This time, I opened the door...

by Sehar Naz Janani (Kyrgyzstan)

A leap into the unknown Kyrgyzstan

The creaky sound of the door played a huge role in making the situation even more uneasy. A step forward brought me 16 years back. The hanging pictures of happy smiles and hopeless stories brought me back to a place, where 22-years-old Sehar did not want to go. I could still hear the noise behind that banging door, which a 6-years-old was not able to open. “Sehar, please save me. Please take me out. Don't you dare touch...” “Are you ok? Are you sure that you want to meet him because you do not seem fine,” Jyldyz inquired while tapping my back, and I suddenly realized that I am not alone and definitely cannot afford to revisit my childhood. My steps with utter resistance towards the room were not helping the situation. “He is a very lovely child but just be mindful that his abusive background might hinder him from being friendly to guests,” she continued explaining. I nodded as we walked closer to his bedroom. “Salam Jyldyz,” Meerbak spoke in the softest voice. He slowly raised his eyes towards me, and murmured, “Salam.” His pale skin and reddish eyes spoke everything that I did not want to encounter today. “Please open the door. Leave my sister alone. I will call everyone,” 6-years-old Sehar continued banging the door. She wanted to save her sister but… “Meerbak is from the village of Jalal-a-bad. He has been violently abused by her sister. His skin has not yet healed from the marks of oppression. He is living here for over a month now,” Jyldyz continued telling his story while I slowly sat down near him. I offered him the bag of fruits t, to which he instantly refused. That very moment, I was unable to refrain from contemplating over my own life while diving deep into Meerbak’s eyes. “I am an orphan,” he broke the silence while looking back at me. Those words instantly shattered all my hopes from life. As if only this earth could wide-open, and I can hide under it. “I cannot take my life anymore,” Meerbak continued as if he knew I am there just to hear his story. I held his hand firmly and looked right into his eyes: “Even until today, I am not able to take my life too, but you just have to know that you are not alone.” For a moment while I was trying to look for the light in his eyes, I was taken back to the door which finally opened. He slapped me right on my face and can I still feel the pain? Yes, I can. The 6-years-old, who fell on the floor was picked up by her raped sister that day. When I looked at her, I could see her soul with so many marks of blood and pain. That very moment, my childhood was broken. As the tear rolled down my cheek, Meerbak’s tiny hands were raised to wipe it, and a steady smile appeared on our faces. “I do not know you but very few people like you come to see me,” he smiled. He continued while raising his voice with confidence, “I want to be a pilot. I want to see who lives high above in the sky, and why does not he listen to my prayers. Is he sleeping?” A sentence combined with hope and disparity saddened me. His child did not die yet. His inner self is still alive but maybe taking his last breath. I hugged him. “My love, he is not sleeping. He is watching us very carefully. Believe me, he is with us always, and he loves us more than anyone else on this planet.” “He will open the door one day…”