I was born on October 8, 1979 (16 Mehr 1358 in the Persian calendar), during the early days of the Iranian Revolution, in Dari Alley, Se-las Street, Saveh County. Inspired by the revolutionary spirit of the time, my father named me “Jomhoor” — meaning “Republic” — a name that echoes the hope and energy of that era.

My childhood was warm and full of fond memories in a tight-knit neighborhood. We had kind neighbors like Mr. Rahimi and Mr. Tatari. At the entrance of our alley stood a small religious center run by Seyed Esmaeil Shahrokhi, a respected figure in Saveh.

I started school at 22 Bahman Primary School, under the guidance of Mr. Shabani. Later, I studied at Shahid Nazar Fakhari Middle School and then Mohammad Baqer High School. Those early school years were filled with curiosity and joy. But during middle school, I began to feel the burden of being a migrant. Mockery, stares, and discrimination reminded me that to many, I was still seen as an outsider — even though I was born in Iran.

Despite the challenges, I found true friends — some, like Mr. Habib Zarif, remain close to this day. I eventually married in Saveh, like many others in the Afghan community.

I once dreamed of becoming a firefighter or working in another meaningful role. But legal restrictions on foreign nationals closed many doors. Today, after more than four decades of life in Iran, I still lack an official identity — denied access to basic rights like banking services, healthcare, and even education for my daughters.