Read this story and find ourselves in it..
During the summer of my tenth year my family lived in Afghanistan and it stole into my heart. I am convinced that my fashion sense for scarves and bangles was born there, as was a love for eggplant, chickpeas, and dramatic landscapes made up of stark craggy mountains that end in startlingly blue lakes. If we want to get mystical, I’d argue that I was even drawn to meditative practice from sitting on the foot (not at the foot, mind you, but on it) of the Buddha–the Little Buddha of Bamiyan, that is.
How do we become who we are? How does a place, an aesthetic, a spiritual geography, get into our being?
It’s easy to romanticize Afghanistan in 1975 (pre-Soviet invasion, pre-Taliban), especially through the nostalgic eyes of a 10 year old who saw it all from a distance: from a modern house shielded from the street by a…
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