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Have dreams for your future They look at me strangely I am so angry How can you keep going Dear friends, I met a 24-year-old woman (my age) on my journey to Pakistan and Afghanistan, and I really connected with her. She would talk with me quietly when everyone else was away...haltingly, slowly, but firmly...and the things she would say would hurt so much. I'm so free, and she can't go out of the house on her own. Her brother wanted to go and get a job that paid well in another town, but couldn't leave her alone in the house (that's the culture of the area they live in), and so he blames her for not getting the job, and sometimes she wishes she had never been born. She wants to travel but she can't. She wants to see the world, but she can't. She wants to help other people but she can't. So she sits in the house and weaves beautiful baskets so she won't go crazy. People in the West waste their freedom, she said. That's so profound and so true. I think - I think I've promised her somewhere in my mind to tell people. I don't know how, but I'm going to get this message out. I wrote the song above in a 15-minute-all-alone-in-a-dark-house orgy of battle-with-sad, and I share it with you because I think it gets across some of how I feel about our two worlds - Zekya's and mine. Thank you for reading it. |