From Afghanistan to America, crossroads of life

Eid. It is a joyous occasion; new clothes, henna, family gatherings, Meyla (carnivals), and three-day-long celebration. Like all other children, I always looked forward to Eid days. We had a small house with a big yard in Khoosh-haal Khan. When my cousins visited, we had so much fun playing games and tending to the herd of chickens we had. My paternal grandmother lived with us which meant, my dad's side of the family would gather at our house the first day of Eid. I and my sisters (8, 6, and 3 respectively) were disappointed when only my aunt and uncles came and none of my cousins. It was mid-afternoon and as our guests are getting ready to leave, a rocket hit our neighborhood. After hearing the noise repeatedly, you learn to distinguish between a bomb and a rocket and if the target was a house or open land, and how far from you. This one definitely hit close by, maybe four or five houses down, the house crumbled but there were minimal screams. Of course, we all ran inside to

The rain was coming down in a hurry. Muddy road was difficult to walk on. It was cold and windy. I was almost there. I could see the line forming outside the bakery and was relieved to see few people. That meant I will go home with bread this evening. It was midday, after my school and my lunch, I was making my way to the local bakery to stand in line for bread. I don't remember the politics of how and why. All I knew was there was food scarcity, and we needed bread. Mom had tried at another bakery in the morning before going to work and dad had been to the bakery close to his work. The day was almost gone, and we weren't sure if we will have bread for dinner tonight. So my mission was to bring home the bread. When I arrived at the bakery, only about 10 people were in the ladies line and about 15-20 in men's line. Since each line would take the turn to buy bread, that meant I would be 20th in line. I was happy, I had both of my shoes on, a broken umbrella to keep dry and