There are all these people constantly questioning me about my identity, my aspirations, my worth. What I want to do? What I want to be? So, I am forced to think about these questions. Indeed, what do I wanna do?
I reread the poignant “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini. So, I have a habit, for better or worse, of poking around the central content to appreciate the big picture. I read a Wikipedia article on Afghanistan’s history. I found it interesting. And included 3 books on Afghan history in my library – looking forward to “A Brief History of Afghanistan” by Shaista Wahab et. al.
So here’s what I want: I want to go to Afghanistan. Stand and take a deep breath of Afghani air and remember the greatness and the massacre. Remember all the great leaders, the corrupt dictators, the murders, the rapes, the genocide, the bullets, the bombs, the cries, the anguish. I want to experience the sweetness of the land, the beautiful mountains, the pretty women, the hopeful youth. I want to savour the delicacies, the smells, the sounds. I want to go to these places I read about. The poorest, deprived of villages to the teeming metropolises.
I want to know how Herati accent is different from Kabuli. I want to see vineyards and orchards. Fields of them. I want to shake the hands of the Afghani women and tell them how brave they are. I want to sit down and listen to their tales of sacrifice and greatness. Such greatness that I can only imagine for myself.
And I want to learn, not only from books but from life itself. Yes, that is what I want to do.
I find life so worthy of living. Is there anyone out there who can hear my cry? Who knows exactly how I feel?