The Broken Circle: A Memoir of Escaping Afghanistan

by Enjeela Ahmadi-Miller

It’s the custom that sons don’t leave their parents’ house until they’re married for one year. They bring their new brides home to live for the first year.

“One cannot exist with a heart torn in half between two loves, two decisions, or two worlds, because it will eventually break in two.”

had witnessed up close how rude and violent men were determined to force their version of love and safety on others using guns and blood. It didn’t matter what the men called it, political order or religious fervor, it was all from the same place—the hellish dark side of man that is motivated by hate.

Their actions were motivated by hate. Hate is not from God. People who use religion to hate can’t love God. It is impossible.

An even deeper mystery I wrestled with was that I believed we existed in the hands of God. He evidently carries us with a light touch. He does not clench his fist around us and force any of us to hate or love—these are choices.

prayed, I remembered a Hafiz poem Padar always recited. Pray Somewhere in this world— Something good will happen.

“If you look for love and hope in this world, you will find it. Look around you.

Holi is the customary festival that celebrates the changing of the seasons from winter to spring.

It’s called the Festival of Colors,

On the day of the festival itself, we dressed in white clothes and stood in groups out on the street, where the whole neighborhood was gathered. With our stash of packets, we commenced to pelt each other with the colored powder, creating a cloud of colors that enveloped everything.