Today, for the first time, I found the courage to write my story. Although I know that writing it may not change anything for me, I do not know why I felt the need to write. Perhaps because some pain, when left unspoken, slowly eats away at a person from within. I want to begin my story like the old stories told by grandmothers.
Once upon a time, in one of the most remote and deprived provinces of Afghanistan, a place whose name perhaps many Afghans had never even heard, a girl was born. She appeared delicate and fragile, but inside, she was stronger than steel. She grew up in a society where women did not have the value and human status they deserved, a place where women were sometimes treated even worse than animals.
From childhood, the girl witnessed many injustices against women. She saw, she heard and she suffered, but she did not know what she could do. In those days, the only thing she could do was cry: for women who were tortured, for women who were humiliated and for women whose voices were never heard. As a teenager, she did not know how to save anyone. She only knew that she did not want to accept this life. Then one day, she started school.
After studying for a few years, she gradually realized that education might be the path she had been searching for. She thought to herself: “If I study, perhaps one day I can become a lawyer. Perhaps I can become a judge. Perhaps I can defend women whose voices no one hears.”
From childhood, she did not dream for herself. She dreamed for the women in her society. She had promised herself that, somehow, one day she would do something to help her society emerge from the darkness. She wanted to work so hard that no girl would ever have to witness the abuse and suffering of women.
So, she studied, worked hard and, as she grew older, her dreams grew bigger. Eventually, she finished school and took the university entrance examination. Her dream was to study law, but because of a wrong choice, she was admitted to journalism instead. Perhaps she was disappointed for a moment, but she did not give up. She told herself: “I can still make a difference through journalism. I can become the voice of women. I can bring hidden suffering to light. I can write about injustice.” And she continued.
She came from a family where no girl had ever attended university before her. But this girl had big dreams. She struggled through countless difficulties to reach university. She had not been admitted in her own province and had to move to another province to continue her education. At first, her family refused to let her go. But she pleaded, insisted and tried again and again until she finally convinced them.
She was still only 16. She was afraid of going to another province, afraid of being alone, of being away from home and of the unknown. But her dream was so big that she did not want anyone to see her fear. She acted as though she was afraid of nothing. Finally, after countless difficulties, she left. But when she arrived in another province, everything felt unfamiliar. The accents were different. The people were different. The environment was different. And the girl felt more like an outsider than ever.
She gradually became withdrawn. She had so much to say but did not have the courage to express it. She wanted to protest, speak, share her opinions and be herself, but fear and the feeling of being an outsider silenced her. Others saw her as “grumpy,” but no one knew that behind her silence lived a very social and talkative girl, someone who had simply lost herself in an unfamiliar environment.
She was religious and respected her faith, but at the same time, she believed in human freedom. She believed that women and men were both human beings and should have equal rights. She believed that no girl should have fewer choices simply because she was a girl.
She disliked the idea that, even after reaching adulthood, a person should still have to depend on her parents for the smallest needs. She valued independence, not only for herself but because she wanted to show women one day that a woman can stand on her own through hard work. She wanted to prove that women do not always have to wait for someone to save them. She believed education could be a path toward changing society and achieving dreams.
She always put others first. Even when she was suffering herself, she tried not to become a burden to anyone. She wanted to solve her own problems. That is why, more than anything, she dreamed of independence. But the girl did not yet understand that not everything can be achieved through effort alone. She did not yet know that geography, family, society and fate can sometimes stand in the way of a person’s every effort.
She often dreamed and imagined different futures. Whenever she returned to her province, she would make plans for the women there. She imagined the reports she would produce about the lives of women in her community, how she would make their voices heard, what programs she would create to raise men’s awareness and how she could improve women’s lives.
She dreamed for everyone except herself. She never seriously asked herself, “What do I really want?” She was focused on saving others rather than understanding herself, even though she had interests of her own. She loved fashion and clothing design. If she ever allowed herself to dream, perhaps she wanted to become a fashion designer, perhaps organize fashion shows, perhaps experience a world where she could simply be herself. But she had even put those dreams aside because she always believed she had to do something for others.
Years passed. She gradually approached the end of university. She was still hopeful. She told herself: “I will definitely do something. Maybe I cannot save all the women in my province, but at least I can make the lives of a few of them better.” She did not know that one day she might become one of the very women she had spent years worrying about.
University ended, and she returned home. The girl was now older, but she still carried those big dreams in her heart. She was an educated, progressive-minded woman. She disagreed with many of the beliefs of her society and imagined that one day she could help change some of them. But she did not know that some of the very beliefs she had challenged could one day hold her back.
She found work in several places, but the jobs were temporary. Still, she did not lose hope. She thought: “I am getting closer. Little by little, I will become independent. Eventually, my hard work will pay off.”
Then the political system changed. Like thousands of other women, she lost her job. Now she has spent five years at home. Five years. For a girl with so many dreams, five years may feel like a lifetime. She not only failed to do what she had hoped for other women, but became one of the very women she had once felt sorry for: a girl who, after a lifetime of effort, still has to depend on others to get through life.
And the most painful part is that instead of becoming a source of pride for her family and community, she became an example for those who had always warned her with their outdated beliefs:
“See? She studied, and where did it get her?”
“Do not follow her path.”
“She ruined her own life.”
“She did not get married when she had the chance.”
“Now, out of desperation, she will marry an unfortunate man and remain dependent on others for the rest of her life.”
The girl heard and continues to hear these words every day. Slowly, something inside her began to break, not all at once but little by little. So quietly that no one heard it. She looked at herself and asked:
“What did I imagine my life would be, and what did it become?”
“What did I fight for?”
“Why did I work so hard all these years?”
“What did it all lead to?”
Sometimes she wished she could forget all those years: all the dreams, all the hopes, and that 16-year-old girl who left home despite her many fears simply because she wanted to make the world a better place for women one day. Now that same girl, tired and afraid, stands in a corner and looks toward a future that is unclear to her.
Her story has not ended yet. Its ending could be hopeful, or it could be deeply painful. But this time, the ending will not be decided by the dreaming girl; fate will decide it. Perhaps one day she will be forced into a marriage with a cruel man and become the very woman she spent years trying to save. Or perhaps a miracle will happen. Perhaps one day a door will open. Perhaps she will find another opportunity to stand again. Perhaps one day she will be able to reclaim her life.
But she is afraid, afraid of tomorrow, of a marriage that may not be her choice, and of a life that may resemble the lives of the women she spent her whole life crying for. This fear has left her feeling emotionally exhausted and as though she is merely existing. For a girl who spent her entire life fighting for freedom, perhaps nothing is more frightening than being forced to live in the very cage whose bars she spent her life trying to break.
And perhaps that is the most painful part of her story: she is not afraid of failure. She is afraid of being forced to live a life she spent her entire life trying to escape. But the story is not over yet. Perhaps tomorrow, unlike all these days, something will happen. Perhaps the girl will rise again, this time not to save others, but to save herself.
