I've been told that winter is ruthless in Kabul, just like it is anywhere else in the world. I've been waiting for this snow since October, which is when winter starts, I was told. But it never came.
Then on 28 Nov, when I was struggling to put on my winter jacket on my way out of Lai Thai, T exclaimed "Eh, snow!" and then "No lah!", Z denied. They hurried off into their van without giving me goodbye hugs. So I stood on the threshold and stretched out my right palm skywards, and let soft white powder fall on my skin.
It was snow. The first snow in my life.
Many friends find it hard to believe that I've lived in a few countries and travelled to many more, but have never encountered snow. My first sight of snow, "dead snow" as I call it, was in Budapest during a holiday in Christmas 2004. It was "dead" because it was just dirty snow on the ground, not snow falling the sky.
But now in Kabul, I just sit on my bed and I can look out through my bedroom window and witness "live snow" falling into my garden.
