By Reese Merritt
Surrounded by a forest, a newly paved basketball court overlooks the Caspian Sea on the northern border of Iran. While on vacation in Ramsar, Nozhan Hashemi found herself on this court with her mother, Nastaran Sohrabifar, her father, Alireza Hashemi, and her two cousins.
The 16-year-old’s family was always playing basketball, not just on this vacation, but as a matter of fact, almost every weekend.
“In our family, sports have always played an important role, and Nozhan has been active in various athletic activities since the age of five,” Sohrabifar said. “Among them, basketball stood out as her true passion.”
On this day, Hashemi’s cousins were goofing around on the court rather than engaging in fierce competition. One passed the makeshift basketball—a soccer ball, actually. The ball rocketed in as if it had left the pouch of a slingshot, smacking Hashemi square in the face. The blood began to pour out of her nose and onto her face.
“I was crying, but also laughing at the same time,” Hashemi said. “I don’t blame [my cousin]. She was being silly.”
This injury caused a quick trip to the nearest hospital, a lasting trauma and a reconstructive surgery two years following this excursion.
Despite the inadvertent injury and friendly fire, Hashemi remained a fan of the sport. In fact, this invention James Naismith called “basketball” ultimately led to the application that would steer Hashemi over 6,000 miles to the United States.
It was Springfield College’s pride as the birthplace of basketball that found a greater reach over countries’ borders and entire oceans. Its reach, all beginning with a peach basket, found a girl living in Mashhad, Iran. But Hashemi's success at Springfield College has little to do with basketball. She is a novelist, a feminist, a coder and a powerful communicator in multiple languages.
Hashemi, also known as Nellie, hit the road running from the moment she arrived at Springfield College. She immediately searched for avenues on campus to get involved in.
“I was trying to participate on campus because international students want to avoid isolation,” Hashemi said. “So at the beginning of the year, I was participating in any event.”
Her participation grew well above expectations, including exploring job opportunities. This resulted in Hashemi reaching out to a man she met during the International Student Welcome barbeque.
“At the beginning of the year, I saw that guy,” Hashemi said. “He was calling all the students’ names. I was like, ‘How is this possible? How does this guy know everyone’s names?’”
David McMahon, the Director of Spiritual Life at Springfield College, made a point to develop a connection with all the new students that evening, learning them by name and providing them with a friendly, familiar face. One can only imagine what it’s like to be thrown into a new country with tables full of students who have varying degrees of English proficiency.
“It’s a struggle for anyone traveling halfway across the world to a different culture and a whole different situation,” McMahon said.
“I started talking to him and he introduced himself, and I felt comfortable talking to him,” Hashemi said. “I was like, ‘OK, I feel more welcomed.’”
To avoid early isolation, Hashemi figured it was best to search for a job as she hoped to get involved with the community, as well as improve her social life. Consequently, she approached McMahon.
“Very early on she came in and had expressed interest in working in the office,” McMahon said. “I believe I told her no, she had to wait just because of the rules about hiring international students without work study. But luckily, I did have some availability that synced up with her.”
Hashemi had earned her first job. Here, she sets up events, helps advertise and hangs posters. But what drew her to the Office of Spiritual Life and set her apart, was her curiosity of other religions and prioritizing her spiritual life.
“I am into learning about religions, and I really care about my spiritual life,” Hashemi said. “My family, they were always caring about their spiritual life… Physically or even mentally, we may face different difficulties, but the most important thing is [to] always care about your spiritual life.”
“She’s been very supportive, both through her work in my office, but also in terms of events; cross-cultural events and different religious events,” McMahon said. “She’s been there, not necessarily because it’s her culture or represents her values, but she’s there, supportive of her fellow students and just wanting to learn.”
Hashemi’s curiosity, hard work in the office and wish to be involved narrows any difference between people. It is the way she makes people feel that goes above and beyond.
“I think her experience has been enriched and deepened by her willingness to reach out, not just for a job, but to reach out across religious differences, across cultural differences and engage with really different people,” McMahon said.
The work Hashemi has done in the Office of Spiritual Life is just one brush stroke of many on her Springfield College canvas. This canvas is flourishing into a mural with every position she holds.
But how did she get here?
At the age of 17, Hashemi began applying to universities during the fall of 2023.
“We always talked about, ‘What should I do for my college?’” Hashemi said. “So choosing [a] university was one of the most important things that could happen to me.”
Both of Hashemi’s parents went to college in Mashhad; her mother studied biology, and her father studied business. They were fully committed to supporting Hashemi’s educational desires, even if that meant traveling abroad. The first landmark that sparked curiosity for an education institution was Canada.
