This is The Guardian.
Today, inside Iran as the bombs fall.
On Saturday morning, you know,
you get up and suddenly my My phone was blowing up with friends and family saying, it's started.
It's just started.
And you didn't need to say anything more.
For the past week, Sanam Negari Andalini, like millions of Iranians living outside their country,
has found herself split in two, existing in some kind of shadow world.
She gets up and she goes to work,
but her mind and her heart are thousands of miles away with her family and friends.
as airstrikes rained down on her homeland.
And honestly the last week for all of us has been one of, how do I explain,
waking up in the morning and you feel literally as if your legs weigh a ton and you feel paralyzed,
you feel like you're constantly not unable to breathe.
Since last Saturday, when the US and Israeli bombardment began, the Internet's been down.
Only the occasional message or voice note has got through.
So what happens is that I send a message to somebody that I know and sometimes it's one tick,
sometimes it's two ticks.
I lost, you know, one relative.
How is everybody and, you know, how are the ones, you know, in the city or wherever they are?