“We can’t have a divorced woman in the family.
What will people say?
Once you’re married, that’s it.
You can’t get a divorce.”

My story is the story of hundreds of people.
The story is that of differences.
The difference that isn’t allowed,
Which you’re scared of and hate,
Because you know it’s haram.

I was released by the 4th night.
I went home, carrying the clothes and stuff I had with me in jail.
I knocked on my family’s door.
I needed to go to the bathroom. I wanted to shower and all that.
prison, social stigma, marriage

Girls grow up a little bit every day.
They get taller,
Fatter,
And curvier.
They get ready for the day,
When they become ladies.

I feel like my children have become uneasy around me because of the time I did in jail.
They don’t treat me like I’m their mother.
“Well, you have been to jail,” my siblings say.
“You act like someone who’s been in jail.”
social stigma, prison

Is there something wrong with me?
Sometimes I feel like I’m a disgusting creature.
I buy something from the supermarket,
And the cashier places the change a good distance away from me,
So he won’t accidentally touch my hand.

I used to always watch her from the examination room window in the government hospital that I worked at.
Her name was Sokkara. She was young. She couldn’t be older than 13 years old.

“You eat with your left hand?
That’s haram.
How could your parents let you do that?”

For example, in a shaabi area,
You can’t walk with your arms around a woman.
You’d be asking for it if you did.
It’s okay to just walk alongside a woman,
But without any display of affection.
If you walk with your arms around a woman,
You’d never hear the end of it.

He was the type of person who fooled around with his friends.
Our sex life was weak.
We’d do it about once a year and even then he’d be tired.
I used to tell him to get treated.
That we were still young and should enjoy our youth.
Honestly, he was really kind and sweet to me.
So, I didn’t say anything.