“I suggested Canada—specifically the University of Toronto—because my sister lives there and I believed it would offer Nozhan emotional and physical security during her early years away from home,” Sohrabifar said. “She was accepted to the University of Toronto, and I told her she could always apply to U.S. universities later for her graduate studies.”
But, none of them spoke to her quite like the college her father suggested to her.
“Do you want to try Springfield?” Alireza asked his daughter.
Hashemi had never thought of the school, but because of Alireza’s love for basketball, having played in high school, he believed it could be a place that was calling Hashemi’s name.
“I was like, ‘OK, I will apply,’” Hashemi said. “And after I applied, I received so many emails, I felt their passion for having me. So I was like ‘OK, so if this college is showing this amount of passion, why should I ignore it?’”
“Since we had been familiar with Springfield College for quite some time—and given its strong reputation for both academics and athletics—we thought, ‘Why not consider it now?’” Sohrabifar said. “It offered a safe, nurturing environment for an 18-year-old girl, and when she received her admission, we knew it was the right decision.”
After speaking with a Springfield College student over LinkedIn to gain authentic and nuanced insights, Hashemi made her decision. On Aug. 27, 2024, the physical and figurative journey began.
Hashemi woke up, for the last time that year, to a new day in Mashhad. Her home. This 33-hour journey ahead only allowed her to bring two suitcases.
“My suitcases were so heavy, but not as heavy as my emotions,” Hashemi said.
This leap of faith for her education brought on dreadful questions. How will I be treated in this new country? What will happen when I meet American people?
When she stepped out of her room, a new Nozhan Hashemi replaced the old. A part of her would be forced to stay. The Nozhan, forced to stay, would wake up to the sound of her mother’s voice—“Breakfast! Breakfast!” her mother would say. That only child who feels the comfort of a quiet, tight-knit household still remains in Mashhad. The new Nozhan would only have the memories to clutch onto.
“I was experiencing the most painful thing in my life,” Hashemi said.
First-year college students understand the pain of leaving home and being placed in a tiny dorm with a brand new person they have never met before, but Hashemi was crossing an ocean, alone, unsure of when she would return. Yet, such pain enabled great lessons, lessons a typical 18-year-old doesn’t learn until years later. Maybe never.
“I learned how to let things go, even something that belongs to me,” Hashemi said. “I learned so many lessons since August 27. You learn how to avoid materialism.”
With her two suitcases in hand, the taxi arrived to take her to Mashhad Hashemi Nejad International Airport. And upon her arrival, 40 people came to say goodbye to Hashemi. Tears were already streaming down.
“I’m like saying goodbye to a city,” Hashemi said.
To her surprise, much of her family and distant relatives were waiting for her to have one last moment with them before she stepped onto the plane. Her grandfather, Mohammad Ebraheem Hashemi, wanted to make her journey as tranquil and comfortable as possible, so he gifted her a business class seat. To expand further, one of her cousins also gifted her a VIP Meet & Greet service to take care of her bags and make sure she knew where she was headed.
“In that moment, everyone [was] crying because they feel like they’re losing you,” Hashemi said.
“Her father and I were about to send her 14,000 kilometers away—alone, without anyone to watch over her,” Sohrabifar said.
The clock was ticking. It was time for Hashemi to step onto the plane, leaving her family behind. Their hands all stretched out, all 40 waving goodbye.
“I remember tracking her flight to New York on my phone and crying, praying to God, ‘Please protect my daughter,’” Sohrabifar said. “I had always been right beside her through every moment of her life. And now, I felt so helpless, asking myself, ‘Why can’t I be there to take care of her anymore?’”
While Hashemi hovered in the sky and sat through long, tedious layovers, her mother, the mother of an only child, worried for longer.
“Those were incredibly difficult days,” Sohrabifar said. “I had to fight against my maternal instincts constantly. I kept telling myself, ‘Nastaran, control your emotions. You didn’t just bring a child into this world—you raised a girl with a greater purpose, a girl who wants to make a difference in the world.’ So I had to be strong. I had to channel strength to her from afar, even if my heart was breaking.”
Hashemi’s plane touched down just before 10 p.m. on Aug. 28 at the John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City. The sky was dark, and rain fell from the sky. The airport surveyed the bay near a wild refuge just outside the city, so it did not appear nearly as bustling. This was the first time Hashemi had ever been in the U.S.
