A few nights ago I played at a surprise going away party for a woman at the Canadian Embassy. She was a strong advocate for our school and a loyal concert-goer, so it made sense that I was there to represent ANIM and to salute her for her support. After playing Tchaikovsky's Valse Sentimentale, I was joined by three guitarists for a sing-a-long rendition of Green Day's Time of Your Life; as ever, the go-to favorite for weddings, graduations and other poignant occasions. As is the fashion, one of the guitarists still had his gun strapped to this leg.
After the performances, the woman addressed the small gathering and despite being quite emotional, she somehow made it to the end of her speech. I could tell by the way her voice trembled, that her time spent working in Kandahar and Kabul had really changed her. And I could also sense that she was dealing with the kinds of emotions you only feel at profound turning points in your life. Afghanistan had done things to her, things that would change her forever. Listening to her speech, I was struck by the thought that one day I too will have to leave Kabul, and when I do, I will have to wrestle to understand the person I have become.
But what she really seemed to express, without saying it outright, was a kind of love for Afghanistan--even if living and working here can be completely exhausting and even if this
country faces countless obstacles, there is hope. It's a love I am also beginning to understand.
