What it’s like to be an Afghan-American

Afghanistan has been at war for over four decades. Four generations that have only known conflict. Had my parents not been blessed enough to escape during the Soviet Invasion, I easily could have been the girl who died with a bullet in her head for trying to go to school, or the woman who lost her family to land or drones.

Apart from the physical danger, let’s not forget the psychological trauma I could have undergone—not knowing anything but violence and oppression until recent years.

My very first ‘light bulb’ moment: It could have been me

Instead, I was born in New Jersey and have lived in Northern Virginia for most of my life. I attend the University of Pittsburgh and am able to pursue my own dreams.

This early realization has made me hyper-aware of how lucky I am to have the opportunities I do, and I try to keep that in mind.

Never take anything for granted

My parents – heck, my entire extended family too – have raised my siblings and me on the mantra of never taking anything for granted.

Back in Afghanistan, my parents (separately) lived pretty well. They were of upper middle class, could afford cars and servants, and were well-educated.

My dad had just graduated medical school in Afghanistan. My mom was in high school, planning her application to college.

Then the invasion began.

My paternal grandfather didn’t want his sons to get conscripted into the army. My maternal grandmother got shot. She survived, thank God, but it was close.

Both families left Afghanistan. They left everything behind and started anew. My dad took the exam to transfer his medical degree once they got settled in the US. He didn’t pass because he didn’t know English well enough yet. My mom finished off high school, and worked full-time to help support her parents and seven other siblings.

My parents met and soon after got married and had me. My dad had to provide, so he became a Respiratory Therapist and gave up his medical degree. My mom stayed at home to take care of me, and soon after my brother as well.

They fell to the bottom and had to work hard to get back to the top.

Family is everything

It was because of family that they survived the Soviet check points. Because of family that they endured the journey over the Hindu Kush Mountains and hearing news of loved ones’ mutilations and deaths. It was family that provided support for each other through cultural shock, a new language and a new home. It was family that raised my generation in comfort. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins – all together, with love and laughter.

Also, being a doctor is everything

Actually though. They prime us from our youths to want to be doctors. They say it’s because it provides stability. Doctors can practice anywhere in the world. The respect transcends all boundaries. They’re peaceful, protect human life… and of course it doesn’t hurt that most make bank.

My parents are lucky I want to be one of my own volition, otherwise college would have been a fun guilt trip.

Kabobs are bae

They really are. Family gatherings always require a grill and mouth-watering meats – from lamb and beef, to chicken and even fish. We got it covered.

And if you ever come to my house for dinner, be prepared to fight for the kabobs as soon as they’re off the grill! Believe me. Some of them don’t wait for plates.

Nostalgia can be passed down

The stories and pictures of pre-war Afghanistan always leaves an ache in my heart. Despite the image that gets splashed on media today, Afghanistan used to be beautiful and a world power. Kabul, the capital, was known as East Milan in the fashion industry. The universities were filled with ground-breaking researchers, both men and women. Tourists would flock to see the Bamiyan parks and lakes.

I love America and I consider it my home – I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But the land my parents came from has a rich history and culture that unfortunately has been tainted in recent decades. Someday, I hope to see the country that raised my parents and my grandparents in its previous glory.