“Why do you talk to boys?
Why’d we send you to an all-girls school then?”

I was around 12 years old.
Our relatives were visiting on the day I got my first period.
I hid in the bathroom.
I was too scared to come out.
I didn’t know what to tell them.
My mother then called for me.
She came in and hugged me.
She told me it was a normal thing.

I used to love someone.
We worked together.
I really admired his personality.
He asked for my hand in marriage,
But my parents rejected him,
Because he was from a different social class.
I had a feeling he was ambitious,
And that he’d amount to something.
When we were engaged,
He was always concerned with the apartment,
And getting it ready.

I’m happy I made Hassan furious in court.
He looked furious, ready to explode.
I was scared in court.
When the judge asked me why I wanted a divorce,
I said that I felt we were incompatible.
Hassan looks older than he is.
The trial was postponed,
But I’m happy that I made him furious today.
I was scared,
But I tried to ignore my fear.

My father never treated me as if I were worthy of respect.
This has led to many hardships in my life.
I used to love him so much.
He married another woman when I was 13.
I felt lost then.
I was broken.

I stopped hearing about her a long time ago.
When I found out that she was in a relationship,
With someone who was prepared for marriage,
And that they were intending to get married,
I withdrew in a nice manner and wished her all the best.
I mean I know my luck:
I am always too late.

It was an ordinary day in the life of a 16-year-old girl in high school, going out with friends for lunch and a movie. My phone rang; it was Hassan, my cousin.

I was eighteen years old,
When my father would hit me and tell me,
“Will you answer back to your husband like this?”
“Will my husband hit me and treat me like this? I asked him.
“He’s going to beat you into pieces.
And if you come running to me,
I’ll send you back to him,” he replied.
domestic violence; physical violence; gender violence; parents; marriage

I had a recurring dream when I was young,
That my mother wasn’t actually my mother,
And that my father was married to another woman,
Who looked exactly like my mother.
I don’t know why I kept having this dream.
Maybe because my mother was very hard on me,
And my father was kind.
Everyone used to say that he spoiled me.
But I didn’t see it that way.
He used to shout all the time,
And my mother used to hit me,
So I’d grow up to be a proper housewife.

Mother’s Day is this month.
I thought about writing you a letter for this occasion.
But I couldn’t write anything.