For you, a thousand times over.
There is a way to be good again.
There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.
A boy who can’t stand up for himself becomes a man who can’t stand up to anything.
In the end, the world always wins.
There’s a way to be good again. To be born again.
I thought about Hassan’s dream, the one about us swimming in the lake. There is no monster, he’d said, just water. Except he’d been wrong about that. There was a monster in the lake. It had grabbed Hassan by the ankles, dragged him to the murky bottom. I was that monster.
It’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975.
In the end, the world always wins. That’s just the way of things.
That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past. I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
“There is only one sin. and that is theft… when you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth.
There is a way to be good again, he’d said. A way to end the cycle. With a little boy.
“A man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer.”
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
I see a glimpse of the boy who, with his father, fled Kabul. A glimpse of the Baba who found a way to create good out of his remorse.
But it’s better to get hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.
It’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out.
For you, a thousand times over.
And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.
I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning.
In the end, the world always wins. Work was a double-edged sword of the worst kind.
There is a God, there always had been. I see Him here, in the eyes of the people in this [refugee] camp. This is the real house of God, this is where those who have lost God will find Him… there is a God, there has to be, and now I will pray, I will pray that He forgive that I have neglected Him all of these years, forgive that I have betrayed, lied, and sinned with impunity only to turn to Him now in my hour of need, I pray that He is as merciful, benevolent, and gracious as His book says He is.
You taught him a lesson, Amir a very valuable lesson: never mind what people call you, you always have a choice.
There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.
There is always a way to be good again.
There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
It always hurts more to have and lose than to not have in the first place.
The curious thing was, I never thought of Hassan and me as friends either. Not in the usual sense, anyhow.
He had this sense, a sense that nothing bad could ever happen to him…there was something admirable about it. Something incredibly brave.
But better to get hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.
For you, a thousand times over.
I had one last chance to make a decision.
Sometimes, I do. Why not? It’s a conversation starter.
There’s something wrong with you, son, something seriously wrong with you.
Sorrow was always something that sat ugly with me.
You can’t live like a breeze, remember? You need to sacrifice
There is only one sin and that is theft… when you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth.
The only thing we had in common was that we were both masters of deception.
As a society, we’ve become indifferent to the horror. They see it, they know it’s there, but they don’t want to think about it.
Hassan’s voice whispered in my head: For you, a thousand times over.
I become the man Baba had always wanted me to be.
I had come to see that Baba did lose his vaunted power to bend reality. I had witnessed it myself when Ali was hit with the beggar’s bowl.
There is a way to be good again. To be born again.
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