"How’s your love life?” she asked.
I forced a laugh.
The question embarrassed me.
She insisted that I was a romantic and that apparently my whole family were romantics.
"You know,” she began, “if you want to get married, I could bring you a lot of suitors to meet.”

You can’t go out alone. I have to be with you.
I have to be there even if you go out with your friends.

I want you to get screwed over.
You’ll get screwed over.
I don’t want to screw you over, but I want you to get screwed over.
He’ll screw you over.
He’ll screw you over.

Why is it a big deal if you call me one day and find my mobile switched off?
Where’s the problem in that?
Are people not allowed to turn off their phones?
You should’ve just let it go.
You shouldn't have made a big deal out of it.

Her family thought she was a slut.
They thought she had sex with him.

Her sister was positive she did something bad with him.
Otherwise she wouldn’t be insisting on marrying him.
She must be trying to cover up what she did.

It was hot and the AC was barely working, but the weather here was nice.
It was a little snug but we fit.
Nothing happened between us but a hug.

I loved him.
I was separated then.
I had a unique personality and was respected by everyone.
He was controlling and isolated me from my friends and family.
physical violence, gender violence, breakups, romantic relationships

I learned to love him over the years,
as I watched him become a human being:
learning to talk
and becoming stubborn, bright, artistic, and funny.

My upbringing was very conservative and restrictive,
The house and Amm Salah’s supermarket at the end of our street were my limits.
Just these two.
From kindergarten to the second or third grade
I went to an Islamic school.

It all started with a push up bra.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a push up bra!
It was my graduation gift from my mother.
“Ma, I’m not going to wear this! No way!”
“Why? You can't go around looking flat like that!”