness I notice the light. This morning light still reflects the beauty of the special moments we lived together in this space for 4 years.

At the end not even my shadow will remain but the light will reflect new lives and the cycle will go on.

For now I will take my last light with me, along with the memories and all the things that will always remind me of the home I once had in this city. How I walked in its streets, how I explored its bazaars, how I talked and photographed its people, how its nature became part of my routine.