Leaving Home for Kabul

I will never forget the day I left the room of my childhood to go out into the world of adulthood. I was nineteen years old and headed to Kabul to study on my own. I felt happy but, at same time, sad. I couldn’t believe I was departing. Everything was in its place, and I was leaving almost everything behind. I cried but felt I couldn’t tell anyone that I would miss my room. I was supposed to feel happy going to a new world, so I tried to leave my sad face behind too.

I used to love my room, organizing and cleaning it. In the corner, I had a table where I kept my pen, a notebook, and my nice doll that I really loved. Whenever I was alone in my room, I played with my doll and dressed her in my jewelry. I never wore my jewelry because I was afraid my brothers would beat me for it. I had lipstick and nail polish too, but I couldn’t use them, because my brothers didn’t allow it. The school didn’t allow that either, so I kept them safe in a cupboard and only took them out for wedding parties.

My room was a small, private world where I could play and be myself. I could talk, just me with me, and feel understood. I could cry. I could dance, and I was happy there. In my room, I made a timetable for studying and followed it. I was so serious about my pen, my books and notebooks. I didn’t like having others in there touching my things.

Whenever I couldn’t share my feelings with anyone else, I would come into my room to write in my diary or talk to my doll. I also had a bear, whose eyes were small and round. They understood me in my world of childhood. They were my best friends, my partners. I could write or say anything to them. They made me happy.

That night, I wondered which of the things from my room I should take with me. I decided to take the things of greatest value: my brown diary, my pink pen, and my mother’s picture. In the morning when we left, it was really hard for me to say goodbye. I was especially sad to leave my doll, with whom I used to sleep. As I left my room, I didn’t look back. I felt how deeply I would miss this private world of mine where I had come to feel safe.

When I first came to Kabul, I was shy and didn’t talk with anyone. Some people laughed at me. Their laughter made me sadder, so I would sit and write in my diary about how I missed my family. At the same time, I would write to my family and tell them how happy I was, even though I was not.

With time, I became used to the new people I had met. New friends made me feel happier. But I never found a better friend than the one I already had—my diary. I still shared everything with that journal.

Today, my diary and the picture of my mother remain closest to me. I have learned now that no one can always be with us through the end of our lives. One day, she or he will leave: a best friend, member of the family, even a mother. No one can stay forever, but things—better than a person—can stay with us, and we can share with them. Being on my own in Kabul has taught me this. It has made me strong. I can be alone and write in my diary and make my life story. All this helps me learn how to overcome problems that come my way.

By Shogofa