Fourteen years ago my life changed forever as I arrived in the United States, holding tightly to hope and a promise.
That promise was freedom and a dream of a better life.
I entered this beautiful country as a documented immigrant at the age of 18 in August 2002, almost one year after 9/11. After surviving 15 years of oppression under Sharia in Iran, I felt older than my years. I had seen too much and I knew all too well the suffering of those who were subjected to Islam. What I had witnessed and experienced had left my soul weary. But in America, I felt safe. I was able to breathe, and I could stop looking over my shoulder and living in fear.
I could now believe in miracles. Here I was, the newest member of the greatest country in the world. It was my rebirth into freedom. I was in a new place that viewed me as a human; someone of value to society. Finally, my life mattered. I was a daughter of liberty; a citizen of the U.S.A.
I’ve never forgotten those who I left behind -- and I have dedicated my life to them. How could I turn my back on them, when I know all too well the vicious suffering women endure in Islamic-ruled countries?
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