Trampling on the Rights of Our Ancestors

They say history belongs to those who write it.

But what happens when we forget who built it?

This story begins with a cup of coffee and ends with a letter — not to the future, but to those who came long before us.

Like every morning, a cup of coffee sat beside my open laptop on the breakfast table. My eyes wandered over the daily headlines, and I couldn’t help whispering to myself, “What a pity… we’ve wasted so much.”

Once upon a time, we used to pick up the newspaper from the doorstep, glance at the bold headline right there, then sit at the table and dive into the stories. Of course, the ladies of the house weren’t thrilled—most of the time, their husbands’ faces were hidden behind the newspaper.

Anyway… as I scrolled through the news, one report caught my eye.

Somewhere, archaeologists had discovered ancient artifacts so extraordinary that they claimed, “These cannot be the work of humans!”

They insisted those artifacts must have been created by beings from another planet.

Without thinking, I burst out laughing—so loudly that my coffee spilled all over the table. I couldn’t stop. My wife rushed in, alarmed, and peered over my shoulder at the screen, trying to see what had made her usually quiet, world-weary husband laugh like that.

When I finally calmed down, I said,

— Bring me a pen. No, a pen and a notebook. Hurry!

She stood there, puzzled.

— What did you see that made you laugh like that?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She frowned; she knew that kind of laughter—one born of anger, not joy.

— Who are you going to write to?

— My ancestors.

Her eyes widened.

— Your ancestors? Why now?

— Well, my dear, I’m getting older. Thought I’d better write them a letter before I go—just in case.

She smirked.

— Why write? You’ll meet them soon enough!

I sighed again, this time louder.

— You see, it’s not fair. They worked so hard, and now others take the credit.

— What do you mean? Who’s taking credit for what?

I wiped the coffee off the table and asked,

— Any coffee left?

She went and came back with a fresh cup.

— Thank you, my dear. Now listen… the report says those newly found artifacts can’t possibly be man-made. They claim they were made by aliens.

She shrugged.

— Well, that’s their job. Maybe they know better.

I spoke calmly, but my tone was heavy:

— No, that’s ingratitude. If humanity has reached this level of knowledge today, it’s because of the intelligence and perseverance of those who came before us. Yet everything they built, we now attribute to imaginary beings from the stars.

I closed the laptop and said quietly,

— You know, my love, we are those so-called “beings from space.”

We just can’t see ourselves.

And one day, generations after us will say,

“Long ago, creatures from another world came, built comfort and progress, and vanished.”

But no one ever saw them—then or now.

Why?

There’s no answer.

یادداشت نویسنده (فارسی):

فنجان قهوه، لبخندی از خشم، و نامه‌ای نانوشته برای نیاکان.

این نوشته پاسخی‌ست به فراموشیِ ریشه‌ها، به ناسپاسی در برابر آنان که خاک را ساختند تا ما بر آن بایستیم.