English 11 – Narrative Essay – Nighina R-yhfhtt

The bombs did drop. I expected such before arriving; I knew the risk was considerable. My father begged me not to go. The danger of being there was enough to cause anyone to reject the trip. Nevertheless, my mind wouldn’t be at ease if I stayed here while my grandmother was sick and alone in Afghanistan. That was the first time I went; the first time I witnessed everything and nothing in front of my eyes.

Afghanistan is a beautiful country. It could’ve been my hometown had there not been unnecessary invasions and wars. If only the fear of being killed had not been crawling in my parents mind; if only they didn’t have to worry about the safety of their family. If only a country could mind its own business and use their own land graciously; if only men weren’t greedy, selfish, and war-creating conquerors. All this history left the land unsafe; therefore, it leaves it a last option to live due to its instability in governing and its unexpected internal actions. And o’ boy does my frustration have tantrums over the unjustifiable actions historically produced in this country.

Nevertheless, the tickets were booked, and my head began to pound due to the blows between excitement and fear as they battled for control of my emotions. I was about to travel across the world, meet new people, and see new things. I was, also, entering a country unlike my own; importantly, a country of conflict and great poverty caused by war and invasions.

This left the next few days to pass in a daze and confusion; suddenly, I’m on a plane that was headed away from home. In the end, the importance of my grandmother came and left fear and excitement hidden while battered, broken, and beaten in the shadows of my mind.

When the plane doors opened, the breath of hot air winds me. It was unbearable and unbreathable air that fogged up my thoughts. My mind tried to jump back on the plane home, but it was my heart that held onto it tightly and kept me on Afghan soil.

A week hurried past. I could faintly recall the days for they were nothing but routines. The routine of waking up, assisting the lady whom I loved, and falling asleep distressed, drained, and depressed followed everyday; nothing interesting had occurred. My mind can’t still conceive an understanding of what had happened to my family and how quickly it had all flipped around. I just knew that I had ended up in a country and my grandmother needed me; the fact that I was out of safety’s reach can’t matter.

I concluded from the time spent in this new place, that the country is not a reflection of Western media. It wasn’t in pieces like it is often represented, but it wasn’t striving due to their set backs. It was a functioning country in its own way. The land had flowers flourishing where it could; the people had kindness flowing through their extended hands. The country wore its flaws openly, for they could not hide the poverty or destruction left behind by wars. Indeed, my family fell to conflicts when deciding to leave their home country; though, life and safety came first.

I observe the people around me continue to maintain a steady day as I, a stranger to their lives, float by. I roam, pushing the shaky wheelchair, through the bazaars while witnessing bodies heading away and following another duty of their life.

How can these people live peacefully? They live happily and calmly, yet countries can invade them in any minute and the government stability is out of wack. Are they not afraid for their safety? Are they not sad about the fall of their homeland?

My thoughts jump off my lips and escape my mind. The soft spoken internal question was answered by my grandmother: “Nighina dear, they have no choice. Their families weren’t as blessed as yours. Not everyone can move away and live a stable life, yet everyone who passes us wants the stability to live in a peaceful place. Everyone wants to know they are safe and are away from the chances of being harmed because of the country they live in. And some just don’t want to leave their home; instead, they stay and fight.”

We continue our own way, just like everyone else. Unlike everyone else, I was going to leave in two weeks and be under the protection of a secure government. I would go home to a place with a fulfilling education and a bright future that I know has little chance of being blown up; literally and figuratively. I was born in a family granted with the blessing of safety, a family that didn’t need to stay and fight.

The night slowly began its creep towards us and we decide to end the day. My grandmother’s snores were audible in the room I sit in. I tried to read the book in my hands, but it seems the words could not remain in their places. My eyes could not follow them into space as they floated away. My eyes could not focus on anything; instead, my mind remains occupied by the words of my grandmother that it couldn’t spare energy on other functions.

The lights began to flicker, disrupting my vision. The silence of the house was interrupted without notice, by the sudden rattling of windows. My body shot up with explosions erupting in every corner, not letting me understand what had just happened.

Why did the house shake? Could it just have been an earthquake?

God knows this couldn’t have been anything close to an earthquake. An earthquake doesn’t roar; an earthquake doesn’t bang on the windows manically; an earthquake doesn’t end in screams; an earthquake does not flow smells of smoke through the air. My legs drag to the door and my hand jitter as it pulls the handle towards me; no one was around to stop me. The silence outside was deafening. The heat in the air intensifies with fear and anger every passing second. My ears ring with uncontrollable cries heard from a block away. A bomb had fallen on the streets of Kabul.

I never knew everything could fall to nothing so quickly. Security and comfort felt like a pen pal located miles away and I had never been so eager to visit this friend. The knowledge that I was alive flood my mind and rippled ideas to keep living. Why live? Because I survived the now. Because I can make it to a future.

–

I used good verbs to describe my experiences.

I chose an original topic.

Next time, I want to take more time to make sure sentences aren’t too awkward.