When I was 19, I spent the summer in Iran visiting my family. What I didn't know was that Iran has compulsory two-year military service for men over 18. So being a dual citizen, I was told I had to enlist upon attempting to leave the country.
But being a uni student in Australia qualified me for an exemption. For three months, I waited anxiously for a confirmation letter from my university to save me. I spoke Persian with an accent and was in no way built for conscription in a military that could at any moment go to war. Many nights I would weep at the thought of being conscripted.
At the time, I was staying at my aunt's house. Months passed, and one day my aunts and uncles gathered in the living room and grinned at me strangely. I'd just had a bout of awful food poisoning, and the whole thing was beginning to annoy me. My uncle remarked, "he still hasn't noticed has he?" Then one of my aunts said, "Look up!" Above me, tucked between the ceiling lights was the letter I had been waiting for. It had arrived that day. And for some reason, my own relatives thought it was a good idea to break the news with a (cruel but hilarious) stunt.
Comedian Steve Allen is commonly credited with the saying: comedy equals tragedy plus time. The idea is that bad things somehow ferment and become funnier as time passes. Finding humour in hardship is one thing, but writing about it is another. I was raised by Iranian-born parents who experienced war, revolution, the struggles of moving to a new country and having to start over again - all while trying to raise children. It's from them that I first learnt to put things into perspective, to face hardship with cheerfulness.
I was raised by Iranian-born parents who experienced war, revolution, the struggles of moving to a new country and having to start over again - all while trying to raise children. It's from them that I first learnt to put things into perspective, to face hardship with cheerfulness
For me, comedy also equals intellectual freedom, the only requisite is you make your reader or audience laugh. Having a sense of humour is a way of viewing life that blunts the sharpness of reality. It's about a sense of play - which is helpful for any writer who has ever felt paralysed by taking their work too seriously.
So how do you find humour in unexpected places? The American lyrical poet Edna St. Vincent Millay once said, "I love humanity, but I hate people". Yes, people can really, really suck. But ironically, it's also the key to finding the lightness in any situation, because it encourages us to accept ourselves, and those around us, just as we are: fragile, prone to mistakes and vulnerable. Everyone poos, and everyone is part of humanity - a collective that passes the baton of dad jokes and suffering from generation to generation.
When I write, I feel a sense of release that no 10-session government-subsidised mental health plan can compare to. And through my work, there is a sense of catharsis, because I feel heard. Among all this, there's a bigger motivating factor: that love of humanity which Millay described. A desire to share something that is positive, from what was once negative (while also maintaining my right to be a misanthrope when appropriate).
Growing up, I've experienced bullying, racism, financial distress, mental and physical health problems. I've burned bridges, ruined relationships, been through merry-go-rounds of personal trainers. I've come close to death on a few occasions, lost people I loved in tragic circumstances. Worst of all, I've had to apply for arts funding. The list is colourful and varied, and I'm still processing much of it. But I've come to appreciate that it's those things that can give depth by providing people with a shared experience.
Finding humour in tragedy is by no means a competition to see who has suffered the most and who can deal with it the best
Finding humour in tragedy is by no means a competition to see who has suffered the most and who can deal with it the best. But whether you like it or not, life, death and struggle will knock on your door. They have the keys - they're just knocking because they're being polite. And when they're not being polite, you can still have some levity about it. That's a life skill worth having for writers, as well as people with jobs. Lean into it. As I came our of a recent period of darkness, I was telling my psychiatrist about the potential of an arts grant being approved, she smiled and said: "if you get it, I'll do a little dance for you." Who says agony and fun don't mix?
Cyrus Bezyan is a special guest on SBS Voices’ new podcast , the companion podcast to the SBS Emerging Writers’ Competition. Cyrus' episode drops on August 31.
SBS wants to hear your story...because there's a writer in all of us. Submit your story of 1000-2000 words that speaks to the beauty and/or challenges of being Between Two Worlds in diverse Australia and you could win up to $5000 and kickstart your career. Entries are open from August 16-September 16. Go to for more information and register to enter.
Listen to SBS Voices' new podcast, The New Writer’s Room, in the , , , , or wherever you listen to podcasts.
