In the calendar of life, no one is promised an everlasting spring. Sometimes the sky within us is cloudy, and sometimes it is bright. I have learned that these changes in our emotions are not signs of failure, but proof that we are alive. On days when weariness settles over my soul or unanswered questions darken my path, I remind myself that emotions are temporary travelers, not permanent residents of my heart. My responsibility is not to shine endlessly, but to keep moving, even when my steps are unsteady. If today I am resting in the shade of exhaustion, there is no need to fear, because tomorrow is another canvas, and with renewed determination, I will return to the field of life.
When the bright Kabul sun set behind the city’s tall and beautiful mountains, our home suddenly became dark, and a girl was left all alone in that darkness. My father was miles away, like a tired bird with no wings, searching for a way to earn a living. He had become an immigrant in a foreign land, leaving a seed of longing in my heart. My mother, who was my only source of comfort and light, was slowly fading into a shadow on her silent sickbed. I was an innocent child, still caught up in childish games in the streets, full of excitement, joy, and loud laughter. Suddenly, where had this darkness come from that had fallen over me?
I was alone in the middle of this battle. What was I supposed to do? I was a girl who herself needed comfort and care. When my dear father had migrated to Iran and my kind mother was ill, the people who meant everything to me were suddenly no longer there, and I had to learn new things about life without them. I had to grow up. With my small, rough hands, which until the day before had been busy making dolls with girls my age, I had to become the light of a home. I had to become the support my father had left behind, carrying the same sense of responsibility and leadership as a father, the same kind heart as a mother, and the dignity of a young girl.
Amid this darkness and loneliness, when the pain of my father’s absence and my mother’s illness felt like a dagger piercing my heart, I made up my mind and learned how to face life’s problems on my own without feeling helpless or ashamed in front of friends and relatives. It was difficult. I was young and inexperienced, but I believed in myself. I learned how to be a candle in our home.
In the midst of these hardships, I discovered a strong and powerful woman within me, a woman who blossomed inside me every day and greeted the world.
On the first night, when my sisters and brother came to me in fear of the darkness, I stayed beside them and became the light in that darkness. I buried my fears in a flowerpot behind the window and wore a motherly smile on my face that no one had ever taught me. I learned how to use my small, delicate hands, which had known nothing but pens, books, and dolls, to bake bread and prepare warm soup. I remember one time when I was baking bread in a gas oven. My entire palm touched the hot pan and was burned, leaving a deep mark on the pan. I learned how to be my own source of comfort and care. I learned how to gently untangle my own hair and my sisters’ hair, and how to protect our home like a father during the frightening nights in Kabul, when most of the time it was dark and there was no sense of security, neither at home nor in the streets. Most nights, I could not sleep at all because I was afraid that a thief might enter the house.
My twin sisters were babies, and like a mother, I would hold both of them in my arms and care for them from night until morning. Because I stayed awake all night, I would unintentionally fall asleep wherever I could the next day. It would rarely last more than a few minutes before I heard my sisters crying again. I sang lullabies that my ears had never known before. I learned how to be both a father and a mother without a pen or a book; a mother to myself, a mother to my mother, and a mother to my sisters and brother. I learned to be older than my age. I learned how to carry a mother’s kind heart while still wearing the clothes of a child, with the gentle touch of love in my hands and a soothing voice.
Time passed, and my mother gradually began to recover. By then, I had learned many things as well. I had not forgotten my studies, even though I had to stay home most of the time. I had been deprived of school, but after many difficulties, I spoke with the school principal and managed to participate in the final examinations. Fortunately, I succeeded. I never forgot my dreams. I live with them every day. They are always present in my thoughts and dreams, and I work day and night to achieve them.
Meanwhile, a special piece of good news was on its way. My father was coming home again, and our house was going to become a real home once more.
Years passed, and throughout those years, I was constantly engaged in a battle with life. During the deadly COVID-19 pandemic, I was once again left alone. The virus affected my family, but with God’s help, we managed to get through that difficult time as well.
The excitement and commotion surrounding the Taliban’s arrival has its own stories, as does my life. I am a girl who has experienced a great deal of pain. Some of those experiences are things I do not even want to talk about, stories that hurt my heart deeply and leave me unable to speak even when I remember them. I have no comfort except in God.
With each passing day, another page is removed from the book of a person’s life. Yet instead of becoming lighter, the burden seems to grow heavier and heavier. But I believe in the woman’s voice within me, and I will emerge from life’s battles with my head held high, just as I always have.
