On the day Avaz (his real name is known to the editors) checks his bank account, he immediately senses something is wrong. The money he has carefully set aside for his studies and daily life is gone.

He tries to contact his family in Iran. There is no response.

Avaz is an Iranian master’s student in Architecture at TU/e. His studies are going well, and his future seems clearly mapped out—until a conflict with his family over his sexual orientation brings everything to an abrupt halt. Because he is gay—a fact that is not accepted in Iran—his family cuts him off completely and blocks his access to his finances.

In an instant, Avaz no longer knows how he will pay his rent, let alone the high tuition fees for international students (this year, €21,000 for a master’s program). His entire future suddenly hangs by a thread: no tuition means no studies, and no studies means no visa. Returning to Iran is not an option; the country he comes from no longer feels like home.

A striking figure

Avaz arrived in the Netherlands in September 2024 after being accepted into the master’s program at TU/e’s Department of the Built Environment. As he tells his story at Cursor’s office, he cuts a striking figure: black moccasins, a tailored suit with a pink tie, and carefully chosen jewelry. Few would guess that this well-dressed man is facing severe financial hardship.

Before coming to the Netherlands, Avaz completed a master’s degree in Architecture in Kurdistan, in western Iran. He then began a PhD program in Tehran, but after two years decided to start over abroad. TU/e, he says, felt like the ideal place to combine creativity and craftsmanship—his greatest passions—with technical expertise.

Inheritance

Before moving, Avaz carefully planned the practical side of his new life. “I wanted to finance my studies myself with the inheritance I received after my father passed away,” he explains. Both of his parents are deceased. “I have a brother and a sister, both much older than me. I’m the youngest.”

He initially planned to sell his possessions, including inherited land, to fund his studies. “My older brother, who lives in Sweden and works as an architect, convinced me not to,” Avaz says. “The Iranian currency had dropped sharply, and he promised to support me financially instead.” At first, his brother kept that promise, sending money to cover rent.

Coming out

Everything changed in March last year. Avaz’s brother and sister in Iran begin asking when he plans to find a girlfriend and start a family. Until then, Avaz has never discussed his sexual orientation with his family, but the pressure becomes too much.

“I told them it would never happen because I am homosexual, and that they needed to stop asking,” he says.

Their response to his coming out is immediate and devastating. “They cursed me, hung up the phone, blocked me, and unfollowed me on social media,” he says. That conversation turns out to be the last he ever has with them. Both siblings cut off all contact. 

When Avaz later tries to access his assets in Iran, he discovers they are gone. “I had given my sister power of attorney, so she could manage my financial and legal affairs while I was in Europe,” he explains. “I trusted her completely.”

Instead, she ensured that everything he owned disappeared. Avaz contacted the bank manager and consulted a lawyer, but nothing could be done. “Now she possesses everything I had in Iran. And given my background, it wasn’t a small amount—it was a significant fortune.”

Homosexuality in Iran is met with severe legal and social restrictions. Sexual activity between people of the same sex is illegal and can be punished with fines, imprisonment, or even the death penalty. Because of this, many LGBTQ+ people keep their orientation secret, even from family and close friends. 

Those living in smaller cities often feel pressured to move to Tehran, where the larger population offers more privacy and a slightly greater chance of living openly. Nevertheless, it remains extremely difficult for them to be themselves and to gain acceptance for who they are.

Although he had never discussed homosexuality with his family before—a sensitive topic in his home country—he never anticipated such a reaction. “I was completely in shock,” he says. “You lose your family and all your possessions at the same time.”

He was particularly surprised by his brother’s reaction. “He has lived in Sweden for thirteen years,” Avaz says. “I really thought he might have become more progressive after living in Europe for so long.” Despite the consequences, he doesn’t regret telling them. “I’m not someone who wants to live with a mask. My father always taught me to live a truthful life.”

