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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Eli Gardner
Read between
August 9 - August 10, 2023
Nothing is only one thing. No place is only war. Afghanistan needs a re-brand. I hope you can read this story with a sense of wonder and curiosity in your heart. I hope you can see the Afghanistan I see.
Yet there were many things worse than death. Especially in a place like Afghanistan.
She dreamt of the stories told to her in hushed voices, soft female ones with thousands of years of cultural chains that kept them from speaking too loudly—too boldly.
Aspa nodded. The nod of a fighter. A fighter, not a soldier—the two things were very different after all, and the distinction must be made, especially in a place of war.
The fighters weren’t always soldiers. That was an important distinction to make. Especially in a place like Afghanistan.
Dying at war was cleaner for everyone. Getting injured, certainly getting kidnapped, and returning after either was messy and inconvenient. That would mean reports to be filed. Doctors to consult. Therapy purchased. Uncomfortable conversations at parties when someone asked about a visible scar. No, it was easier for everyone to either die in combat, or return without ever having seen it. No one knows exactly what to do with a broken soldier.
What had she learned? She learned that sometimes the young men who fired rockets at her base only did so because they had no money, and the Taliban paid them $100 for every rocket. She learned that over 75% of international aid was spent and distributed in the capitol city of Kabul. There was little to no help for rural areas, little jobs to be had. She learned that women were equally demonized and cherished, depending on how one interpreted the Quran. But she didn’t say those things. Instead she simply said, “That it’s complicated.”
“Alright then, sisters,” said the woman. “If we can help even one of our own to fly, then we must. It could be your daughters next, after all, to get their wings.”
“Visas?” She paused, turned back around. “I don’t want to leave Afghanistan. We just need the money to get to Kabul. Afghanistan is my home.”
Everyone in the west just assumed people wanted to leave the beleaguered country. It wasn’t always so. There was a fierce pride associated with the land. They had survived so much, fought for so long. Why would they abandon it now?
“It’s going to hurt, my dear,” said Death. “There is almost nothing that hurts as badly as losing one’s wings. The only thing that hurts more is losing one’s heart.”
because healing and persisting was hard, tiresome work.
“A person can’t fly with stolen wings, Aspa. Not for long, anyway.”
She realized the truth of it now. She stood in a graveyard of young men and women who hadn’t wanted to die. What sort of creature could do such a thing?
