Freedom – such a simple word, yet it carries a weight so heavy that most cannot understand it until it’s taken away. In books, they say freedom is the right to choose, to speak, to learn, and to live. But for me, freedom is not just a word – it’s a distant dream that I’ve spent my entire life chasing.
I was born as a refugee, in a world filled with war instead of peace. Before I could even speak, I had already been labeled – not as a child, but as a migrant. Later, we returned to Afghanistan, hoping to live freely. But life had other plans. Instead of freedom, we faced poverty, struggle, and fear.
I remember failing a subject in 4th grade – not because I wasn’t capable, but because I had to help my mother with handicrafts to support our family. Poverty doesn’t just steal your comfort – it steals your dreams slowly. I used to admire the colorful notebooks and beautiful pens of my classmates, quietly wishing I could have one too.
In 7th grade, I ran away three times – not from home, but from the fear of being killed. Then, the Taliban returned and took away even the right to learn. Being a girl became a crime. Education became a forbidden treasure. But I refused to give up.
I started learning English – because even when everything was taken from me, language became my hope, my power. I’ve joined seven different courses. Each time, I had to leave – either because we had no money, or because the Taliban shut it down. But each time, I returned. Stronger.
This eighth time, I told myself:
Yes, I was born poor, but I will not die poor.
Yes, my past was dark, but my future will shine.
Yes, my childhood was taken, but my dreams remain.
Yes, they shut my school, but they can’t close my mind.
Yes, they built a cage around me – but I hold the key: my pen.
Freedom, to me, is not just a right – it is resistance.
It’s the courage to dream even when you’re told not to.
It’s the strength to learn when the world tries to keep you in the dark.
It’s writing your story when others try to silence your voice.
I may not be free yet, but I am on my way.
And one day, I will fly – not with wings, but with my words.
– Shakela
Letter received from our students participating in our Mentorship program. Name and text altered for protection of our students and for grammatical changes.
