From the Fall to Today: Behind Closed Doors

It is the first year of my university life—studying the field I love, in the province I chose. Going to university and living independently was always one of my childhood dreams. Today, I imagine myself living a small piece of that dream.

My mornings begin with cycling and then a run. I attend music classes, play the piano and guitar. With my friends, I study, work on projects, take short trips, and try to enjoy life. Every moment, every smile, every small success feels precious.

But wait… none of this is real. It is still only a dream—such a simple dream, yet one that so many girls in Afghanistan are denied. Why? Because they are girls. That’s it.

For four years, I have been living with nothing but the dream of going to school and university. For four years, I have struggled with depression and despair, fighting them every single day. And every day, I gather myself and whisper: “You must go on— for yourself, and for all the girls who cannot.”

I remember two years ago, when I was attending a course. The Taliban came and shut the doors on us. We asked the teacher, “At least, can we study English?” His answer was short and bitter: “We are not allowed to teach girls.” But that was not our end. We continued at home—online, with whatever books we could find, with effort and with hope.

These restrictions and hardships have only made us stronger. We learned not to surrender, to be ourselves, to find ways to study and grow even in the smallest of opportunities. We still want to live, to learn, to move forward.

But the bitter reality is this: if things continue this way, soon there will be no female doctors to treat women, no female teachers to educate girls, no nurses to care for the sick, and no female journalists to raise our voices to the world. So many of us remain locked inside our homes, while the world only watches.

And yet, we continue. We study, we learn, we play music, and we fight to keep our simplest dream alive. Every book, every note of music, and every fleeting moment of freedom reminds us that we still can learn, and we still can live.

— Motahara Hashemi