…My phone rang…
It was two of my dad side aunts behind the phone, people I hadn’t seen in five years now. It felt like they were placed in my subconscious. I could tell I knew them, but a feeling kept me from truly knowing them. I couldn’t hardly understand their accent.
Their deep accent was also familiar, but it didn’t ring many bells in my head. I knew what they were talking about, and it tore me into pieces. I knew I had been torn when I heard what I just knew happened, from the same people I used to see every family gathering; my aunt, it took my will to speak. I felt guilty for living in a country with basic human rights, and so that was something I wouldn’t talk about.
“What are the Taliban doing now?” I kept trying to change the subject myself; it was painful hearing about the situation people are in and especially when it’s my aunt; when I played in their house as a kid, when I felt their love, when I knew them.“We never had a country,” I said after listening to them. I didn’t know what else to talk about.
After a time, both my aunts talked to each other; the two sisters who were living together till the last month. There, I deeply realized how much we sacrificed in a war that is not about us. “War’s face is always ugly,” used to say my Mother, and I see it. Many wars are happening always, but it’s not as heart-wrenching as it is when there is something about you involved in it.
Who owes me my last 5 years of migration away from relatives, house, and friends? -War
What will I answer my cousin when she asks where we are really from?
-War
Why do I feel guilty about having basic human rights when my relatives overseas don’t?
-War
What if human rights exist, and we are not the right kind of humans destined to peace?
-Then there must be a Nobel Peace Prize for Trump
Unsaid 
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