My decision to leave Afghanistan was not immediate. It was not clear whether the country would put up resistance or fall. Provinces fell one after the other. The French said, “If the situation deteriorates, we will evacuate our employees.” First, they evacuated permanent employees. We did not take it too seriously. We thought we could not fall. Afghanistan is a member of the United Nations. Everything could not disappear so easily. Maybe this hope prevented us from accepting the truth, or we were not thinking deeply and fear prevented us from accepting the truth.

When we saw that the fall of Kabul was approaching, we asked the French what happened. They said that they would only take those who had a permanent contract. I pointed out that they had evacuated the cooks and cleaners whose lives were not in much danger. Our identities are in the media, the internet is full of our documents, our addresses. Everything is known and our lives are in more danger than the gardener’s.

Every day, the provinces fell further into the control of the Taliban, and then the Taliban arrived at the gates of Kabul. I was at home and thinking about my books, guitar, and work documents, and how to get rid of them. I collected the books, to throw them away. We lived in an apartment and I couldn’t burn them. Every time I picked up a book and put it in my bag, I felt that something was being removed from my body. Why should I be afraid of my books? Why should these books be scary to anyone? I took the books and threw them in a garbage can. Two artists had been killed since the provinces were occupied.

I don’t remember taking photos and videos of this moment because I was only thinking about the survival of myself and my family. It was nearly noon, and the sun was very hot. Everyone was gathered in the square. The thirst and screams of children who didn’t know why they were there. Fathers holding one child on each shoulder to help them get oxygen. The faces of women, those who fainted. The faces of soldiers, their ages. Watching these people destroyed the meaning of life for me.

At the airport there were people far back in the line who deserved to get through, but there were people in front who blocked the way. When I reached the end of the line, they initially didn’t let me through, and I waited for another three hours. I was thinking about the youngest members of the Taliban. Were they acting out of internal motivation or were they following orders? Did they have a choice? I was trying to see the situation from their point of view. Then from my point of view everything changed very quickly. Before people with such appearances were terrorists, and now they were soldiers.

A few times the children almost fainted from thirst, and I wondered if I should ask the Taliban for help or not. Finally, I asked one if he could supply water for a thirsty child. He hurriedly said, “Where? Where are they? Where are they?”

This had a strange effect on me. My beliefs were breaking. Was this a sense of humanity, or what else was it? That the Taliban member was sharing his water. They would drink some themselves and then give the extra to women and children. Men were sweating. Women, who until today did not allow anyone to touch them, were now stuck among men. I wanted to understand what they felt. How do you break beliefs?

I never wanted to leave Afghanistan. I thought I could deal with any situation. We sat on the plane and after everyone calmed down, I felt uneasy. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to go back. I didn’t want to lose my connection with my country. I did not know when I would return.

Maybe I’ll get used to being outside and forget Afghanistan. I thought everything was left there. I don’t remember, but they say I was crying. The hardest moment was when I thought that a series of very important and deep things were vanishing.