I was raised in Tehran, under the Ayatollah’s sharia law and daily watch of Basij – the “morality police”. My parents fell in love with the Islamic Revolution when I was a baby and welcomed life under its strict religious rules. The Ayatollah’s face stared down from the walls at home, a daily reminder of what was expected and what was forbidden. This included being gay, but by my teenage years I knew I was different from my peers, and began hiding my sexuality from my parents and the world outside.
The other side of life under the regime was that there was little room for celebration: happy events, even religious ones, came with inherent guilt while frivolous outside influences, including western music, were considered dangerous. And so I was in my mid-20s before I went to my first real party: an underground gathering that would become my gateway to a hidden, gay Tehran.
