Being a woman is hard, when love dies in an Afghan family

clipped from awwproject.wordpress.com Where the Wild Dogs Were I belong to a family in which love has died. I am the sister of a brother who thinks money is what makes life, and who is always angry; the word “happy” has been removed from his life’s dictionary. I am the daughter of a mother who can’t say anything; when she speaks, my brother will say, “You just shut up.” Then my mom will sit in the corner and pray. She didn’t eat dinner. My brother and I ate. There was everything to eat on the tablecloth but my brother started complaining. He threw a glass at my head. My head hurt and I was afraid he would throw plates at me. Mom asked him, “Why?” “She brought the wrong glass for me. I am going to teach her how to be a good woman, so she can have a future and marry someone.” When I returned home with Mom, sad, tired and disappointed, my brother was at home, angry and nervous, and he didn’t ask what happened to us. He looked at me and asked, “When will you get your salary?” His words were salt for my wounded heart.