At school, boys and girls were separated.
The boys would watch the girls going home,
And choose one to send a letter to.
Then they’d be together.
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.
You’re beautiful.
I’m not beautiful like you.
Are you going to be happy?
Does he hug you?
He loves you, right? Did he say it to you? Are you sure?
Every month, she’d pick up and leave, taking our son with her. She’d stay at her parents and prevent me from seeing my son.
When I’d try to make up with her, she’d only relent on the condition that I obey her every word.
Otherwise, she’d go back to her parent’s place, and I’d be deprived of my son again.
divorce, marriage, romantic relationships
I gave birth to my son 10 months later.
I felt like my life was passing me by.
All I was was a woman with 5 kids.
Everyone wanted a piece of me.
prison, child marriage, romantic relationships, divorce, social stigma
I called Tante Hoda and quickly realized that the whole school and Kuwait thing wasn’t real.
I could’ve told my auntie that I knew what she was trying to do,
But I wanted to put an end to all future attempts at finding me a husband.
So I went to the club and met auntie, Tante Hoda and the suitor—tall, with glasses, and eyes on the floor.
Aly was honest at the beginning of their relationship.
He told Farida not to expect him to settle down,
Or for them to be in a traditional relationship.
He was open-minded,
More so than any other man Farida had met.
We got engaged, and then married.
My mother never talked to me about anything except on the day before the wedding.
It was the first time we talked about boys.
She was very calm as she told me what to do and that I shouldn’t upset him.
romantic relationships, marriage, sex, parents