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the women of Wardak 

The women in my family are like stones at the bottom of the ocean.

They are smooth and beautiful.

Even under the pressure of the entire sea on top of them.

Women who have buried children and still danced at weddings.

Women whose fast hands make magic and cure sadness.

As if every goddess was sent to Wardak.

Every daughter born comes into this world screaming.

Not from pain or misery but to let those around her know another empress is here to rule.

Pakhtana women have voices that boom.

And laughs that echo through rooms.

These are the queens of my lineage.

The ones who gave me legs like tree stumps and hands made of iron.

The ones who put out fires when they burn.

The ones who love us to the point of madness.

photo of my refugee mother and sister, Afifa & Awesta Wardak, 1980’s, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa

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when the babies die

In the middle of the night I will wake you up

Gently shake your shoulder and tell you it is time to go

There is a safer place than here. Shh. Don’t fuss or worry. Quietly tip toe out of bed and wear your best clothes my love

This place is the best place to be. You are a lucky one when you arrive here.

I will give you one last kiss and hug you so tight. I am nervous and heartbroken that you will be sent off without me. But I know you will be safe.

My little jigari with your small feet and toes. Your soft cheeks.

Go forth to the arms of God my precious baby. Don’t worry that you are going alone. I will be with you soon.
-when the babies die

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You have your flaws

We sat in rooms


My heart would break

My mouth would not move but 

I’d hold my breath

All we talk about is

My mother and how she is a tyrant 

This is how we bond

One thing that makes us both laugh

This culture doesn’t cultivate 

A strong connection between

Father and daughter

Now I know

To look for your signals of love

They are in between noodles in soup

They are when you tell me to stop texting and driving

They are when you pat me on the back because

We are too afraid to hug

We both have endless love letters for one another but

I know and you know it too that

If we open our hearts, it would be too much

All the unsaid words

My baba, I will not twist your spine 

In silence or in screams

I will love you endlessly.

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Unsolicited Dick Pics: WE DONT WANT THEM THANKS 

Let’s talk about unsolicited dick pics. 
Are you so obsessed with the peen that u see literally every fucking day of your life that u have to share it with a random girl that you actually really don’t know? Like it’s such a glorious new discovery that you literally need to curate it in a museum of direct messages. We’ll let me give you a heads up, no pun intended:
It’s really sad to think that men are such simple idiotic creatures who have such fragile egos that they need to send a fuckin image of their male parts to validate themselves. Now that’s what you call BITCH MADE. 

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The Afghan Barometer: There isn’t One

I recently had an Instagram page ask to feature a “sexy” pic of me. They said they also wanted Afghans to be “free”:

“It’s all about making people understand that individuals are different and so are Afghans. They need to understand that people can do as they want – wear what they want, instead of judging people”. I agree with this sentiment and I think the intent of the admin means well. But I have several issues with their method on a personal level, and as a reflection of the state of our larger Afghan diaspora.

