A Mind That Refused to Be Closed

Some dreams begin quietly—in small rooms, in families who have almost nothing except hope. I was born in Iran as a refugee into a kind and supportive Afghan family. To my parents, education meant everything. From the time I was very young, they emphasized the importance of learning and encouraged me to explore the world through books. I loved reading, writing, and discovering new things. With my mother's support and my passion for learning, I was able to read and write simple Persian sentences by the age of four, and books quickly became my favorite companions.

Life as a refugee in Iran was never easy. Every year, my family had to pay a large amount of money simply to be allowed to remain there. Despite these hardships, my father enrolled me in English classes when I was in third grade. I was the youngest student in the class; most of the others were over fifteen years old. Because I began learning English at such a young age, I was able to complete the program by the age of sixteen and achieve an IELTS qualification. English soon became one of my strongest subjects.

To make a long story short, with the continuous support of my parents, I graduated from high school as the top student in the natural sciences stream, despite the discrimination that Afghan students often faced. Then came the most important moment of my academic life: the university entrance examination. I devoted nearly all my time to preparing for it. I sacrificed leisure, rest, and many simple joys because I believed that education was the key to a better future.

When the day of the exam arrived, I felt both nervous and hopeful. However, when I received the exam paper, I noticed something painful on the first page: a space for the national identification number. Afghan refugees in Iran do not have Iranian national ID cards, which meant we had to leave that section blank. In that moment, it felt like a silent reminder that I was not considered equal to the others. It was a painful indication that the system had not been designed for someone like me.

As you might expect, I was unable to qualify for medicine at a public university, where tuition was free. Still, my parents refused to let me give up on my dreams. They encouraged me to enroll in a private university instead. Although the tuition fees were expensive for my family, my father worked tirelessly to support my education.

I began studying Cellular and Molecular Biology. I studied with determination and dedication, and soon I became the top student in my class among both male and female students. I was also the only Afghan student in the program. My professors often praised my hard work and commitment. Those were the moments when I truly felt the strength of being a girl. Every time I raised my hand to answer a question and every time my professors recognized my efforts, I felt empowered. I felt that all the struggles of my parents and all the sacrifices we had made were not in vain.

I dreamed of continuing my education until I earned a PhD. However, after two years at university, a new regulation was introduced for Afghan students: they were required to have a passport in order to continue their studies. At that time, I only had a legal residence card. We tried to obtain a passport through the Afghan embassy in Iran, but unfortunately, it was 2023, shortly after the Taliban returned to power in Afghanistan, and the process became extremely slow.

Because time was passing and I could not risk losing my education, my family decided to travel to Afghanistan to obtain my passport more quickly and then return to Iran so that I could continue my studies. But life does not always follow our plans. After we arrived in Afghanistan and obtained my passport, we were unable to return to Iran because of the political situation and regional instability.

My university education came to a sudden and painful end. Today, I am in Afghanistan, and I cannot continue my university studies. Sometimes this reality makes me feel deeply sad, but my love for learning has never disappeared. Currently, I am studying the Chinese language and continuing to educate myself in every way possible. Education is not simply something I want; it is part of who I am.

I still believe that one day universities will reopen their doors to girls. And even if every door remains closed, I will build my own path and continue my education. Because I have learned something important from my life: strength is not only about achieving your dreams; it is about refusing to abandon them, even when the world tries to stop you. I will not be satisfied with only two years of university education. One day, I will achieve my dream and earn my PhD. When that day comes, I will make my parents proud, honor the sacrifices they made for me, and once again feel the true strength of being a girl.