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Nowruz, the Persian New year, is the most festive and joyous holiday for Iranians around the world. Nowruz means 'new day' has been observed for 3,000 years. It marks the first day of Spring and depending on where you are is celebrated between March 20 and 21.
It's a time for family get-togethers known as "Eid-Didani," traditional meals, gift giving or "eidi," a "haftseen" table, and ancient rituals that symbolize new beginnings and rebirth.
It's THE happiest time of year that brings us all together.
Not this year.
Iran is one of the countries hit the hardest by the Covid-19 pandemic. With alarming rise in cases, a mounting death toll, and millions told to stay indoors, joy turned into grief. Preparations came to screeching halt, and no one is celebrating.
That, on of top of crippling U.S. economic sanctions, threat of war, eroding public trust in the government after its disastrous downing of a passenger plane in January that left a nation numb with pain.
Now this.
Asieh Namdar's Haftseen Table
As a news anchor, day after day, hour after hour ... I followed the pandemic and delivered the news to the world – a world now in upheaval. It's my job. There is no escape – haunting images of lives lost or turned upside down, healthcare workers on the front lines, cities locked down, businesses shuttered, airports deserted, normally busy streets … empty.
For me, and so many Iranian-Americans, the question: "Nowruz? What Nowruz?" Even thinking about it seems ludicrous in the middle of a historic health crisis that has claimed so many lives around the world.
It's been painful to think about anything else. And with so much uncertainty I started to question my own decisions. For the last six years, I've been commuting between Washington, where I work, and Atlanta, which has been home for many years. Flying back and forth, which never seemed to be an issue, all of a sudden IS one. Not knowing when I can see my husband and daughters has left me anxious with so much doubt and many questions.
When not at work, I hunker down in my tiny apartment in Northern Virginia. I call family, turn on the TV, frantically check email and phone, eat alone, and again ask myself 'Nowruz, what Nowruz?'
Asieh with her Sabzeh
Not sure at what point I decided – enough is enough. Last weekend, a change in attitude. A new way of thinking for my beloved Nowruz.
A quick stop to the Persian store, and thanks to a relative who left a few borrowed items behind their door ... I did it. I got into the spirit. A much-needed distraction for my broken heart, my soul and my sanity.
I still don't have any answers as we adapt to a new normal that has forced us apart, and it remains to be seen when I will see my family in Atlanta, or my elderly parents in California.
None of us know when this nightmare will end.
But I DO KNOW... my little haftseen table full of hope and symbolism has managed to give me a temporary relief from this tragic and unforeseen pandemic.
And I know … 'this too shall pass.'
Asieh Namdar is an Anchor for CGTN America.
