"No, Hatem is such a girl. He's shy and doesn't like talking about asses and boobs and stuff like that!"

Long ago I decided to forget and to forgive, and ever since, I've been forgetting everything and forgiving anything.
So, each time you hurt me, I would just forget what you've done and all you've said.

It was the summer break of year seven.
I was on the beach with my parents and relatives.
I saw him trying to get closer.
There was nothing I could do though.
After a while I went for a walk. 
He followed me and then his mom called on me and asked “what year are you in?” 
“I am in year seven”

When you would try to touch me,
I felt like you couldn’t see me.
You could only see the body you were about to touch.

“Why can’t I go tell him: I love you and I want to marry you?”
“Have you lost your mind? How could you do something like that?”

Why don’t I trust my body?
When I felt comfortable with you, why didn’t I believe that I was actually in love?
I didn’t believe the touch of the hand or my head resting on your shoulder.
Or when you lifted me off the ground so we could dance.

Apparently in Islam,
If a woman is not sexually satisfied,
She has the right to divorce her husband.

I was in the third grade and we took the same bus to school.
He was fair-skinned and had rosy cheeks.
He had thick, soft, jet black hair.
He had thick eyebrows and piercing eyes.
He was the class and bus clown.
He was that kid who joked around all the time.
I loved him.
romantic relationships, school

Ali: “Fuck that, how could my wife wear a swimsuit like this one?
And stand in front of men, while they look at her thighs?
Does it not bother you, Sherif, the idea of your wife wearing a swimsuit?”

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?