Waiting on the other side of the gates to pick up Hashemi was a gentleman who has experience with both growing up in Mashhad, living in American culture, and understands the college experience. His name is Shahab Derhami, Assistant Professor of Business Analytics and Operations at Binghamton University.
Derhami, who moved from Mashhad to the U.S. in late 2010 to pursue graduate school, is a distant maternal relative of Hashemi. Derhami knew Hashemi’s parents, and a couple of days prior to Hashemi’s arrival, Derhami was contacted by Nastaran Sohrabifar and Alireza Hashemi about a family friend who would need assistance navigating a new country.
“A couple days before [Hashemi] arrived, they contacted me,” Derhami said. “Then, they told me that she’s coming to the U.S. to study… You can imagine how difficult it is for a young kid. I just couldn’t believe my soul the first time that her parents told me she’s going to the U.S. That was the first time that I knew her and I talked to her.”
Derhami traveled to the airport with his fiancée, Saeideh Mirghorbani, to pick up Hashemi. And he recalls the oddly high spirits Hashemi was in.
“When I met her, she was always smiling,” Derhami said. “At JFK, she was excited, super excited. People come with a lot of hopes and American dreams.”
As a Mashhad native himself, Derhami prioritized Hashemi’s comfort and related to these new feelings.
“I could put myself in her shoes,” Derhami said. “That’s why I wanted to make sure that I [was] there when she arrived and… to make sure that she gets to Springfield safe.”
“They were so hospitable to me,” Hashemi said.
Once the three of them were en route to Springfield, it only took a couple of minutes of driving for everyone to get along.
The quick bond and laughter made the car ride even more enjoyable and natural. A little while later, Hashemi, Derhami and Mirghorbani stopped at a hotel. Little did Hashemi know, her first encounter with an American stranger would sear into her brain with trepidation.
The night was eerie. Hashemi was used to vibrant cities that never sleep, but this place was quiet. No noise, a hotel room to herself and no idea of her surroundings.
“That… was one of the… scariest nights that I ever had because I was alone in another country,” Hashemi said.
Before taking off for Springfield in the morning, Hashemi opened the door of her hotel room to meet her newly acquainted distant relatives for breakfast.
But, Hashemi was no longer waking up to that familiar voice. That voice being her mother shouting, “Breakfast, breakfast!” Instead, she exited the room to a different shout.
“F--- you! F--- you, motherf---er!”
As Hashemi peered past her doorframe, closing the door, a tall, barefoot man stood down the hall. In his hand was a phone, clutched to his face, as he screamed at the unfortunate soul on the other side of the line. Through these curses, the man noticed Hashemi and locked his eyes on her. He started walking toward her.
“Oh my god, I’m going to die,” Hashemi thought. “I hear crazy stories about the U.S. … about shootings.”
The stereotypical U.S. horror movies with killers searching to find their next victim started to flood her brain.
Suddenly, Derhami appeared from the elevator behind her before the man walked any further with his intimidating approach.
“I was like, ‘Oh my god!’” Hashemi said. “‘Thank you!’”
“I could see that she was a little bit scared, so I talked to her and said, ‘Listen, these things, they never happen. This is one of those things that happened at the worst possible time,’” Derhami said.
Still to this day, Hashemi is unsure of the man’s intentions. She wonders if he was seeking attention, maybe he was simply upset, maybe he was even racist. Either way, the two discussed the scare over breakfast.
“That was just a bad experience for someone who is just [experiencing] the first couple of hours in the U.S.,” Derhami said. “But, I think she handled that very well. I would have been more scared, I think, if it was me.”
Following their breakfast, Hashemi, Derhami and Mirghorbani resumed the trek up to Springfield College.
“We had a couple of hours to drive together. We bonded very well, actually. So, by the time that we got to Springfield, we were like a family,” Derhami said. “It was like my fiancée and I were dropping our kid at school.”
Hashemi finally reached the maroon “Birthplace of Basketball” arch. She had made it. The physical journey from Iran to Springfield was complete. And when she set her eyes on Alden Street, she was in awe.
“We came on campus and we saw a beautiful lake,” Hashemi said. “And we saw a beautiful campus.”
As she approached the International Student Welcome barbeque upon arrival, Hashemi was equally in awe of the area outside Alumni Hall.
“There’s a barbeque section behind Alumni—that place looks like a part of heaven,” Hashemi said. “The lake, the view, it’s so perfect.”
Hashemi arrived a little late to the evening event, so she felt a bit awkward. But, Heather St. Germaine, the Director of the International Center, introduced her to other students and explained that Hashemi was from Iran as she sat down for the meal.
