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Toronto Portrait Photographer || HEARTshots || Black + White Photography

Memoirs and musings of Darius Bashar. Toronto portrait photographer and writer, in pursuit of all things real, raw and intimate. 

Stronger Together

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I was born in Iran in 1982. This was 3 years after the Islamic Revolution.

My family did not agree with the radical shift in how the country was governed. My mother was passionately against it. So my parents decided we MUST leave all of our family and friends and move halfway across the planet to Canada.

We didn't know anyone. We didn't speak the language. We didn't have much, but we had peace and safety.

Most of my family remained in Iran: hundreds of cousins, aunts, and uncles. So despite growing up fully immersed in Canadian culture, I still felt a connection to Iran.

A lot of really scary things are happening in the world lately.

A lot of escalating tension. 

How do I keep going with my privileged Canadian life when so many people are hurting? 

How do I continue taking photos of beautiful smiling humans when there is so much pain throughout the rest of the world? 

One part of me wants to take it all in and be paralyzed by my fear and hopelessness.

Another part of me wants to put a wall around my heart and not let any of it in, pretending it will all go away if I don’t think about it. 

But I have played both of these extremes before. Neither works. 

Neither serves me or my community.

Neither is my deepest truth.

Because what I really want is to help. I want to make a difference. I am not yet sure how, but I know that staying quiet is not the path forward. 

To the 176 innocent lives that were lost during this horrific tragedy, I pay my deepest respect. You did not deserve this. 

You were caught in the middle of two powerful children fighting over nonsense. 

Children with access to bombs and drones and media that will spread their hatred and lies. 

To the families of the victims, my heart aches for you. Something so precious and dear was stolen from you in an instant. When I actually give myself a moment to sit with this tragedy, it steals my breath.

I am not sure what else I can do, but I do know that I am here. I have a voice. I can fight for what’s right. And I can hold space for fellow humans who are suffering.