Mina’s POV:
Nothing is crystal clear in my mind. I just remember hushed whispers and quickly moving feet when we crossed the border from Afghanistan to Pakistan. The border was heavily-manned with soldiers in suits, holding their weapons steady. I just remember that there was a sense of urgency in the way our feet shuffled.
The days following our move to the neighboring country were peaceful in comparison with the frenzy of detonating blasts that occurred anywhere and everywhere. But there was stillness in the air, riddled with fear and guilt. Guilt for having left our hometown, abandoning everything to nothing.
And fear because of the anticipation that our demons might follow us here too. It was the kind of fear that stays long after the actual source of fear is long gone; a reminder of the past and the unease of what we had been through, the bombs, the beheadings, and the silent spectacle of man-slaughter.
Those days in the stuffy camps were torturous nevertheless. Our tale just took a turn to a softer and slower version of torture instead of the adrenaline-ridden, bone-shattering torment of losing someone you shared a smile with every day. Baba was left there too, across the border, lying in his grave. It tears me, as realization snaps its head to attention, and draws me back to the reality that I can never visit his coffin again.
To save our lives, my mother, Hasan, and I had to trade memories and home for an uncertain future. The refugee tents were closely pegged together, leaving little space for breathing. My days were devoured by the lingering hope of finding formula for my 3-year-old toddler brother. Half of the time, I kept looking for clean water to wash his milk bottles.
He cried often. But then, we all cried; internally quivering with the pain of what was to come next. Uncertainty can do that to anyone, regardless of how strong a soul one maybe. The only person that I could see as steel strong was my mother. Despite being a young widow, her attention was always trimmed toward her children’s needs, our needs. She rarely allowed herself to succumb to the weight of the reality or crush under the burden of her responsibilities.
She just barged head-on into the unpredictability of what her next step would hold. The only moment I saw my mother nearly give up was when Hasan didn’t wake up from his afternoon nap. Initially, my mind was confused. I thought death only came in violent ways such as my father’s shooting. I didn’t know that the soul could simply leave the body while someone looked angelic, albeit a little pale, in his sleep.
But Hasan’s spirit departed from him without being provoked, maybe it was just tormented due to the agony of not getting a peaceful childhood. Or he sensed the unease of the coming time so decided to leave us, shattering our remaining, barely holding-on hearts into tiny glass-like shards.
Mom wailed. She screamed his name all night. But I just looked at here wide-eyed, as my aunt held me tightly in her arms; making sure that I stayed on account of my mother.
