After many days of reflection, I finally decided to write this story. Writing it means reliving those difficult days once again.
Every morning when I woke up, I felt like I was one step closer to my dreams. With excitement, joy, and a bright smile, dressed in neat and colorful clothes, I would head to university.
But one morning, when I opened my eyes, everything was different. That morning was not like any other—it was an entirely different world. Everywhere I looked, I saw worry on people’s faces and fear in their eyes. That day, I witnessed the tears of a soldier who was forced to lay down his weapon and surrender—tears that fell involuntarily for the future of his country and his people.
With the arrival of the Taliban, our lives changed completely. We left everything behind and moved to a remote village. My father, my brothers, and I lost our jobs. I felt utterly hopeless and decided to quit my education forever. I distanced myself from books and pens, becoming a lifeless, purposeless person—a walking corpse.
One day, overwhelmed by despair, I cried endlessly—for myself, for my dreams, for my life, and for all the effort I had put in. Seeing my pain, my father told me:
“If you continue to live like this, who loses? You or the Taliban? Who is the real loser—you or them? Don’t cry for your dreams, fight for them! You have a weapon that the Taliban don’t have.”
Because we were from a military family, we lived in hiding for almost a year. We never stayed in one place for too long, moving every few months and changing our home. But despite the uncertainty, we had books. Reading and writing became my source of strength and hope, keeping me connected to my goals.
We gave everything we had to a smuggler to get my brother out of the country. After he left, we returned to our home. I was relieved to be back, but every moment was filled with fear that the Taliban might come after us because of my brother. We still live with that fear.
I am not afraid of dying, but I am terrified of the Taliban’s brutal treatment of people, especially the families of former soldiers. This place is far darker and more terrifying than the outside world imagines.
Our crime is being Afghanistani. Even worse, being a girl. And worst of all, being Hazara.
I had always heard people say that the truth is bitter, but only those who experience it truly understand how much more bitter it is than anyone could ever imagine.
As an Afghanistani woman, my life changed drastically with the return of the Taliban. I lost my job, my freedom, and my sense of security overnight. My family and I had to leave everything behind and live in hiding due to our military background. Despite these challenges, I have remained determined to pursue my dreams and contribute to a better future.
I believe in resilience, education, and the power of hope. I am reaching out to explore any educational, professional, or humanitarian opportunities that could help me rebuild my path.
My country has been home to many legendary women who have shaped history. So, as an Afghanistani girl, I will stand firm for my dreams as steadfastly as the statue of Buddha, and I will not hesitate for a moment in my journey toward them. In this darkness, I am searching for light, and I deeply believe that one day, I will find that ray of hope.
Courage and success are not inherited; we must build ourselves into strong and successful women.
– Fayeza
Letter received from our students participating in our Mentorship program. Name and text altered for protection of our students and for grammatical changes.
Photograph: Wakil Kohsar/AFP/Getty Images
