Letters from Afghanistan

LETTERS

FROM

AFGHANISTAN

Maricla Pannocchia

This book is dedicated to all the girls

and women around the world

who fight every day for their right to education

as well as to anyone

who uses their time and heart

to make the world a better place.

July 2017

ONE

My life sucks. My family and I are in San Francisco on a sunny, happy day but I don't want to get out of the car. Sure, I want to see grandpa, but I didn't want to be dragged here. Now I'm forced to spend my summer vacation in a place where we haven't been since I was 7 years old.

Mom says we will enjoy spending some time here, like we used to, but I bet she says that just to lift dad's spirit up. He's recently lost his job, and with it, he seems to have lost his drive.

"Olivia!" mom calls me, lightly knocking on the car window. "Get out. Your grandpa is here."

I can't help but feel excited. Grandpa is the only reason why I feel being here won't be a total waste of two months of my life. It's strange to see him without grandma, though. As I get out of the car, I realize everything seems different.

For a start, my sister Samantha and I are not kids anymore. That's what mom and dad don't get. I mean, I don't like Samantha AT ALL, she's like the girls at school who call me names. And the way I think and act is completely beyond my parents. First, they don't take my passion for acting seriously. I dream of becoming an actress, which is not too original as I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but they would never pay for me to attend an acting course. They say the acting business is dangerous, and you can't pay your bills with acting gigs. Right. Try saying that to Jenna Ortega.

"Here you are," grandpa says. He hugs me and I stand still, not knowing what to do. When I was a kid I hugged grandpa and constantly jumped all around him, but now I feel shy, which is weird because we talk so often over the phone. He looks at both my sister and me and says, "You are so beautiful."

Samantha smiles as if she didn't expect any other compliment. The fact is, my sister really is beautiful. She gets her looks from our dad's side. Dark, thick hair, dreamy brown eyes, and a sixteen-year-old body to kill for. I, on the other hand, look a lot like mom: blonde, petite, and with a body that hasn't yet grasped I am fourteen years old already. Some kids at school call me a boy because I have slim legs and almost no breasts. That hurts and goes with a whole series of other names like loser, weirdo, or geek.

The fact is, I love school. I get good grades. Other kids can't stand that. A few of them seem okay with it, like Julia. She never calls me names, but she's a bit weird herself. She dreams of becoming an artist one day and wears T-shirts she paints herself. 

At dinner, my parents make a lot of small talk. They don't want to talk about dad losing his job in front of my sister and I—as if we don't already know. Right after washing the dishes, I go to my room. Well, to be precise, it's not "my" room as I have to share it with Samantha. That was okay, even fun, when we were little, but now I don't like it at all. Samantha hasn't come to our room yet as she's talking with a friend over the phone, so I lie on my bed, close my eyes, and hope to wake up to be a super cool girl on the verge of international success.