“You’re so lucky to be busy,” the 17-year-old Afghan girl I tutor told me after I complained about the amount of homework I had one week. This simple exchange marked the beginning of a shift in my mindset, where I started to see my own stresses in a completely different light. 

I have tutored several Afghan girls throughout my three years in high school, and to say the experience has altered my way of thinking would be an understatement. Since 2021, when the Taliban regained control of Afghanistan, girls have been banned from receiving an education past sixth grade. Women are prohibited from attending secondary school or pursuing higher education. For millions of girls in Afghanistan, school is simply not an option.

I have been part of Omid for Girls, an organization that connects Afghan girls with virtual tutors, since my freshman year. The organization works to bridge the education gap for girls in Afghanistan while fostering a community of hope and female empowerment.

When my friend founded the organization and asked me to start a chapter at Westridge, I was excited but nervous. I had never held a leadership position like that before. However, I stepped up to the challenge, excited to apply what I’d learned attending an all-girls school to something larger than myself. Little did I know how much this experience would completely change how I viewed the world.

I tutored my first student in math. Although Omid for Girls provides a pre-algebra, algebra, and geometry curriculum, each student begins with a different level of prior knowledge. I learned to tailor lessons to my student’s needs, often consulting Khan Academy and YouTube for explanations or practice problems.

I’ve tutored three students so far, but my longest experience has been with my current student, who will remain anonymous for safety reasons. I’ve been tutoring her in English for a year and a half, and over time, we’ve become friends. 

When we first began meeting, our lessons started with a brief “How are you?” and “How has your week been?” before diving into a grammar lesson or vocabulary exercise. It initially felt strange to tutor someone my own age. Gradually, we became more comfortable with each other, and I began to look forward to our weekly sessions instead of feeling nervous. Despite the language barrier, we joked about our siblings and bonded over our shared love of shopping. Our shared religion also strengthened our friendship. At Westridge, I’ve never really had a close Muslim friend who I could relate to about religious or cultural experiences. I found comfort in being able to talk to another Muslim teenage girl who, although she practices religion differently in many ways, understands parts of my identity.

Now, our weekly sessions mostly consist of talking. Her English has improved to the point where she is almost fluent, and our friendship has deepened simultaneously. I’ve noticed less of a need for grammar lessons, but more of a need for a friend to talk to. 

As the political situation in Afghanistan has worsened recently, with airstrikes in Kabul, she tells me she just wants a distraction. It’s strange to complain about how many tests I have in a certain week when my student can hear bombing from her house. When she asks me about my life and I tell her I went skiing over President’s Day weekend, she exceeds my enthusiasm. She tells me how they have skiing where she lives, but only men are allowed to do it. In that moment, I remember how I had complained about the trip, two weeks prior, because I wanted to stay home for the long weekend. The contrast between our attitudes felt jarring. What I thought of as an inconvenience was an experience she’s unable to have. When I hung up from our call, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had taken for granted. 

Experiences like this have reshaped my understanding of opportunity, especially education. Although Westridge constantly emphasizes the importance of girls’ education, I’ve never fully grasped how lucky I am to receive one. School can sometimes feel overwhelming, and there are days when I don’t want to go at all. But my student, like many girls in Afghanistan, dreams of that stress. In our earlier sessions, she often asked me to give her more homework simply to fill her day and keep her busy.

The biggest way tutoring an Afghan girl has changed my perspective, however, is the unwavering optimism she carries. When I feel hopeless about the world, especially during a time of political instability and uncertainty, I have trouble imagining a better future. Yet, whenever I voice my concerns to my student, she always replies with “I have faith that it will get better.” Despite everything she has faced, her hope remains stronger than mine. She hasn’t let Wi-Fi shutdowns, government crackdowns, or the education ban weaken her belief in the future. Now, in moments where I feel hopelessness about the world, I make an effort to hold onto the same optimism she carries and remind myself that things can always get better.

When my student first told me, “You’re so lucky to be busy,” I didn’t fully understand what she meant. Now, as a junior in the midst of academic pressure and the college process, I finally do. Every assignment, test, and school day is a privilege. In many ways, I feel like I’ve learned just as much from her as she has from our sessions. And every time I log onto our weekly call, I’m reminded that the opportunities I often take for granted are the ones she continues to fight for.