A Book Review—Or Mostly, A Life Review

I have always been in love with stories. There’s something about them—how words, written by a stranger, can feel like home. How emotions I thought were mine alone, emotions I never had the words for, are suddenly reflected at me from the pages of a book. Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved reading.

And when life feels heavy, I go back to the books I’ve read before. Not because I have nothing new to read, but because someone once told me that revisiting stories is like holding up a mirror to your soul. You don’t just see the story—you see who you were the first time you read it. And you see who you are now. At some point in between, even your perspective changes.

So, I return to certain books when I feel I should. And recently, I returned to The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I had read it once before. I loved it then, but back then, all I really saw was Amir’s story.

This time, I saw my own.

The Kite Runner—And Me

The book follows Amir, a boy who made choices that would haunt him for the rest of his life. A boy who ran away from his guilt, only to realize that redemption isn’t something we stumble upon—it’s something we fight for.

This time, as I read, Amir’s struggles felt uncomfortably familiar. I saw his cowardice, and his selfishness, but I also saw his humanity, I saw that he was a flawed human being just like me. And maybe I wasn’t just reading about Amir. I was reading about me.

Lately, I’ve found myself in a season of rebellion. Maybe not the loud, reckless kind, but rebellion nonetheless. The kind where the girl who once sought God in everything suddenly decides she’s tired. Tired of waiting. Tired of trusting. Tired of stepping out in faith only to be met with heartbreak. So, I stopped asking God for direction. I started choosing what was easy, what was comfortable, and what made me happy at the moment—regardless of whether it was right.

And for a while, I convinced myself it was fine.

But deep down, I knew better.

Because peace never came. Because the further I walked, the more lost I felt. Eventually, I found myself in a place I never intended to be—empty, restless, distant from the One I swore I would never turn away from.

And then, as if orchestrated by God, The Kite Runner found its way back into my hands while I was skimming through books in a bookstore—one of my habits whenever I try to pass the time in a mall. Something about bookstores just feels so comforting.

An Intervention

There’s a line in the book, something Rahim says to Amir:

"A man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer."

I read it once. Then again. And again. And then I cried.

I had been punishing myself for the weight of my guilt, believing that struggling with my choices made me weak and that I was the villain. I saw myself from a broken perspective but those words—those simple, quiet words—made me see things differently.

The war inside me, the restless nights, the heaviness in my chest—wasn’t that proof that goodness still lived in me? That my heart hadn’t grown cold, that my conscience was still fighting for what was right?

Maybe the worst thing isn’t making mistakes. Maybe the worst thing is making mistakes and feeling nothing.

And suddenly, I wasn’t drowning in shame anymore. Suddenly, my struggle wasn’t proof of my failure—it was proof that I still cared. I still wanted to be better, and to do what was right.

And isn’t that what redemption is? Not just feeling guilt, but choosing to change. Choosing to make things right, even if it costs, even when it’s hard.

What Do We Do with Conviction?

Because in the end, conviction means nothing if we don’t act on it.

We can sit with regret, let it fade, bury it beneath distractions, and pretend it never existed.

Or we can face it.

We can stand in the wreckage of our choices, look at what we’ve done, and decide—this is not who I want to be.

Amir sought redemption. And maybe, so can I.

And lastly, I hope I didn’t spoil you too much. If you haven’t read the book yet take this as a sign to go and read it yourself haha!