Immediately, Hashemi wanted to know if there were any other students of Iranian nationality. She was told no. This was somewhat misleading.
“I sat next to the other students,” Hashemi said. “Suddenly, a guy next to me said, ‘Hi, how are you?’ in my language. Persian.”
Hashemi was shocked to hear such great familiarity so far from home.
“That was kind of a surprising moment when I came to campus,” Hashemi said. “I was happy in that moment when I heard him talking in Persian.”
This student had dual citizenship, like some other students on campus. To her relief, Hashemi was hoping deep down inside that she could find someone with the same nationality or ethnicity as her.
“So actually, I found that the Springfield College community is more diverse than we think,” Hashemi said.
It didn’t take long for Hashemi to meet more and more students.
“I remember that I tried to encourage her to meet others,” Derhami said. “And that was the first time that I realized that she is very good at adjusting to the environment.”
By the time Derhami and Mirghorbani were about to leave for New York, they no longer had to worry.
“We had this bad feeling that she’s going to be alone,” Derhami said. “So we were worried a little bit. But then when we saw that within just a couple of minutes or maybe less than an hour, she started a friendship with all those other students.”
Then the time did come. Derhami and Mirghorbani would have to say their goodbyes.
“The moment that we had to say goodbye was a heavy moment because we were also feeling it,” Derhami said. “We developed a good relationship with her within a couple of hours.”
Hashemi has already proved herself to be a barrier breaker at Springfield College, ever since she arrived. But her innate ability to ask for what is right and transcend past expectations is rooted back to her teenage years.
Back in Iran, Hashemi sat in her high school ready to sing within a group for a competition for student singers and musicians. She was only 14 years old.
“It wasn’t our turn yet, but a girl went on the stage,” Hashemi said.
The girl told the audience she didn’t want to sing, she only wanted to play her guitar.
This is important. But, why? In the Islamic Republic of Iran, there are rules regarding women performing and singing in public. This Islamic law is complex and has shifted over time, but generally prohibits solo performance by a female to an audience of mixed genders due to concerns about modesty and protecting the family. Singing solo on stage is not allowed. Violations have resulted in arrests over the past 40 years.
“And then, she starts singing,” Hashemi said.
There were male audience members present, and this girl was stopped rather quickly. A gasp filled the air.
“They were like, ‘Stop!’” Hashemi said. “They stopped her and they asked, ‘If you want to sing, we should ask all men to get out of this place.’”
This left Hashemi frustrated, angry and motivated to seek change.
“I was thinking all day, ‘Why does this law exist?’” Hashemi said. “I was really mad at that moment.”
This experience, along with Hashemi witnessing husbands insulting their wives during her childhood, ignited a passion for supporting women’s rights and a willingness to break barriers.
Back on Alden Street at Springfield College, four years later, Hashemi is the barrier breaker. She has ignited her passion to allow the campus to reach new heights.
For example, in Hashemi’s major of Computer Science, she recognizes how the use of advertisement indirectly swayed women away from her field as men appeared to be the ones filling those positions.
“Even now, we view Computer Science as something for men,” Hashemi said. “Which is something that I want to change.”
She views this stereotype as a barrier she wants to break.
“I’m here as a woman who loves Python language, and I love carrying my feminine energy into this,” Hashemi said. “You should actually study anything that you feel like you’re going to do. Not because of advertisements, media or anything. Computer science is for all of us.”
With this stereotype, Hashemi tends to be the only woman in her Computer Science classes at Springfield College, which can feel isolating.
“As a woman in this field, unfortunately, I don’t see [many] other women,” Hashemi said. “I’m the only female student in some of my classes, which is hard.”
Outside of computer science, Springfield College’s Jenny Krichevsky, Assistant Professor of Composition Rhetoric in the Department of Literature, Writing, and Journalism, recognizes Hashemi’s self-starter ability and instinctual nature to pursue change in the organizations she is involved in.
“We talked about her reaching out to different organizations on campus,” Krichevsky said. “And she just did it.”
“What has really stood out about Nellie is that she’s really here and embracing a lot of the different opportunities presented to her,” McMahon said. “So, I know she’s really involved in a number of student groups.”
McMahon is correct. Hashemi is involved with numerous organizations. In her first year, she has become a member of Women in Business and Women Empowerment, she is the vice president for the International Student Organization, and will be the International Student Representative for Student Government Association for the 2025-2026 school year. These organizations reflect her purpose.
