I hear the screams and cries echoing from my parents’ phones as they watch the state of our people.
The begging and the pleading sounds so loud in my ears despite only coming from a phone speaker.
I feel something fuzzy in my mind and pain in my chest. At least I have the luxury to tell them to please turn down the volume or to leave the room.
I stop my mother midway when the tries to tell me the story of the widow or the 5 year old child begging on the street to provide for their family.
I have the luxury to ask her to stop. I dive back into my everyday life but day in, day out, I hear the screams, I get a glimpse of the stories. I see my mother’s tears for her place of birth and my father’s pain that has turned to rage.
I try to release myself from it, I don’t want to feel this pain, but even if I run, everyday, a piece of it sticks with me.
I sit in the darkness and I burst into tears sometimes over a land I have never seen. I’ve never seen it but I know it is home. I know this is where my heart is rooted. I think about how it could have been me every time... if my parents didn’t leave, it could have been me... but it’s not. It’s someone else. I got “lucky” as others like to say when I tell them I’m Afghan.
Why was I the lucky one? Am I living to the full potential of being one of the lucky ones? Why can’t I do anything to help if I’m so lucky? Why do I feel so trapped. Why does it feel like the mountains of Afghanistan are sitting on my chest? Why does it feel like I can’t breathe in peace when my people are in so much pain? Why do I feel guilty for living the life God gave me... how will I ever answer for everything I have when my people have nothing, not even life...
My mental health has definitely taken a hit with all of this. I try to focus on my work but I keep going back to thinking of those families and what their lives are going to look like now... who will raise those babies who don’t have a mother in a country where so many people have to fend for themselves... so many thoughts that I can’t get out of my head.
My people don’t have money after the COVID19 lockdowns. The ones who worked day by day for a living have nothing. They don’t have food for iftar during Ramadan. Tell me how I can be at peace knowing this about the world? The tears don’t stop. How are they supposed to bury their dead with no money, on empty stomachs?
Please pray for these childrens’ futures, please pray for the families of those murdered in these attacks, if my heart can’t find patience, I can’t imagine what they must be feeling. I beg of you to help the Afghans during this time of need. Attack after attack... what did my people do to deserve this? Can someone please tell me what the innocent have done to deserve this...
My heart tells me that even the Angel of Death weeps when he is sent to Afghanistan.
