All I can remember from my teenage years and early twenties is running around town. I had just learned how to get around on my own, taking buses and taxis wherever the wind took me. If there was somewhere a young girl might find something interesting, I was probably there. And when I moved away for college, it was more of the same.
Beyond the classroom and my involvement in the school’s Basij, I was also active in local cultural centers and community hubs during my middle and high school years. Sports were a big part of my life too. I was always on the go, full of energy. Maybe it was just my fiery nature. I wanted to be involved in everything, anywhere I could make a difference or where there was talk of personal and intellectual growth. In university, I was a regular member of the Islamic Association of Students.
Even though I was studying in a different city, my enthusiasm never waned. I spent most of my time involved in the Islamic Association of Students, but I was always ready to help out other student groups when they needed it. After graduation, I moved back to Isfahan and got married, but I still stayed active in cultural and religious activities. By then, I could drive and had my own car. I remember trying to be at every event in town before my first child was born. After that, I slowed down a bit, but I still tried to go wherever something interesting was happening. If I could, I’d take my kid along, and if not, I’d find someone to watch them.
I’m not saying this to brag about how active I was; maybe I have exaggerated a bit. I just want to say that I was never one to sit at home. I couldn’t. After my second child was born, things got really tough. I didn’t have enough time to go out as much as I used to. By the time I was ready to go somewhere, the event would already be over. It was like my spirit was trapped in a bottle, one that could explode at any moment. Being stuck at home was hard. All I could think about was how to find something to do at home to keep that youthful energy alive.
I tried everything. I took up art, signed up for online classes, but nothing could satisfy my restless spirit. Job offers came in, but with two kids, it was impossible. Then, a friend who worked at the Isfahan-e Ziba newspaper suggested I write for them. At first, I didn’t take it seriously. I’d never written anything before. I didn’t even keep a diary, let alone think about being a journalist!
So, I took a leap of faith and said yes. I started by writing about NGOs and cultural centers in Isfahan—places I was already familiar with. It was great; interviewing people and organizations I knew at least a little about. I’ll never forget my first published interview. The stress of that first interview, combined with the excitement of seeing my work in print, is something no journalist ever forgets, especially when it’s in a newspaper! That thrill of seeing my first article in Isfahan-e Ziba kept me coming back for more. Talking to people from all walks of life made this work even sweeter.
Working at the newspaper didn’t keep me from my home life. I conducted interviews over the phone, edited them at home, and then sent them to Isfahan Ziba. Of course, there were challenges! Imagine me, a mother, sitting at a computer with a baby in my arms, promising my colleagues at the newspaper that I would finish a report or interview, all while hoping my children would fall asleep.
I write and I keep writing! Perhaps journalism can be challenging for a mother of two, but I’m willing to stay up late at night and wake up early in the morning to seize this golden opportunity of writing for a newspaper and pursuing my passions. It’s a chance I might not find elsewhere. Journalism has been an opportunity filled with experiences and joys, and despite all its challenges, I cherish it!”
