This morning, when I came back to my room from the third floor of our house, I saw a piece of paper on my desk. Usually there is a lot of stuff on my desk, but I know all the things that are there. It was new. There was something written on that piece of paper that had probably been rapped from my notebook. I am very serious and sensitive about the things that are mine, especially about my notebooks, books and pens. So, I usually get really upset with the people who touch them without permission.

With a little feeling of anger, I went toward the desk and picked up the paper. It was my sister’s hand writing, who lives really close to us.

‘’ I am Parvin. I am Parvin, the mother of two sons and one daughter. I am an Afghan woman. Currently, I am hanging in the air, my mind chaotic, and confused. For my children, especially for my beautiful daughter, Aida. What will happen to her? I am scared and worried that she might spend her whole life in anxiety and dismay. ’’

It was not complete. The thought had not been written completely, and I guess I know why.

Maybe because she had to go and check on her children. Or maybe she was too afraid of putting the rest of her thoughts on paper. Too afraid to admit what has already happened. As I was holding the paper, I sat down on my chair. I stared at it for so long. Not because it was a piece of paper that my sister had rapped without permission, but because it brought me back to the sad reality I had forgotten for a while. The sad reality that was covered under my efforts to forget it. I have been doing great work and my efforts have been successful.

But this piece of paper brought me back to where I live. It brought me back to see the world around me, the people whom I live with. It brought me back to my senses. It opened my eyes to see what people are enduring, to see what they are going through.

I have been living too well. I have been having a great life. And I have been blind to what others, to what my dears have been doing. I have been blind to the life my loved ones have been living.

And then there were too many pieces of paper on that desk. They were all the pages of my notebooks. My books had been ripped apart and they had been colored with the colors of my pens. My pens and pencils were broken. All the room was filled with my stuff that I hate to betouched. All my things were on the floor. Everything was a mess, a mess I could not clean in days, maybe months or maybe years.

There were too many notes, from too many people. My mother, my sisters, my brothers, my father, my cousins, my nieces, my nephews, my everyone, whom I suddenly was feeling them all in my room.

The heaviness made me fall down from the chair I was in, and collapsed on the floor. The pain was too severe, my heart was coming out of my mouth. I ran to the toilet and after a long time, I came back.

There was just one piece of paper, that same paper, but something had changed. It was blank. I went upstairs, where my brother and his family live. I had dinner. It was meat cooked with tomatoes, onions, pepper and spices. There was also rice, cooked the traditional way. Melon and water.

They were delicious, so delicious. I came back to my room. My head and chest were heavy. I went into a deep sleep. It was 4:27 a.m. when I woke up. The room was so small, it was suffocating me. I could not breathe. I went to the balcony. Took some deep breaths. And watched the sun rise. It was beautiful, powerful, and bloody…Red.

In June 2023, I joined AESOP as a student in an online English language course, where I began taking creative writing seriously. During this time, I wrote my first short story in English, titled A Shadow at the Edge of the Night. Over time, my role of being my sister’s teacher evolved into teaching Afghan girls aged 10-25 at Afghan Education Student Outreach Project (AESOP), guiding them through various English language at various levels of English grammar. I have also reviewed applications, conducted interviews and helped organize materials, all of which fill my heart with a profound sense of purpose and fulfillment.

Alongside my volunteering, I continued to write, creating two more short stories and several pieces of poetry. I also immersed myself in classic literature, reflecting on my readings through journal entries that captured my thoughts and interpretations. With each page I read and every word I wrote, my passion for storytelling and self-expression grew deeper, combining my identity as both a writer and an avid reader.

In February 2024, I enrolled in an online drawing class at AESOP, which further ignited my creativity. Starting with basic sketches and progressing to advanced techniques, I discovered a new way to visually express my thoughts. Drawing became an extension of my storytelling, allowing me to illustrate the worlds I crafted with words. My first piece depicted a young girl holding her book, her hair flowing in the wind—a reflection of my own love for literature and imagination. I also learned Latin, an unfamiliar language in my country, to deepen my writing and engage with the classic books I admire in their original form.

Reflecting on my journey, I see how every challenge has shaped me into a resilient and determined woman. From a timid child, I have become a teacher, writer, and advocate, embracing the power of education and storytelling. Studying literature will not only allow me to amplify the voices of countless women, including my own, but also to craft narratives that challenge societal norms and ignite change. Literature has the power to spark conversation, break down barriers, and inspire movements, making it a vital tool in my ongoing advocacy for women’s rights. My journey is not just my own—it is a reflection of the strength and potential of all women who dare to dream beyond limitations, reminding me that our stories can illuminate the path for others.