I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. Wasn't fast enough. Wasn't strong enough.

I'm sorry I killed mother and you got stuck with me.

You said yourself, there's something missing in me. I don't stand up for myself. I'm not good at anything. Cars make me throw up and violence makes me cry. Something about me isn't right. I've always known that. I've tried to fix it. I can't be fixed. You said you don't understand me. I don't blame you. I don't even understand myself.

You've always preferred Hassan to me. Who wouldn't? He's faster, stronger, braver. He defends me because I'm too weak to defend myself. I'm so damn pathetic I have my damn hazara take my fights for me. A hazara saves my sorry ass and I hide out in my room writing poetry like a little girl. Of course, marrying a poet is one thing but fathering a son who's one? Well, I don't blame you for being disappointed. I'm nothing but a disappointment. I thought maybe if I won, you would be. But I couldn't even do that. I saw your face when my kite went down. You'd been so happy, thinking I'd win. My kite fell, and I saw your hopes fall too.

In the end, I couldn't make myself someone to be proud of. You've tried to fake interest in my all these years.

You don't have to pretend anymore.

I've always been a coward. I've always been weak. Today, I am brave. Today, I am strong.

Today, I ended it all.