“She’s like, ‘What the heck is happening here? I’m going to do something about it,’” Krichevsky said. “That is her M.O.”
When observing women’s rights history, Hashemi notices the lack of those rights. From the Salem witch trials in 1692 and 1693 to women’s suffrage in 1920 with the ratification of the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, she seeks to ask, not fight, but ask for rights.
“Feminism is something [that is] important to me, and I feel like it should be important for anyone because we are all human and we want equal lives, we want [an] equal world,” Hashemi said.
As Hashemi endured many first impressions in the U.S., and at Springfield College, the one that was most striking may be surprising.
“I think sex education is one of the most important educations that we should all have,” Hashemi said.
She was shocked, yet very impressed with the emphasis the college had on providing information on human sexuality, how to mitigate sexually transmitted infections and use contraception, and empowering those to have safe and healthy sexual relationships. One way this is promoted is through the Office of Health Promotion’s biweekly Stall Talk bathroom newsletters, which Hashemi appreciates.
“I like that they (Stall Talk newsletters) are mostly about sex education,” Hashemi said. “So every time you are sitting there and you’re looking at those things, you get more information.”
Even though Hashemi adjusted to new foods and inflection in speech in the U.S., this education that was even in front of her face in bathroom stalls was not as widespread back home.
“I don’t really know the reason why in Iran we don’t have much open sex education,” Hashemi said. “But personally, my parents, they always try and tell me how to prevent, for example, getting pregnant or how I can protect myself, my body, from diseases or sexual activities.”
But one particular event on campus made Hashemi realize how many students were willingly vocal about women’s sexuality and the social stigma surrounding rape and abuse.
“I was shocked when I found out about Vagina Monologues,” Hashemi said.
The Vagina Monologues is play written by V, formerly known as Eve Ensler, which is based off of many interviews V conducted with women concerning women’s sexuality, as well as rape and abuse. V felt these performances could be a mechanism for moving people to act to end violence. Many of Hashemi’s friends were in this annual show and witnessed it for the first time in April.
“Some parts of that show [were] moments I saw in my life, for my friends, from my close friends,” Hashemi said. “Those moments, memories, they flooded back. We were hiding to talk about those things, like my friends, and now, why are we ashamed?”
Hashemi’s days are bustling. The hours are filled with classes and extracurriculars, not to mention her social life. Still she finds time for a passion project that she began at age 14.
“I think 14 was [the] age that I changed,” Hashemi said. “Each day, I’m finding a piece of my puzzle.”
Part of that puzzle is the continuation of a novel that she started writing before most teenagers seat themselves behind the wheel of a car.
In this novel, the main character only has four fingers on each hand, illustrating that even though she has pieces missing from her, she can still be a revolutionary figure. Hashemi recognizes that this character has similarities that are consistent with her.
“Maybe, [at] that age, I felt like something is missing inside me,” Hashemi said.
But Hashemi also acknowledges that this character was inspired by the girls she surrounded herself with in Iran.
“I think part of her was me, but like 80 percent of the character [are] girls that I observed from back home, or even here,” Hashemi said.
This large undertaking highlights, underlines, bolds and emboldens Hashemi’s dedication and young excellence. To tell this story is a life goal of hers.
“That’s my life dream—to publish that novel,” Hashemi said.
With this novel comes the use of language; it’s an inevitable part of writing and how we communicate. For Hashemi, she feels as though she is living in this “language void.” And rightfully so. Hashemi is fluent in Persian and English, is strong in Arabic, and is learning Russian. English specifically was a language she learned for her own future.
“I knew if I’m going to show my work, if I’m going to explore the world,” Hashemi said. “If I’m going to write an article, if I’m going to write this book, if I’m going to invent and show the world, I should talk with the language people [use].”
Ever since high school, learning English has become an obsession for Hashemi. She communicates with thoughtfulness and eloquence both through her speech and on the page. Not only did she learn the language, but she also has begun translating her novel from Persian into English.
To go further, Hashemi has spent the past year at Springfield College learning two coding languages: C++ and Python. Just like English, she has a reason to back up her decision for learning two programming languages.
“I think computer science is something from the future. It’s something modern,” Hashemi said. “And as a Gen Z, I feel like we should care about new sciences… I think I have a space in this field and I see myself in this field.”
One of the universal courses each student begins within their first semester at Springfield College is College Writing I. In most cases, students race to check the class off the list, but instead, Hashemi forged a bond of social capital, advocacy and genuine connection.
This bond was with Krichevsky.
