The school wasn’t just a second home to me, it was paradise. I had a great eagerness to learn. Even when I was at home, lying awake at night, I wished for morning to come quickly so I could go to school again. I would tell myself how I couldn’t wait for morning to arrive so I could go to school with all my beloved books. Days passed, and I never grew tired of going to school and studying. I would read and study until late at night, striving to achieve my goals. I hadn’t written down my goals, but they were certainly there. I had lofty aspirations in my mind. I felt that through studying, I could reach them.
But suddenly, everything changed in the summer. Neither the greenery nor the trees were vibrant and life-giving, nor were my beloved books. I grew disenchanted with books, saddened, and depressed.
One day, while we were sitting at home, a terrifying sound shook the entire house, and we felt as if the world had collapsed upon us. We rushed to the basement. Moments later, my brother, trembling like a leaf, came panting into the house and said, “The City Security Zone has turned to dust, and all the soldiers and officers, they’ve become martyrs.” Upon hearing this news, we were all stunned and bewildered. This news felt like a dagger plunged into our hearts because I knew this wasn’t just a prelude to the fall of Kabul but also the downfall of the few oases of safety left amidst the rockets and explosions.
The sound of the explosion was horrifying. It was so horrifying that its echo lingered in my ears for days, and every sound frightened me. Though the explosion didn’t happen right next to our doorstep, the City Security Zone was a few streets away from ours, but the intensity of the blast was immense. Even friends living in the neighborhood near the Baghlan Factory had heard it.
After that, the Taliban took over everything. Their first act was to close down schools. With this act, all the dreams of Afghan girls were shattered and scattered into thin air, and I knew this land would no longer be home. The Taliban seized our entire city. They robbed me of the school that was like paradise to me and crushed my dreams to dust. They confined girls to their homes. And if that wasn’t enough, they targeted our attire, our veils, subjecting us to detention and abduction.
Now, the homeland is not the same as it used to be. The feeling of the past no longer resides within me. When I open the gates of my courtyard, the scent of oppression and tyranny fills my nostrils. I say to myself: No, this is not our homeland; my homeland was very beautiful; my homeland was a place where girls went to school and university wearing white veils and black dresses. This is not my homeland; my homeland had schools. There was war, corruption, oppression, and injustice, but not cruelty. We weren’t forced to justify the size and color of our veils to anyone. We weren’t forced to stay at home all our lives. That wasn’t my homeland. I am homeless now.
It might sound ridiculous, it might not be believed by anyone, but I am afraid. Very afraid. I go out of the house less often. I speak to others less. Every night, I have nightmares of the Taliban taking me away. Nightmares that extend into my waking hours and turn my life into hell. Perhaps this hell will one day turn into paradise, perhaps, I still hope. But I know we’re paying an exorbitant price.