Growing up between two worlds is like standing on a bridge—one foot firmly planted in the familiar warmth of home, the other reaching toward new horizons. For many Afghan youth like me, this bridge stretches across oceans, cultures, and expectations. We carry our roots with pride, yet we are constantly navigating the pull of two different worlds.
I grew up in Afghanistan, surrounded by traditions, stories, and values that shaped who I am. Family gatherings filled with laughter and the aroma of Afghan food, the rhythm of Pashto and Dari poetry, the warmth of Afghan hospitality, and the resilience stitched into every conversation. Being with grandparents, celebrating Eid with cousins, and sharing stories over endless cups of chai—these moments aren’t just memories—they are a part of my foundation.
But life took me elsewhere. To places where the skies looked different, the languages sounded foreign, and the expectations on how to show up in the world shifted. In the UK and US, I was introduced to independence, individuality, and a new way of expressing myself. I found opportunities, learned to challenge my own assumptions, and grew in ways I couldn’t have imagined.
Yet, in between these two worlds, there’s a space of tension—a quiet fear that creeps in. What if I lose touch with where I come from? What if, in trying to belong in one place, I drift too far from the other? These fears are not easy to talk about, but they are real.
For many Afghan youth, especially after the fall of the Afghan government, this fear has deepened. The abrupt displacement and the pressure to adapt to new societies have led many young Afghans to isolate themselves. In this isolation, depression and a profound sense of disconnection have taken root. The absence of community, shared cultural spaces, and religious values in these new environments has left many feeling lost.
There’s also a fear of conformity—of unintentionally adopting values that prioritize extreme individualism over community, independence over connection, and detachment over shared responsibility. In cultures where ‘everyone is for themselves,’ it’s easy to feel out of place when your heart yearns for togetherness, belonging, and faith.
Another layer of complexity arises when connecting with the Afghan diaspora who arrived in the UK decades ago. While we share roots, our experiences are shaped by different timelines and circumstances. They built their lives in a different version of the UK, faced different challenges, and formed their own cultural pockets. Sometimes, it feels like there’s an invisible barrier—a void that separates us despite our shared heritage. Bridging this gap isn’t always easy, but it’s a bridge worth building. There’s so much we can learn from each other, and perhaps, in those exchanges, we’ll find the community and connection we’re all searching for.
“They asked me: Where is your home? I said: In the sound of my mother's prayers. In the scent of cardamom in morning tea. In the soil I carried in my heart when I left.” — Warsan Shire
If you're in the UK, one of the most important ways to avoid conformity is to find your community—people who share your values, your faith, and your vision for life. This isn’t always easy, and it’s something I’m still navigating myself. I’m still searching for the community I long for, and Inshallah, one day I will find it. But until then, I hold on to the small ways I stay connected—through prayer, through phone calls with loved ones, through traditions I carry with me.
This journey isn’t meant to be walked alone. While we search for our communities, we can share our stories, exchange experiences, and support one another. Together, we can create spaces where we feel seen, valued, and understood.
Being a child of two cultures is not about picking one over the other. It’s about finding a way to honor both. Sometimes, it’s in the smallest of actions: cooking Afghan food on a quiet Sunday, calling family back home to hear familiar voices, or wearing traditional clothes on a special day. Other times, it’s in bigger choices—advocating for your community, sharing your stories, and creating spaces where others feel seen.
For those of us living in this in-between space, it’s important to remind ourselves that we are not alone. There are so many of us carrying two homes in our hearts, two languages on our tongues, and two sets of stories in our souls.
To my fellow Afghan youth navigating this bridge: you are enough. You don’t have to have it all figured out, and you don’t have to let go of any part of yourself to fit in. Both sides of you—the Afghan and the other cultures you’ve grown into—are valuable, and they make you beautifully whole.
This isn’t just a fear we carry; it’s also a gift. A gift to see the world through two lenses, to hold empathy for different experiences, and to build bridges where others see walls.
Keep telling your story. Keep holding on to the parts of your identity that matter to you. And most importantly, keep reminding yourself that you belong—exactly as you are.
With love and solidarity, Heela
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