After the birth of a child named me, my father was working as a money exchanger, and my mother was a teacher. About four years had passed since their marriage, and until my arrival, neither of them had shown much emotional yearning for parenthood. But with my arrival into this burning, godforsaken nowhere, their lips finally opened in smiles, and with a universe of tenderness, they welcomed me—the
ir firstborn—ensuring I would lack nothing. Though by 1992 the situation in our country had begun to deteriorate, we continued living in the city of Pul-e-Khumri. We stayed there for three more years after my birth, but the harsh realities of the time eventually forced us to seek refuge in the neighboring country of Pakistan. To this day, my family remains there, unable to return to Afghanistan due to ongoing instability. The warmth of our family home made my dreams feel vivid and within reach. Among those dreams was a fascination with images—even at a time when we had no camera. I was drawn to the black-and-white pictures, and later the faded colors of our old television. Every time I watched a program, I imagined myself someday living a life surrounded by cameras and photographs. At first, this dream felt distant and difficult to attain. But I always wished to see the world through a camera lens. I would gaze at photographs and think, This picture should have been taken differently. My curious attention to images and cameras often surprised my family, as if they, too, could sense an unspoken passion awakening inside me. Beyond that interest—and the struggles of migration—I began my primary education at Afghan High School and graduated with top marks from Ariana High School in Pakistan in 2010 (1389 in the Afghan calendar). Alongside my academic studies, I also pursued computer and English language courses, which have now become a stable source of income for me. By the age of 24, I had already worked for about twelve years—both in a pharmacy and in the population census department of the United Nations. But in 2013 (1392), I officially slung a camera over my shoulder. Since that day, it has been just me and photography—and photography and me. I feel that I have become bound to the camera; it has become part of my identity. Eventually, I won first place in a photography competition organized by the European Union. For the past three years, I have worked with both domestic and international media in Afghanistan. It is my hope to become a photographer free of bias and pretense—one whose photographs capture the pain of humanity, and the exile of the human spirit, especially in Afghanistan. I want my photos to be a voice for those who are no longer able to speak of the soul-crushing pain they carry. I hope that one day, the lens of my camera will become a window for the eyes that have wept unseen, a way to express what has been left unspoken. I hope my photographs can reveal the hidden sorrows etched into the faces of those whose stories have been buried in the folds of history. As Dr. Ali Shariati once said:
"May the dreams of the awakened disturb the sleep of those still asleep."