I was running to get away from him.
I was running so I wouldn't get kidnapped in the dark.
It’s as if the world decided to stand against me.
I hopped in a minibus,
And I don’t remember what happened after.

My American friend told me that it got way better,
And that she started enjoying it more after she got married.
Because it felt safer.
It didn’t feel like a sin.
Yes, sex is considered dirty and wrong even in the West.
sex, marriage

I was always humiliated and beaten up over the most trivial reasons.
He’d hit me and flip the dining table over if there was just a little extra salt in his food.
I was never allowed to open my mouth and give my opinion.
Cooking zucchini was always a frightening experience, because if just one piece of zucchini turned out smaller than the other, it’d be a disaster.

"Aside from anything else,
I need to have sex.
Can you tell me what to do?
I'm a divorced lady with two kids,
and I just need to have sex.
What am I supposed to do?”

The first time he hit me was the day I found out I was pregnant.
He picked a fight with me when his friend and his wife were having dinner with us,
And I fried the mombar (a kind of sausage dish),
Before the chicken breasts.
He pulled me by my hair,
And dragged me to the stove,
And threatened to set me on fire to get rid of me.

Every month, she’d pick up and leave, taking our son with her. She’d stay at her parents and prevent me from seeing my son.
When I’d try to make up with her, she’d only relent on the condition that I obey her every word.
Otherwise, she’d go back to her parent’s place, and I’d be deprived of my son again.
divorce, marriage, romantic relationships

“The best thing about you is your tan,” he’d always tell me.
“What tan?” I’d laugh, “I am as dark as chocolate.”
“And I’m crazy about chocolate” he’d respond adoringly.

Look at me. Do you see me? Do you really see me?
Of course, all you see is a girl that looks like she comes from a good family.
But don’t be fooled by this quiet demeanour.
I’m burning on the inside.
No one can feel the anger inside me.

I never fantasized about wearing a white gown and veil.
But I’m surrounded by people who interrogate me every year as to why I haven’t got married yet.

Tell me! How do you men feel when you say such words? Do you ever mean it? What if it shows in your eyes and voice? How do you men fake it so well?  Or do you enjoy conquering us, and count us as yet another bounty?