It felt as if I was in a wrestling match.
That his purpose was to invade and destroy everything.
That he had no intention to listen.
That survival was for the fittest.

I wasn’t prepared for that.
You were my first love,
My first dream.
For the first time ever,
I became a slave to my emotions.

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?”

I want the kind of bravery that doesn’t come with jealousy or envy.
I don’t want him to be intimidated by my success.
I want him to care for me.
I want him to confess his love to me.
I don’t want him to be nervous or shy.

Like any young man in Egypt, I dreamt of owning an apartment, starting a family, and settling down.
After I got married, God blessed me with the most beautiful girl in the world, then later on, a little boy.
My wife—the mother of my children—suddenly left after a conflict that rose between us.
She filed a lawsuit against me, in which she claimed that I damaged her property.
marriage, divorce, 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.

I woke up this morning feeling like… yes, shit!
I stood in front of my mirror and refused to accept the reflection it gave me.
Yes, I am indeed talking about another heartbreak.
Sleepless nights, puffy eyes, and so on.
And you have to sit right there,
And listen to me talk about it,
Because no one else would.

I was 14 in middle school, my teenage years, and I thought with my emotions a lot.
I talked to the first person that I liked and got to know him.
The happiest moments of my life were the hours I’d steal before or after class to talk to him.

“When do you plan on getting married?” my father, aunts, uncles, and cousins always ask me.
Or if we’re at a wedding, they always say ou’balik [may you be next].
I wonder how the elders of the family would react if I walked around at funerals and poked them, saying “Ou’balik!”

What’s he thinking of?
Does she have the right to say no?
Is it my right to pass judgement on her?
Is it her fault that she’s giving in to society’s standards?