I strolled down the snow covered lanes of Kabul. A stark difference from the gray tar roads of my home country Malaysia, where snow was always dreamed about but never experienced. Sweeping several glances across the area, all I saw was puffy white snow and patches of brown and green wedged in between from time to time. Armed with my trusty camera, I searched for the perfect picture to take to capture the beauty of this ice wonderland.
The houses around me were tall and silent. Snow carpeted their flat roofs like icing on a cake. For a Sunday, the morning seemed unaware of the lack of noise and cheer. The sun was rising but no one seemed to care or notice. Gloomy and dreary would not even begin to describe it. The view was beautiful, the atmosphere tranquil yet it was as if, it were all in vain.
I began to wonder even more, as to how such elegance portrayed in the loveliness of the surroundings could go unnoticed as I paced towards a forsaken building. So deep in thought I was that I tripped over something along the walkway. I turned to look and found that it was a leg. “Sorry,” I began to say when I noticed this being to whom the leg belonged to was abnormally still. I was nervous but more curious than scared so that I leaned forward to take a closer look. He was frozen to the bone. I noticed how simply and thinly clad he was. Exposed to the brutal cold he was an easy victim. I felt sympathetic for him and whispered a silent prayer as I willed myself to walk on.
As I walked along, I began to notice he was not the only life snuffed out by the cold. Many others had met the same unfortunate fate leaving only their stiffened bodies to tell their tale. There were the elderly folks as well as the younger ones whose bodies strewn the backstreets like an uncovered graveyard. None of them knew any longer how to breathe, to eat, and let alone live.
Soon morning became noon and I was in the middle of my exploration. Now, many kids were in sight. They crouched close to the ground, brushing the icy cold snow with their equally cold palms frantically searching for something. I soon discovered that they were looking for chips of wood, paper or anything that could be used for fuel to keep them from freezing. It was obvious they were people of the poorest part of the population. Some even begged me for money. It took all control to say no for I knew if I relented to one, I would need to relent to all.
Across the street, I noticed a line beginning to form along the corridors of a building. The day was getting colder and I rubbed my hands together to warm them up. I walked to the front of the queue and looked inquisitively to where it led. I saw a man who I believe was a doctor for a stethoscope hung around his neck talking to a young girl sitting opposite him. Her face was pale and sickly and she seemed to be shivering beneath her dress. Outside, the line began to lengthen. Among those who were waiting, I spotted two young girls clad in dark cloth. Their faces were stricken with despair and yet, in their eyes I saw a longing for hope. One stared down at her feet; the other gazed upwards as if seeking for God to save them. I picked up my camera and took the shot before turning to walk back.
I now knew the reason these people could not relish the winter, the beauty and the loveliness it portrayed. The winter was merciless; an enemy that swiftly robbed lives of joy and hearts of warmth, and worse still, dared to hide behind the façade of beauty. The purity of the whiteness of snow hid the crimson blood that it froze and clotted.
I wrote this earlier this year as an assignment. Supposed to be based on the picture... I know it's really long but I really liked the picture so...yeah.
