Morning

My favorite part of the day in my Kabul life is between six and seven in the morning. Spring is here, so the sun rises around five, and the mullahs call to prayer is my alarm clock. I roll out of bed at six, make a cup of coffee, and go outside. It's crisp and quiet, the city is just waking up. Still in my pajamas, I inspect the basil patch, the lettuce sprouts, and look if the potatoes I planted two weeks ago have made any progress. I check whether the rose bushes were damaged by last night's storm. I water the potted plants while sipping my coffee and listening to the birds singing. As Stubby the cat makes her first sleepy walk around the garden, I start thinking about the day ahead.

Kabul is at its best in the morning.

Expat Bubble

It's Friday night, closing in on midnight, in Kabul's Shahr-i-Naw, or New City, neighborhood. Spring is here, my window is open as I sit by the computer, working. There is a party close by, foreigners only, and European dance music makes the warm air shiver as if it knew the degree of its own offensiveness. Friday is the holy day. Afghans don't throw loud parties. If I were the Taliban, I would bomb that noisy expat haven, if I were an ordinary Afghan, I would simply condemn it. Sometimes I wonder how clueless we are, us Westerners in our big cars and barbed-wired houses, trying to affect change in a country stuck in the 11th century. Our presence here is offensive to some, necessary to others, crucial to a few. Either way, nobody gave us permission to disturb the peace with our drunken parties and "foreign passports only" restaurants and clubs. It's disgusting. I need a drink.

Birthday

I like birthdays -- those of others as well as my own.

Today is my birthday, and it's a wonderful day: The sun is melting the last snow off the mountains, the city is quiet and smells of spring and rain, and fruit trees blossom in our yard. This morning O made me breakfast and a pink rose from an Afghan coworker waited on my desk. And despite Wednesday's suicide attack, the war somehow feels far away.

Looking back at the year that has passed since my last birthday, I conclude that it has been a good one. I have seen, felt and experienced more than I thought possible in such a short time, and though it has been tough at times, on balance the good has outweighed the bad. That's it for introspection today.

The best part of celebrating this birthday in Afghanistan is that, though I'm rapidly approaching 30, the Afghans still think I'm a teenager.