Krichevsky was born in the Soviet Union, more specifically, in Latvia, and left for the U.S.in 1990 when travel restrictions opened up. She was four years old at the time.
Both Krichevsky and Hashemi feel as though they see eye to eye because they are not originally from the U.S. and lived in a country with dissimilar social and political climates.
“I feel like every conversation I have with her, we really do see each other,” Krichevsky said. “She’s one of the few people on campus where I feel like we had very frank conversations.”
“When I talk to her, I feel like she understands me and I understand her,” Hashemi said.
On Nov. 6, 2024, the day following the 2024 U.S. presidential election, Krichevsky wrote a column for The Springfield Student about her background, urging students to advocate for the communities they care about and explaining why exercising their U.S. constitutional right to vote is important.
Krichevsky did not intend to craft her story into a column at first, but when she did, she read it out loud to her College Writing I class on that Wednesday.
“So I read it in class and the way people were physically uncomfortable with a) being kind of vulnerable, and b) just being kind of political in front of them, made them extremely uncomfortable,” Krichevsky said. “People were looking at their laptops nervously.”
But to Hashemi, none of what Krichevsky was saying was troubling to her. She was very much engaged and wanted to listen.
“None of the things I was saying were uncomfortable for her or shocking for her,” Krichevsky said. “She was one of the few people who was making eye contact with me.”
After reading the column in class, less than a month later, Hashemi submitted a column of her own to The Springfield Student about her background and the closure of Gulick Hall at Springfield College. Hashemi felt the support of Krichevsky.
“She’s also so supportive, like when I wanted to write an article for the newspaper, she supported me,” Hashemi said.
Their conversations are thought-provoking, infused with a sense of deep understanding, while questioning the world around them. The knowledge they share is something that both Krichevsky and Hashemi appreciate, and Krichevsky marvels about what more Hashemi will do considering her early impact.
“I said, ‘Thank you for educating me,’ and she said, ‘No, thank you for educating me,’” Krichevsky said. “Like, this person is 18 [years old]. What will 10 years from now look like for her? What will 20 years look like for her?”
Hashemi’s first year at Springfield College is coming to a close, and she has made the best of it through her studies and her relationships.
Over Thanksgiving break, she visited Derhami at his home in New York. Over winter break, she traveled to Canada to visit her aunt, Mahdokht Sohrabifar, a person who has served as a role model for her. And over spring break, she traveled to Florida with some students with whom she had developed tight friendships.
Springfield is lucky to have hosted Hashemi since her arrival, but with that, she has spent so much time away from her home, away from her parents. That said, the messaging app, WhatsApp, is constant. She calls her parents every single day.
“You might find it hard to believe, but every single day and hour, we stay in touch—whether it’s through phone calls or video chats,” Sohrabifar said. “Whether Nozhan is in her room, at a restaurant, at the gym with friends or out on campus, we stay connected. Even when she’s in class, she texts me to say she can’t talk at the moment because she’s studying.”
Whether or not those phone calls and video chats will become in-person conversations is still up in the air. Both Hashemi and Sohrabifar worry about what the future has in store.
“We often hear conflicting news, and sometimes it’s the negative stories that stay with us the most. My daughter’s future means everything to our family—her joy lifts us, and her stress weighs on us,” Sohrabifar said. “I hope for more clarity and emotional security—for her, and for all students trying to focus, grow and thrive far from home but I’m pretty sure everything will get cleared and better.”
“Something that… has scared me a lot is what if something happened [where] I won’t be able to see my parents,” Hashemi said.
Seeing her parents for the first time since waving goodbye to all 40 relatives is an image that fills her heart.
“I really miss them, and I really want to [see] them,” Hashemi said. “And I cannot because I am studying. I’m focusing on my studies.”
Amidst this focus, she keeps her eyes on the bigger prize.
“I want to be someone who people always say, ‘She is such a kind soul. She improved this earth,’” Hashemi said.
Hashemi’s ideal goal shares similarities that her mother had for herself when raising her only child 19 years ago.
“I had Nozhan when I was 20 years old, and from the very beginning—even during pregnancy—I was intentional about raising a child with intelligence and purpose,” Sohrabifar said. “Given my academic background, I spent the nine months of pregnancy studying extensively about ideal developmental conditions for a fetus, all with the hope that—with God’s help—I could bring a child into the world who would one day contribute meaningfully to humanity. I didn’t see motherhood as simply reproduction; my goal was to raise a next-generation leader.”
So far, so good. At the end of a stressful, yet grateful year, Nozhan Hashemi is well on her way to becoming just that.