A Journey to Damghan – A Stage, a Home, and a Story of Strength
In 2024, I traveled to Damghan for a theater festival. The official reason? Performing in one of the biggest and most incredible shows of my life. But in reality, that wasn’t the main story. That performance, that whole festival—it was just a beautiful excuse for something far bigger: meeting Aziz.
Aziz was a friend of my grandma’s friend. A quiet, reserved woman who had lost her son just six months before. Instead of staying in the festival dorms, we chose to stay at her home, and from the moment we arrived, it was clear—everything was revolving around her. Her home, her world, her silent grief, and her incredible strength.
Walking into her house felt like stepping into the past. The furniture, the decor, even the atmosphere—it was all frozen in time, untouched for nearly 30 years. In Iran, especially in smaller and more traditional towns, history isn’t just something in books. It lives inside the walls of people’s homes, in their way of life, in the way they hold onto memories.
At first, Aziz barely spoke. But little by little, as we shopped for groceries, made meals, and spent time together, something shifted. She started opening up. Smiling. Talking. The heavy air of grief began to soften—even if just for a while.
And then there was the rain. Damghan, a place where heavy rain is rare, was suddenly drenched in a downpour. It felt symbolic, like the sky itself was washing something away, making space for something new.
That theater festival? That performance? It was one of the greatest I’ve ever had. But in the end, the real magic wasn’t on the stage. It was in that home, with Aziz, where I witnessed the quiet strength of a woman who had lost so much but still carried on.
That trip, that performance, that home—it wasn’t just a journey. It was a reminder that sometimes, the real stories aren’t the ones we plan. They’re the ones that find us.
