Unsaid

In the days leading up to my departure from Afghanistan to Turkey, I did my best to record memories of my life there to remember when I came there. I captured videos of my fish, my house, our plants, and even the streets of Kabul. I no longer have those videos or photos, but I can still vividly remember what I recorded on my memory cards. I wish I could go back—not to live there again, but to relive those moments and feel the warmth of being with my relatives, the comfort of belonging.

I long to be in our car in Afghanistan again, driving around Shahrak, looking at the houses, and imagining how we could make our home more beautiful like these here. I want to feel the connection with others like I used to there, but now I often feel different in other places, and sometimes people make sure I feel that way. I don’t blame them; it was just unexpected.

In Turkey, being called “yabancı” means being a foreigner or an immigrant. While I have many things to be grateful for, I feel like the person I used to be in Afghanistan didn’t come with me to this new life. The sense of familiarity I had there is gone.

Even if I wanted to return, I know I wouldn’t find the same Afghanistan I left behind. I miss my country, but not the Taliban. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t want them in power at all, but at least I am no longer there. If I were to go back now, I wouldn’t be fully accepted by society. Having changed during my time away, I might not be “American enough,” because I’m not a citizen and yet I also wouldn’t feel “Afghan sufficient” since I haven’t been in Afghanistan. Like all the new starts we had it’s a new start to a new life…