An unexpected turn

From that moment on, Avaz’s life takes an unexpected turn. For the first time, he experiences financial hardship.

“I come from a well-known, respected, and wealthy family,” he says. “We had servants in the house when I was growing up. I never imagined this could happen to me.”

Determined to continue his studies, Avaz takes on whatever work he can find. He becomes a bicycle delivery worker and dishwasher at an Indian restaurant. Although it is a completely new experience, he grows to enjoy it.

“I always wear a suit, even when I’m delivering food,” he says, smiling. “People are often surprised when they open the door and see me. Some even mention it in their reviews, saying they’ve never had their food delivered in such a fancy way.” Dressing up is something very personal to him, he says. “It’s a way to express myself. I don’t want to be ordinary, I want to be different.”

The darkest days

As a non-European student, Avaz is only allowed to work two days a week. His earnings barely cover daily expenses, let alone rent and tuition. Last year, he reached a breaking point when he was unable to pay his rent for three consecutive months.

“I started receiving official letters warning me that I would be evicted if I didn’t pay my debt,” he says. “Those were the darkest days of my life. I called them and begged for more time.” Eventually, he managed to borrow some money from a friend and keep a roof over his head. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to pay him back yet.”

The irony of the situation is painful. “Before all of this happened, I had a meeting scheduled with a real estate agent to buy a property,” he says. “I was close to buying a house on my own. Just a few months later, I was at risk of ending up on the street.”

University Fund

Eventually, Avaz turns to his academic advisor for help. After explaining his situation, the advisor refers him to the University Fund. Through the students’ emergency fund, Avaz receives €6,000—support intended for students who, due to unexpected setbacks, can no longer cover their tuition fees or living expenses.

“I was over the moon,” he says. “I immediately used the money to pay my tuition fees for three months, so I could continue my studies.”

The relief is temporary. Avaz still needs funding to cover his tuition for the next academic year. To support him and three other students in similar situations, the University Fund has launched a crowdfunding campaign. So far, more than €11,000 has been raised—still far short of the €80,000 needed to enable all four students to complete their studies.

No future

Avaz’s greatest fear is that he will be unable to pay his tuition fees, be forced to leave the university, lose his student visa, and have to return to Iran. “I have no family there, no home to go back to, no future,” he says quietly.

Iran is currently experiencing severe unrest, with the government violently suppressing protests against the regime. But for Avaz, the danger is also personal. “If I go back, my life could be threatened—not only by the authorities, but even by my own relatives,” he says.

Shame

The situation weighs heavily on him, not only financially, but also emotionally. Alongside the daily stress of unpaid bills and uncertainty, there is a persistent sense of shame—even though he knows none of this is his fault.

“I’m never ashamed of my sexual orientation,” he says. “But being poor is something I really struggle to talk about.”

When friends invite him to dinner or activities, he often declines. “I hate being poor. I’d rather say I’m too busy than admit I can’t afford it.”

A bright spot

More than anything, Avaz hopes to stay in the Netherlands—to build the career he envisions and to live openly as himself. He values both the quality of education and the openness of Dutch society toward the LGBTQ+ community. “The Netherlands is such a welcoming country,” he says. “People are kind. They accept me as I am.”

Despite everything, he remains optimistic. Even though he has faced many difficulties, he never gave up. He describes himself as someone driven by ideas and the urge to create, and he is determined to turn that potential into something tangible. The act of creating, in fact, was a bright spot in an otherwise dark period. “I don’t want to sound arrogant,” he says, “but I know I’m talented. I know I can create something beautiful.”

“I don’t want to beg for money, and I don’t want to depend on government support,” he says. “I just need the chance to finish my studies.” If he receives further help from the University Fund, he is determined to repay it. “I swear I will give back every cent. I’m sure I can.”

You can support Avaz and other students in need by contributing to the emergency fund. Donations are possible from €10 via the crowdfunding campaign.

This article was translated using AI-assisted tools and reviewed by an editor