What I Left Behind

I still remember those muddy streets, carved into my memory like a melody that never stops playing. The distant laughter of children playing on the bustling roads of Kabul, along with the jingle of the Payman ice-cream cars, like an echo from a parallel universe – one I was imprisoned in, watching through windows that separated me from their carefree world. Our home, with its vibrant garden painted in hues of a paradise, boasted a swing and trees ablaze with the color of sunset. Yet, behind those walls, it felt like an ornate cage, where I yearned for horizons beyond.

Though this garden was meant to keep us close behind the walls, my mind couldn’t help but send the younger me away on far-off adventures in my imagination. I became my favorite actress, an Indian singer, a skilled surgeon like my father—oh, let me tell you, I even played the role of a president, though I had no clue why anyone would elect me. The world felt like mine, its limits waiting to be pushed, its secrets ready to be uncovered. Living behind these walls, I almost forgot to be a child.

Then, on a day that split my life into a clear before and after, my mother entered the living room with words that shattered my world: my father wouldn’t be coming back from Bremen. A storm of confusion and unanswerable questions raged within me. Why had he gone so suddenly, and to where? I hadn’t even seen the world outside—what would it mean to me now? Wasn’t I supposed to be studying to become like him? And what about everyone else? Tears flowed like a river, fearing and not knowing what was going on. But the answers, those harsh mistresses, remained out of reach, locked behind doors I couldn’t open to this very day. 

My mother told us to pack our important belongings. Each piece of clothing, each cherished book, every object I chose to place within that luggage shoveled a feeling in my heart that I couldn’t comprehend for years. I took what I thought would be hard to live without. But how could I fit the rush of emotions I knew would come later, our home, my shattered dreams into that little confined space? How could I make room for my grandmother’s embrace, my uncle’s laughter – two distant stars in my sky – who I haven’t seen to this day? 

Each time I touched something, every item I held, it felt like a silent plea to hold onto ties that linked me to a past still present, yet slowly slipping away. Some things were too heavy for the suitcase, some memories were too bright for boxes, and some dreams too vast for the size of the luggage. I saw my grandmother—the most inspiring and beautiful woman in my life—and her tearful, final goodbye remains etched in my heart.

Through the taxi window, I looked out at the streets of Kabul, the very streets that had been my whole world. The farewell was no longer just from my family; it was from a piece of myself left behind in those streets. That is what I left behind.