Dear Khodayar, I go to the Maiwand supermarket in Dandenong
and I buy the dried apricots and dried mulberries from Afghanistan. After this
I go to your camp by the creek and clean up any rubbish I can find there. There
is a rhythm to my movements as I work in the hot sun. I am dealing with
certainty now, but you lived with possibilities. A door broken down in the
night, a bomb at the market, or a new life on a different continent.
Khodayar, you were on the move from the day you were born.
We are all at the mercy of things much bigger than our lives but there was a
shadow on your face before you even had a name. Your family would be taken by
the endless war and your heart condemned to the endless road. A hero must take
his chance when the time comes. The sun is never foreign to any of the children
of this planet. Love Stephen
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