My Afghan-American friend Asma sends me an email. An email about a rock concert. In Kabul. Afghanistan’s first indie band, Kabul Dreams, is playing the American University of Afghanistan this weekend. I reply immediately, with lots of exclamation points. I’m going, and I’m absurdly excited. Last weekend went in with a bombing and out with an earthquake. I can use some fun; we all can. It’s for a good cause anyway. Proceeds from ticket sales will purchase much-needed supplies for the children who wallow in mud and hunger in the IDP camp on the outskirts of the city, just minutes from the gleaming AUAF campus.
And I don’t even care that security reports are warning that this could be another bloody weekend. Well, ok, I care, but I won’t be staying home. I’m going to dance, and as I do, I’m going to remember what Lejla Hadzimesic told me in a Sarajevo office building bathroom three years ago: “The best parties of my life were the ones we had as the shells fell.”
Defy the fuckers. Life goes on.