Few days ago, tragedy struck once again in my country. A massive explosion followed by fire at Shahid Rajaee Port in Bandar Abbas took more than 70 lives, injured over 1200 people, and destroyed several buildings. The blast was so intense that windows shattered across a radius of kilometers — homes, cars, everything. And yet, it feels like just another page in a long, endless book of sorrow. Here, grief isn't shocking anymore. It's routine. Our history is a cycle of mistakes and mourning, played on repeat while those responsible remain silent and untouched. We live surrounded by ruins — not just of buildings, but of trust, of hope. And somehow, life goes on as if nothing happened. As if it’s normal to wake up to broken glass and broken hearts.
The Little Popcorn.