On a macro level, I don’t see how objectifying people or portraying them in a certain light does anything but divide us further. When I went on this page I saw girls in bikinis and guys with duck faces…now there’s nothing wrong with that AT ALL but if I was a “conservative” Afghan I would automatically feel opposed to the message of the page; I wouldn’t think “oh let me learn more about these people and understand they’re Afghan too”, I’d automatically have a visceral response because that’s how I’ve been programmed to think.
I don’t think pictures by themselves can change someone’s mentality. I don’t think having pictures of Afghans in “revealing” clothing on an IG page will “prove” to anyone that Afghans in diaspora have agency over their appearance or lifestyles. I think that actually is counteractive and just further adds labels and categories of Afghans. I think we need to get over proving ourselves to Afghans and non-Afghans. I am a firm believer that there’s no barometer to being Afghan. If someone else sees another Afghan and thinks they’re not “Afghan enough” then they clearly don’t understand ethnicity or nationality. Yes, there are certain practices, norms, ideas, that can be distinctly Afghan, and if someone subscribes to them, they may be portraying or following a more “traditional Afghan” lifestyle. And yes, depending how you exercise this lifestyle, you will get a subsequent response from the greater diaspora. But none of this by no means defines what being Afghan is.
I think it’s personal interactions and narratives that can spark change. It’s natural to judge someone based on their social media, but an individual interaction with that person paints a more accurate picture. 
Now on a personal level, I don’t care to use my image to further anyone’s agenda but mine. I’m not our here posting a pic of me in a tube top because I want to prove I wear tube tops. I’m doing it cuz thats what I wore on a Tuesday and felt like posting a pic on a Tuesday. I am Afghan in a scarf at prayer and in my PJs at 11pm and in a bikini on a beach. Whether someone else thinks so is a personal problem and a lack of understanding geography. I don’t “represent” Afghan women here or back home, conservative or liberal. I represent myself and if people are appalled or find me relatable then that’s their experience, but I’m not in the business of changing people’s opinion of me. Those who know me or follow my work know how I view my Afghan identity and I did not go out of my way to prove it, it just is what it is.
I’ve had dozens of people tell me (in one way or another) that they initially judged me, but as they got to know me their opinion changed. This is a backhanded compliment but again I think the intent means well. Personally I couldn’t give a fuck what you thought about me initially but ok cool thanks for letting me know. But the reason I bring this up is because without that personal interaction, these individuals would still think whatever they thought of me before. And unfortunately we tend to think that if someone doesn’t dress conservatively then they don’t or can’t celebrate their Afghan heritage. So it’s most likely that I look disconnected from my identity or culture, but that couldn’t be further than the truth. 
Now for those who believe one must act and dress a certain way to be Afghan:
We are a people impacted by war & trauma. We have diverse migration patterns and have landed all across the globe. We hold status as one of the largest refugee populations. Did you really think we’d be wearing lungees and Panjabi kali for the rest of our time here on earth? Do you think this is what we always wore? No. Afghanistan is at the center of the Silk Road and has always had a diverse culture. It is only recently due to Wahhabism and outside intervention that we’ve become more of a monolith in the motherland. But that internal monolith does not define the diaspora. If it did, then we’d all be in burkas a decade ago. But the behaviors and appearances of those in Afghanistan does not dictate what we do here. Additionally, I acknowledge that our counterparts have limited agency in their attire or lifestyles, but that does not mean they are not “free”.
I’m not free because I’m in a skirt and my sister isn’t imprisoned because she’s in pants. Please stop imposing your definition of what it means to be Afghan on the greater population. It only gives you a headache and hurts those who are not like you. My opinion is based on facts. No two Afghans are the same. Stop this divisive mentality and let individuals exercise their agency how they please.


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Why They Hate Us: On Being an Outspoken Afghan Woman Online


Ugh. This was emotionally draining. Being an outspoken Afghan woman online has brought me my share of misogynistic pigs who will try anything to silence me. Mind you, my social media accounts are fairly typical of someone my age, but the thing that REALLLLLY pisses off men (mostly Afghan men) is the fact that I use my brain to form thoughts that I then share with my followers. Now THAT’S the worst thing you can do as an Afghan woman. Exercise your self-agency.

It is extremely frustrating fighting for the liberation of Afghan lives when countless Afghan men want to erase me and other Afghan activist women.

& it’s so disturbing in every aspect. Some of these men initially hit on me, and when they’ve been rejected, find it SO appalling, SO damaging to their egos – that they go from wanting my attention through bullshit compliments to then DEMANDING my attention by verbally assaulting me. See male privilege is precisely this, resorting to hyper-sexualizing a woman through insults like “slut”, “whore”, etc., when they have absolutely nothing else to say.

& some of these men simply found my accounts and just find a problem with me existing. An Afghan woman, who is proud of her background, who partakes in the beauty of her culture, yet refuses to acknowledge the patriarchal boundaries normalized therein. Yes, I can do both at the same time. This is what angers them.

I am whatever the fuck I want to be. I do not need to acknowledge your existence. My DMs, my phone number, my email, those are avenues for you to contact me. I might have even given you permission to do so at one time. But none of those avenues require a response. I will respond how I please. My existence is not to make your world beautiful. I won’t smile when you tell me I look more beautiful that way. I won’t shutup when you say I’m a whore who brings shame to our culture and religion because I call your bullshit out. I am not your poor mother who perpetuated misogyny and never had a voice in her own home. I am not your sister who you shield so ferociously while you lead doe-eyed non-Afghan women into your bedroom. An Afghan woman must be a fresh dish cooked only for you to devour, but those Mexican girls are disposable right? Your double-standards and treatment of BOTH Afghan & non-Afghan women is what makes you lesser than the “kafirs” you pretend to hate so much.

& I am not the complacent Afghan woman who, in an attempt to please YOU, pretends to hate women like me. Because the most insidious form of patriarchy is that passed on by a woman.

I might message you back one day & not the next because I fucking can. Yes, I’m from Los Angeles and I am American. Yes, my heart is in Afghanistan and I will go to give back. I can wear a hijab while I pray and a skirt while I party, I can act like a bimbo at a club & lecture at a conference the next day. I know it’s frustrating and shocking that I can do all this and still thrive, while you live a double-life because you are so fragile and weak that if you were exposed, you would crumble.

