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When I got home, I cried and cried.
回到家里，我哭了又哭。
I didn't want to stop learning.
我不想停止学习。
I was only eleven years old but I felt as though I had lost everything.
我才11岁，但我觉得自己已经失去了一切。
I had told everyone in my class that the Taliban wouldn't go through with it.
以前，我告诉班里的同学们，塔利班不会真正下手的。
'They're just like our politicians – they talk the talk but they won't do anything,' I'd said.
“他们和我们的政客一样——只会讲啊讲，就是不会做。”我对班上的每一位同学说。
But then they went ahead and closed our school and I felt embarrassed.
但塔利班没有停留在语言上，他们走得更远——他们关闭了我们的学校。这让我感到很羞愧。
I couldn't control myself. I was crying, my mother was crying but my father insisted, 'You will go to school.'
我没有办法控制自己。我在哭，母亲也在哭，父亲却坚定地说：“你会继续上学的。”
For him the closing of the schools also meant the loss of business.
对父亲来说，学校的关闭意味着事业会遭受损失。
The boys' school would reopen after the winter holidays but the loss of the girls' school represented a big cut in our income.
寒假结束后，男子学校将继续运营，而女子学校的关闭意味着收入的锐减。
More than half the school fees were overdue and my father spent the last day chasing money to pay the rent, the utility bills and the teachers' salaries.
学校该支付的费用超过半数已经到期。在这最后的时间里，父亲四处要账、筹钱，以支付房租、水电费账单及老师们的薪水。
That night the air was full of artillery fire and I woke up three times.
那天晚上，空气中充满火药的味道，我一夜没睡好，醒了三次。
The next morning everything had changed.
第二天早上，一切都改变了。
I began to think that maybe I should go to Peshawar or abroad or maybe I could ask our teachers to form a secret school in our home, as some Afghans had done during Taliban rule.
我开始思考，也许我应该去白沙瓦或国外继续学业，或者也许我可以请老师们在我们家里开一间秘密学校，就像在塔利班统治下的阿富汗人所做的一样。
