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”

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.

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.

Often when we think about violence,
We paint a certain picture in our heads:
A ruthless man physically attacking his wife,
Who’s considered to be weaker than him.
The reasons range from a sadistic desire to establish control to financial or sexual reasons.

I ran away from you the first time you tried to kiss me.
“You’re a coward!” you said.
I was scared.
Scared of myself.
There was a voice in my head telling me,
“Are you sure you want to get so close to him?”
I was hurt by everyone I got close to.

I was six or seven years old.
Mama wanted me to learn a musical instrument, so I chose the piano.
She looked for a place that could teach me and found an instructor at the club.
They arranged for me and my brother to take lessons with him.

I come from a conservative, traditional, and somewhat wealthy, capitalist family.
They appreciate a woman’s right to an education and a career, but only under the supervision of the family.
When it comes to marriage, it must be with the total consensus and control of the family.

I want to be free.
I want to write whatever I want.
But all married women now have red lines they can’t cross.
“Now that we live together, you have to forget about writing,”
They’re told as soon as they get married.

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.

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?