These Random Unkind Moment That Catch You

There Are A Lot Of Children In Afghanistan, But Little Childhood.

Hassan And I Fed From The Same Breasts. We Took Our First Steps On The Same Lawn In The Same Yard. And, Under The Same Roof, We Spoke Our First Words. Mine Was Baba. His Was Amir. My Name. Looking Back On It Now, I Think The Foundation For What Happened In The Winter Of 1975 —and All That Followed— Was Already Laid In Those First Words.

People In The Countryside Carry A Sense Of Dignity. They Wear It, Don't They? Like A Badge? I'm Being Genuine.

There Will Be No Floating Waway. There Will Be No Other Reality Tonight.

Children Aren't Coloring Books. You Don't Get To Fill Them With Your Favorite Colors.