Waiting for an Email: A Girl’s Story of Education on Hold

These days, every time I visit the schools’ websites, a feeling comes alive inside me—as if I am about to join those girls and become their classmate and friend. Unfortunately, that feeling has not yet become a reality. I have sent applications to more than sixty schools, but I have not received a satisfactory response from any of them. My heart feels like a ball of fire, burning and restless. These days, I constantly wonder why girls have to suffer so much and burn alive just to pursue their education and secure their future.

I have a strange feeling these days. I told some of my friends who are outside Afghanistan about my problems and worries, but they turned their backs on me and left me alone. If I do not receive a scholarship this year, my education will come to an end because I will turn eighteen, and schools outside Afghanistan generally accept students into university only when they are eighteen, while I do not even have a Grade 12 certificate.

Today, a heavy lump has formed in my throat as I write these lines. Despite the profile I have built, no school is willing to accept me simply because I do not have an English-language certificate. The reason I do not have one is my family’s poverty and the difficult circumstances prevailing in our country.

I have a good command of English. I learned the language through videos and written texts. My father could not afford the cost of a language course. Recently, I had started preparing for the Duolingo English Test, but the Taliban shut down language courses. My parents struggled through countless difficulties to pay for my schooling up to Grade 10. My mother would stay awake late into the night sewing clothes to cover my school expenses. These days, when I look at her, my heart breaks. Even though I am trying my hardest, I am still left without an answer, while my mother looks at her daughter with hope, praying that ten years of her sacrifices will not go to waste.

If I cannot secure admission soon, I do not know what will happen to me. Sometimes, when I think about it more deeply, I remember my school friends. Some got married and now have children, while others took their own lives. But I do not want to get married, and I do not want to take my own life. I only want to continue my education and make sure that my parents’ sacrifices are not in vain.

I do not want to become dependent on someone like my mother, waiting for someone to bring her clothes to sew so that she can earn money in return. I want to become one of the greatest advocates for girls and women around the world. I want to be an independent girl and create opportunities for other girls to study and work as well.

But right now, I cannot even do anything for myself. This has become the most painful thought in my mind these days—a thought that has taken away my sleep and appetite.

Today, I am writing everything that is in my heart. I have a notebook in which I have written all my educational and life plans, but now whenever I look at it, my eyes simply fill with tears. I had planned to hold a grand graduation celebration for myself, with all my friends, classmates, teachers, and family present so that we could celebrate together. But now, all of that remains only as a picture in my mind and lines on paper.

I was supposed to graduate last year and begin university this year. But now, I cannot even go outside. I had planned to work alongside my university studies so that I could pay for my own education, but now I can only stare at these lines.

I had painted a future and a life for myself filled with laughter and happiness, surrounded by the girls and women of my country. But now, I write these lines with empty hands. I had even imagined an organization dedicated to supporting girls and women, and envisioned building a school for girls, women, and orphaned children.

For the past week, my heart has been more broken than ever before. Perhaps you may think that I have accepted defeat, but as long as blood continues to flow through my veins, I will keep going. However, if I cannot continue my education and leave this place, my future and fate will be no different from my mother’s.

With the résumé I have built, I continue sending applications to schools with even more hope and determination, trying to remain strong. But the responses I receive can turn my day into night. Being a girl in Afghanistan is not easy. The pressure of society, the pressure of family, and worries about education and the future can force you to bow your head. Yet you still raise it again with courage. For the sake of a smile, you hide all your pain from your parents. These days, I can barely smile in front of my parents because I do not want my worries to weigh them down even further.

I go to a corner of my room and cry so that no one will know how heavy a burden I am carrying. I wonder what else I can do for my education and my future. Standing up again takes time, and it is incredibly difficult. Every night when I go to sleep, I tell myself, “When you wake up tomorrow, you will surely have received a good and hopeful email from one of the schools you applied to.”

Every morning, before doing anything else, I check my emails, hoping to find good news. But my inbox remains silent. I tell myself, “Don’t worry. The email will come by tonight.” And I carry that same hope with me through the night and into the next morning. Perhaps one day, I will receive that scholarship email and finally be able to leave Afghanistan.