I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say thank you for today’s session. It was truly inspiring and reminded me how important it is to take part in programs like this — not just rely on university studies. It truly made a difference for me, both personally and academically.
I’m currently studying Computer Science at Astana IT University in Kazakhstan. But to be honest, I feel quite lost about my future. After two years here, I’m expected to return to Afghanistan — and I really don’t want to. If I go back, everything I’ve worked so hard for over the past three years might be lost.
Right now, life is very challenging. Financially, we are living on about $70 per month, and we must cover everything ourselves — housing, food, transportation, health problems and our yearly visa renewals, which are quite expensive. I try to work on the side while studying, because my family back home cannot support me.
I’ve also tried several times to find a job here, but since I’ve only recently arrived and don’t yet speak the local language fluently, I haven’t been successful.
I haven’t shared much of this with my family. We only speak once or twice a month and when we do talk, I always try to sound fine. I know that if I tell them about my difficulties, they won’t be able to help — only worry. That’s why I’ve decided to keep these struggles to myself and focus on finding solutions alone. I hope that one day, even in silence, I can become someone strong — someone they can be proud of.
One of my biggest dreams is to do a Master’s degree in a better country — somewhere I can truly grow, learn, and contribute. A major challenge is still my English, but I’m working on it every day and trying my best.
I felt today that you truly understand Afghan people — especially Afghan girls. You were so kind and respectful to us, and it felt like I was speaking to a friend. That gave me the courage to open up and share this with you.
I come from a family of six sisters. During the last Taliban regime, my oldest sister couldn’t continue her education. Two of my younger sisters are now also not allowed to go to school. One of my sisters is studying medicine and economy majorsin Almaty,Three of us are still continuing our education, despite all the obstacles — and that means everything to us.
And interestingly, here we are five Afghan girls in Kazakhstan — each of us carrying the same pain. It’s not just about academic struggles, but a wide range of other challenges. I can see it clearly — just by looking into their eyes. It’s as if their minds and hearts are always in a constant battle, full of unspoken thoughts and silent worries.
They rarely talk about what they’re going through, but somehow, we all seem to carry the same silent decision: that no matter how hard it gets, we want to become the heroes of our own chaotic and uncertain stories. And during this time, I’ve realized something powerful — that we Afghan girls carry a deep, shared pain, one the world hasn’t truly listened to. And even when we do try to express it, it often goes unheard.
Since I arrived here, I’ve felt overwhelmed by everything — the academic pressure, the language barrier, the new culture, and the feeling of being completely alone.
And I can only speak my thoughts and my problems by looking at the trees and the grand buildings of this city.
And truly, it’s difficult to be in a city where everything is developed and beautiful, while I remain trapped in my own pain and unable to see that beauty.
Maybe this city really is a stranger to us — because my own city, Kabul, was destroyed and lonely, just like our hearts.
Its walls were decorated with fragments of shrapnel, the kind that killed thousands of youth and students in suicide attacks and tore the hearts of mothers and fathers into pieces.
Maybe that’s why I still feel that if I were in Afghanistan — even if I only spoke to the sky and the walls of Kabul — I would be understood more.
But here, I truly feel that even the walls and sky do not listen to my voice — because I don’t think they are made of the same soul as ours.
Even though the sky should be the same sky — the one that brings the sun and the hope of a new day — I don’t understand why I never feel peace here.
I’ve sat next to the walls, beneath the sky of this city — but I’ve never felt comfort, never been able to truly calm my heart.
And maybe I could have just written these words on paper and left them in a corner of my drawer — but I thought that by sharing them with you, I might be able to lighten the weight on my shoulders, even just a little.
But yesterday, I found something different in your words. I felt seen again — and I thought, maybe I should write to you. Maybe, if I write from the heart, you’ll understand. Because I felt that you truly listened to Afghan girls.
And finally, I just want to say — honestly, I’m exercising and trying every day to make all these new things look more and more beautiful in my mind, and to enjoy the new experiences and challenges. I believe that, in the bigger picture, they are opportunities — chances for me to grow and become more successful, even though my heart is shattered. And maybe one day, I will forget all this pain.
So thank you again — from the bottom of my heart — for your time, your attention, and your kindness. If you have any advice for me, even the smallest piece, it would mean a lot.
Warmly,
Sumia