The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, in Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. 48 days later, my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.

Mathematics is a subject that has always fascinated me. Its significance goes far beyond its mere numerical calculations. As an aspiring learner, I believe that math serves as the cornerstone for various fields and professions, making it an essential subject to master. The Learner Math Lover Scholarship resonates deeply with me because it acknowledges the profound importance of math and seeks to support students who share a genuine passion for this remarkable discipline. One of the key reasons why I love math is its universality. It is a language that transcends borders, cultures, and time. Regardless of where we come from or what language we speak, mathematical concepts remain constant and universally applicable. This inherent beauty of math has always intrigued me, as it provides a common ground for individuals from diverse backgrounds to connect and communicate. Furthermore, math teaches invaluable skills that extend far beyond the classroom. Problem-solving and logical thinking are integral components of mathematics, and they play a fundamental role in our everyday lives. Math equips us with these essential skills, enabling us to navigate challenges with precision and confidence. Moreover, math has been the driving force behind countless advancements in technology, science, and economics. It has propelled humanity to unimaginable heights, shaping our understanding of the world and facilitating innovation. It is truly awe-inspiring to witness how mathematics has empowered us to conquer challenges and push the boundaries of knowledge. As an avid lover of math, I find great joy in exploring its intricacies and uncovering its hidden wonders. The process of solving mathematical problems challenges me to think creatively, persevere through obstacles, and embrace the beauty of elegant solutions. It fuels my curiosity and ignites a sense of fulfillment. In conclusion, math is not merely a subject but a powerful tool that has shaped our world and continues to shape our future. Its universality, problem-solving skills, and contributions to various fields make it an indispensable discipline to learn. I am deeply passionate about math, and the Learner Math Lover Scholarship represents an incredible opportunity for me to pursue my passion further. By supporting students who share a genuine love for math, this scholarship recognizes the transformative impact that math can have on individuals and society as a whole. I am thrilled to be considered for this scholarship, and I eagerly await the opportunity to contribute to the world through the remarkable field of mathematics.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, in Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation. Fate and angels as my guide.

The Taliban wanted me dead, wanted my family dead. Wants my people, Hazaras, the ethnic minority of Afghanistan, dead. And if it wasn’t for an extraordinary twist of fate and a community of angels that helped usher me to this moment, I might not be alive today.  It was August 15, 2021, and the Afghanistan government fell to the Taliban. Because of our family’s minority status, our work with the Afghan government, and my sisters, who are of forcible-marriage age, we knew we were targets for the Taliban. Fear gripped us. But our bravery was stronger. And escape was the only option. We raced to the airport, my baby siblings in tow, desperate to flee our beloved homeland. But it didn’t go as we expected. A massive crowd, thousands of Afghan civilians, were rushing the airport’s entry and pushing to get in. In the chaos, I was separated from my entire family. The frantic mob was sprayed with tear gas, and a kind woman shared her hijab with me, telling me to shield my eyes with it. I tried to turn back to find my family but instead, I was pushed closer and closer to the gate. An old man stopped me from retreating and said, ‘What are you doing? You’re young! Go!’ So, I entered the gate. Without my family. And made the journey halfway around the world alone with strangers. After two days of little sleep or food, (and it would be ten days before I was able to shower) I was among 400 people in a U.S. Boeing C-17 Globemaster aircraft flying to Qatar. I remained in a refugee camp for two days and after a layover in Bulgaria, I arrived in the United States. From the airplane window, I saw the world: the desert of Saudi Arabia, the Mediterranean Sea, the islands of Greece, and the cities of Budapest and Frankfurt. I slept over the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty hours later, we landed at Dulles Airport, Virginia. I was in the United States. My childhood dream had come true.  The following day, I was transferred to a military base, where I flew to El Paso, Texas. After a few hours, I was off to New Mexico. And then three days later, I was sent to a shelter in Chicago for unaccompanied minors. After 14 vaccinations and a 17-day quarantine, my teacher took me on a field trip with 20 other Afghan minors in downtown Chicago. I tasted pizza, and freedom, for the first time.  In the shelter, I became fascinated with translating English to Dari. There were 20 Afghan kids, and I was the only one who could speak both languages fluently. I translated for counselors, teachers, lawyers, doctors, guests, and staff for four months. I learned I was a natural leader, a born advocate for my people, and a bridge between my old homeland to my new country. In January, I was transferred to a different shelter in Phoenix. I stayed there for 48 days and then flew to Philadelphia where my sponsor family brought me to my new home in New Jersey. I miss my family more than words, but thankfully, my American family has loved me as their own. They enrolled me in high school where I was admitted into Algebra II Honors class and later, graduated 11th grade on the distinguished Honor Roll. This summer, I attended the American Legion Jersey Boys State, as well as the leadership advancement program of the American council, LEAP. The Taliban stole my country, but they couldn't take or break my spirit. Or the spirit of my people. In fact, I will do the very thing that they abhor most. I will study and work hard in the United States. I will become a proud and upstanding citizen. And, one day, I will return to Afghanistan to help rebuild the nation.