I was in the Italian city of Milan on April 15, 2015, when I decided to attend the local soccer match at San Siro Stadium. Milan had been one of my favorite teams since childhood, and San Siro seemed like a good choice for my first time seeing a soccer game live at an arena. Since emigrating from Iran in 2012, I had often dreamed of the day. In fact, I had been dreaming of the day since I was 10 years old.
My fantasy began one summer in the city of Ahvaz, in southwestern Iran, the night I watched Italy play Nigeria in the 1994 FIFA World Cup, held in the United States. From that day on, soccer became a big part of my life. I was a diehard fan, whether following the Iran league or European soccer leagues, watching on television and listening on the radio. Every morning, I bought the sports pages. I owned the scarf, hat and T-shirt of my favorite team.
Despite my enthusiasm, I couldn't go to a stadium to watch a match. As a little girl, I was in love with a sport that I knew I could never see in person in Iran unless I met one condition — to somehow not be a female.
As the years passed after my 10th birthday, the gates of Iran’s soccer stadiums remained closed to women. After I changed location, on one spring day I finally got through the gates of a stadium and sat on the fourth level, at San Siro. Although San Siro had felt like a dream, it was not my dream choice. My real dream stood thousands of kilometers away, inside the gates of Tehran’s Azadi Stadium, where I wanted, and still want, to watch the big Tehran match.
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