When I was 16, I was invited to a house party where I was told by a Persian lady to “put your hand over my heart”.

It was the first time I had ever been asked to do that, but it stuck with me.

I was a young Iranian girl living in Brisbane, and had a lot of fun.

I’d also been invited by my mother to a family Christmas party, where she’d brought along a Persian woman and a white mother who had also come to the party with her.

As a child, my mother was often teased by my father about her Persian heritage, but she always insisted it was just part of my culture.

My father was a very strict and strict Muslim, so we were always taught that it was okay to dress differently, but that you could never be a full Persian.

He didn’t understand my growing interest in my culture and religion, and he would tell me stories about the time when I’d been sent to a mosque with my hair dyed brown, which he had never seen before.

It made me feel like I was missing out on something, but the Iranian mother’s story was a real turning point in my life.

I never thought of myself as Iranian until I moved to Australia.

But, as a new mother of a young son, I’m proud to say that when I was given the chance to meet my Iranian mother, I found it amazing to be able to be in her presence and to be surrounded by her family.

My mother is now my first real Iranian mother.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am to her for allowing me to meet her.

I also can’t explain how amazing it is to have a person of colour in my family, because it’s a really important part of our history and our culture.

When you’re not able to meet a family member, it can be hard to find the support you need to be happy, confident and comfortable.

But I think that’s what this story is all about.

It was my first experience of Iranian-Australian culture, and I am so grateful to my Iranian-American mother for letting me know that she was in fact a Persian.

I don’t know why I didn’t feel more connected to her when I moved away from Brisbane, but I know it’s because of my lack of understanding of her culture.

I am so proud to have my mother as a friend, but, as I grow older, I am more aware of how difficult it is for many people of colour to connect with their family members.

This story is not about what we are.

This is about how we see ourselves and what we have to give up for those we love.

It’s about how to be open and honest, and how to give our loved ones the time they deserve.

It’s not enough for me to understand that I have Iranian heritage.

I still feel like a stranger.

It will take time to heal the hurt I have caused.

But it’s the most important step for me.

It would be so great to be a part of a new generation of people who feel comfortable and comfortable with their own heritage.