You do not own Afghan women. We are not a commodity, we are not cattle. We’re not better or worse than women from other cultures. When we are in diaspora, we may become “Westernized”, how scary and sad to you that we are losing those “values” that kept you in control. But don’t worry because we will be fetishized in the cultures we assimilate in; men have created the world to work that way, our oppression is universal whether in Kabul or California.

I am tired. It’s not something that’s easy to ignore when it happens. Every time I am verbally attacked by a man hiding behind a phone screen, I am reminded of EVERY OTHER time a man tried to take away my agency. EVERY OTHER time I was NOT given a choice.

So you see it might look like an online “troll” to you, but it is reliving trauma for me, and for my sisters, and for every woman of color who has to sacrifice a little piece of their souls while doing this work.

If my existence is a radical form of protest than so be it. I won’t shrink anymore to give you space. I won’t watch my tongue to make you comfortable. I won’t be complacent while you suffocate my sisters. Misogyny will no longer be normalized in my life.


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stop killing Hazara people

How long can a nation

Survive when

It sustains itself

Off of pain

My motherland has dirt that is only nourished with tears
The branches of trees that reach far into the earth trickle with blood 

I don’t know how we can be such a proud people when
We perpetuate dishonor and hate 

When our brothers suffer and we 

Turn a cheek 

If this nation wants to live up to its reputation 
Then mourn for the Shia like you do the Sunni

Remember your Hazara mother like your Pashtun 

Do not let them die in vain

If this is to be a wataan for us all

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the Afghan woman

Feminine pain.

I remember my mother 

And her mothers mother

Until they all blend into

One tired heart 

A pair of wrinkled hands

Shattered dreams and 

Wombs taken for granted

This is my feminine heritage

Broken promises and 

Fleeting dreams.

But the Afghan woman

Is the most resilient brilliant creation

humming of the strongest heart

That beat that jumps out of your chest

The one right before what you thought was your dying breath

Walking across borders 

Moving mountains

Crying in silence but beating our drum 

To make the most beautiful song you have ever heard 


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there was no honor for them 

I often think of the women of my tribe 

That came before me 

High born women called

Bebe and


And how my relatives today revel in the fact that

We came from nobility 

From honor.


If my mother did not choose my father

And if my grandmother was widowed and given nothing

And if my aunt was punished for loving a man 

Nobility or not

High rank, daughters of generals

There was no honor in their upbringing.


You treated my ancestral females like

Porcelain dolls and 


Beautiful to look at

But only valued for fertility. 

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How The Sociopath Keeps Winning

Sociopaths, narcissists, drug addicts. Whoever it was that you dated, they all have one thing in common: making you believe you are the scummiest person on earth who doesn’t deserve shit. & that the only person who would ever be with you is them and their sick hearts.

This is exactly what I went through. I dated a drug addict who did everything he could but physically harm me: gaslighting, emotional and verbal abuse, the whole gamut of asshole things. I was told I was ugly, a whore, immoral…& that I even contributed to his drug addiction. And I believed it all. I beat myself up thinking I negatively influenced this person and I was responsible for his downfall.

I am a working graduate student in the field of mental health. I am able-bodied, I am educated, and pretty much have my shit together. But the way the sociopath keeps winning is with the repeated negative self-talk that plays in my head. His put-downs sometimes make their way into my mind and its absolutely debilitating.

& this manifests in other ways as well. A common factor I see in many females post-narcissist partner is this idea that we are undeserving of love. That we are damaged goods and that a good man doesn’t “deserve” to be with a baggage-mess like us. Just recently I spoke to a friend who had a similar past relationship, and was terrified because her new man was the total opposite.

“I’m so scared. He doesn’t deserve someone like me. It’s not fair for him. I’m not a whole person. He should be with someone fresh and alive”.

& in my friends voice I recognized my own. I myself tried to avoid the good things that would come my way. I was completely shut off to the idea that a good man would come into my life and actually WANT to handle me. But this is how these mothereffers keep winning. Even after they’re long gone.

Do not let the words of an empty shell of a person get in your head like this ladies. You are all deserving of whatever amazing things God puts in front of you. If you weren’t, it wouldn’t come your way. And maybe it hasn’t yet, but when it does, please accept these small gifts from the universe. I know its hard and I know we have so many systems and people telling us we are undeserving. People thrive off putting others down. But do not let the old words of a broken man carve into you and dictate whatever blessings were meant for you.

Uplift your sisters. Keep your eyes on the prize. And exude love. The rest will fall into place.


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