I am sure most of you have heard about the brutality Malala
Yousafzai went through recently. For those who don’t know, she’s a teenager
from oppressed Swat Valley, Pakistan. She was awarded the National Peace award
for Youth.
Malala among her female companions was shot by member of Taliban
for she’s committed the grave sin of speaking her mind; she used to write blogs
for BBC about her life under Taliban rule. In her blogs she advocated for
girls’ education and women rights.
“This is disgusting they shot a child because she wants her
rights?” I complained to my friend Ali
“I don’t like people who complain” he coolly points it out for the
hundredth time using his as-a-matter-of-fact tone (well, we were chatting but I
can still tell his tone, perks of being childhood best friends)
“Pakistan needs a major sanitization, it is filled with pricks!” I
continue to blabber my frustration out
“Let’s go to Swat and preach there; you and me?” he quips
“What? So, they shoot us too?” I fire back
“So, you are scared to die?” he interrogates
“Hell, yes I am” I admit shamelessly
“Then don’t complain”
Yes, a Royal shut up followed.
And it got me thinking how this little girl had so much of courage
at this tender age to fight for her right. It is so easy for people like me who
are living in their cocoon to protest against the government at the slightest
thing that goes wrong, but make zilch physical efforts to do something about it.
I came across a post reading “I’m Malala, I’m Pakistan” and to
think about it now I am indeed a part of Pakistan, a part which lives
comfortably and fights prejudices in a cushioned zone of her own, but I’m not
Malala. I don’t possess her courage, to live between the wild and provoke them.
That requires courage. Applaud for this little girl and people who protect and
supported her.
