Still I Dream: The Story of a Girl Who  Refused to Break 

I was born in a small corner of Afghanistan, where dreams are often silenced before  they are spoken. In my village, Dula, the girls do not always go to school. Some are  told to stay home, get married young, and forget about their dreams. But I was  always different. I always felt something burning inside me — a quiet voice saying,  “You were made for more.” My childhood was filled with uncertainty, but I held  tightly to one thing that gave me hope: education.  

From the outside, my family seemed simple—kind parents, a modest home, and  children with big dreams. But inside our walls, not everything was warm and well. 

My mother and father believed in me. They stood beside me, even when life became  difficult. But there was one voice in the house that was louder than the rest—my  older sister. 

And her voice was not kind. It was sharp, cruel, constantly trying to break me. She was not just a sister. She was a shadow over my dreams. 

She had her own pain, but she let that pain grow into bitterness. Her marriage ended  because of her harsh and toxic behavior. People around us knew her for her bad  temper and unkind words. But what hurt most was that she brought that anger  home—and directed it toward me. 

She could not control her own life, so she tried to control mine. 

While I studied quietly in the corner of our home, she would mock me: “You will  never become anything. I will never let you become independent.” And the day  before my Kankor result, she looked at me and said angrily: “I hope you fail.” 

That sentence broke something deep inside me. 

I did not cry in front of her. I just walked away and carried my pain quietly. But  when I checked my result and was accepted into Kabul University, I did not scream  with joy. I sat in silence, holding that success like a secret — not because I was not  proud, but because I had no one to safely share it with. 

I began studying Journalism with pride. I wanted to use my words to give voice to  Afghan girls like me—girls who were silenced not only by war or politics, but by  people inside their own homes.

Then Everything Changed.

When the Taliban returned, everything I had worked for was taken from me  overnight. Universities shut their doors for girls. Girls were told to stay inside.  Dreams were ordered to die. 

And just as I was trying to survive emotionally, life struck again — this time even  harder. 

We fell into deep poverty. My father, our only provider, became very sick. He  developed both a slipped disc in his back and neck, and was left in constant pain,  unable to work or even move comfortably. 

My brother — who had always been like a second pillar of strength in our home — had no choice but to leave for Iran in search of work. He left with heavy eyes and  empty hands, and his absence left a deep hole in our hearts. 

Our family started falling apart. We had no stable income. Some nights, no food. No  light. No peace. 

And my sister — she became even more cruel and violent. When my university  closed, she looked at me and said with a bitter smile: “Thank God. You cannot  improve now.” And she still mocks me to this day. She cannot stand to see me try.  She cannot understand why I still fight. 

But I do fight. Because I have something she does not— faith. I believe God knows  my heart. He sees my silent tears, my late-night prayers, my honest struggle. He will  help me rise. Not because I am perfect — but because I am pure, and I never stopped  believing. 

And still, I Dream 

Today, I am preparing for the TOEFL exam — not just to pass a test, but to open the  gates to the world I have always dreamed of. 

I have big dreams. I want to become a successful businesswoman —a woman who  leads with courage and lifts others along the way. My deepest goal is to help Afghan  girls and women who feel powerless, to teach them that they can be strong and  suffer all the hardships. To help them become independent, brave, and hopeful — even if the world around them tries to keep them silent and destroy their self confidence.  

“Problems exist in every home; people will try to stop you, some wounds come from  the closest hearts.”

But we must not give up. We must not bow our heads. We must fight like lions, not  just for ourselves, but for every girl who is still too afraid to speak. 

Because we are not weak. We are fire, steel, and the rising generation. 

Indeed, no matter who tried to silence us — we are still here, still dreaming, still  going forward and fighting for what we desire.