For me it started here. The death of Neda Aghasoltan. In 2009 I was a teenager when for the first time I witnessed the true face and brutality of the regime. My parents had always spoken about their ugly backward nature, but this was the first time I saw it with my own eyes. We thought it was a regular day, a few days after the start of protests around town. My friends and I were leaving university when we noticed commotions at the enterance door. Some girls screaming and some guys tackling others. We realized the basijis were attempting to enter the university and they had poured acid on a couple of girls. We ran back inside and locked ourselves in a prayer room for 5 hours. When I finally exited the university, I realized this will not be a regular journey back home. I witnessed suppressing forces all over the city. I tried to walk with my head down so they don't notice me. Rule of thumb with basijis and regime forces was to not make eye contact. Before I reached the next street I could hear the chants of a huge crowd. I watched the men and women chanting loudly when sounds of motorcycles filled the streets. Tens of forces with shields, batons and guns approached the crowd. The chants became louder till they turned into screams mixed with sounds of gunshots as the crowd tried to disperse. Later when I got home news of Neda's and many others' death came out. That wasn't a regular journey back home indeed. That path from university to home shaped my entire principles and stances in life to this day. Not because of western politics. Not because I knew anything about Israel. But because of the mere brutality of the ruling entity of my country that was killing people like me. Always and forever Javid Shah and Payandeh Iran What came later: Am Israel Chai Long live America