Humayun Ashraf

On June 20, 2020, my father passed away.

I resigned from the hospital where he died. I had been assigned to a position for which I interviewed in October 2019, at my father's insistence. It was a permanent government job that could have posted me anywhere in the province.

I spent a year there, wounded, lonely, and in pain. My grief and pain were suppressed by being told that, as the eldest son, I should take on the responsibilities of family and move on with life– not that I ever hinted I would not.

It was lonely, scary and dark world. For a month or two, I became friends with alcohol. Then, as a part of the Muslim society, I had to face another bitter reality: that I could neither throw these bottles in the trash nor break them. How was I supposed to get rid of the bottles? In the end, I buried them.