I always imagined myself with short hair.
Until I got it cut.
I was happy.
I felt like myself.

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?”

A girl was walking to a supermarket near her house after iftaar  when a kid—no older than 18—said the most disgusting things to her as he fondled himself.

“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?”

No one would have told me:
“That’s a really effeminate way of sitting.”
“Why do you cross your legs when you sit?”

Girls grow up a little bit every day.
They get taller,
Fatter,
And curvier.
They get ready for the day,
When they become ladies.

In my family, it’s neither accepted nor allowed for a girl to not be a virgin before marriage.
I don’t know how intercourse works, and I’m afraid of it.
I feel that the hymen itself is shackling and imprisoning me.

Whenever I see someone crying, especially my younger siblings,
I immediately tell them to stop.
I’m their older sibling and I must always appear strong.
They can’t cry because I can’t cry.
I have to hold it in.

Are you happy?
Are you as happy as your parents?
Do you love him?
Are you sure you’ll love him forever?
Is there such a thing as loving a person forever?

One incident I remember the most,
Is when my maternal uncle hit me because of my mother.
My mother is not an easy going woman.
My uncle’s wife was insulting my mother in her presence.
I tried to talk back,
But my mother told me not to.
I couldn’t stay quiet,
So I asked my uncle’s wife,
“Why are you insulting my mother?”
domestic violence, physical violence, parents, social pressure