I was crossing El-Tagneed Street one morning, it was ten minutes to 7:00, when suddenly, a man driving past in a car spanked my behind.

“Let’s take a photo the Lebanese way! Stand like this.”
I did as she said and I thought I must’ve looked funny, and that people would think I was a slut because I was trying to flaunt my breasts.
body image, harassment

I could never forget,
How in the midst of the screams, beatings, killing,
The fires and tear gas in Tahrir,
I felt your hand violating me.

When I first started work, I used to talk to the clients in a very professional manner, saying "sir" and "mister", and I would find them replying with things like, "Sure, beautiful," and "Yes, love."

Before it happened,
I raised my voice and fought with you,
So you wouldn’t get into the elevator with me.
I went in alone,
And you pushed the door and came in,
And reached out and touched me.

I’ve been subjected to bad things ever since I was a child.
It started with the bullying I’d get at school,
Because of my thin body and dark skin.

The story about Hamada began when I started a fellowship in a reputable university.
We were six girls and two boys.
We were studying community development.
I found a message from Hamada one day saying,
“I miss you.”

One of the worst things to discover is that you're able to read the eyes of men as they look at your body.
Like when you start noticing as one guy looks at your breasts, and another at your lips, and a doorman looks at your waist, and so on.
Then you start interpreting the meaning behind these looks

We were walking down the street, holding hands.
A man passed us by and laughed in derision.
“What are you in love or something?”
social stigma, sexuality, harassment, the street

We were walking down Namees street;
There was a girl coming toward us from the direction of the corniche.
It was windy, so a gust of wind blew her skirt up in the air
Exposing her legs to everyone on the street.