We were on our way back from a trip.
An officer got on the bus.
“Is she your sister?” he asked the person next to me.
“No, we’re friends,” he replied.
“Friends? What kind of friends?”

Am I ugly? Yes, I wasn’t beautiful, or maybe that’s what they wanted me to believe.
I was chubbier than them. I wasn’t good at socializing like them. They made me think I was different.
body image, bullying, school, social pressure, beauty standards

I was climbing up the stairs, and I was wearing a short yellow jacket.
I always wear it on top of my pajamas when my mother sends me to buy her stuff from downstairs.
A tall and thin man, wearing a brown jacket came and stopped me,

I feel like I can’t be feminine and taken seriously at the same time.
I have to either be a child or act like a man to be given worth and acceptance.
Strong women are considered to be confusing—troublesome.
womanhood, social pressure

“Because you’re a girl.”
Many of the incidents that happen at home end with the phrase, “You’re a girl.”
When I decided to take the hijab off, I spent a year and a half trying to get my father’s permission
“What will people say?”
“It’s taboo.”
“What will they say?”

I have a problem with my body.
It suddenly got bigger and I felt the need to always hide it.
I had to hide my hair and my breasts.
And menstruation was the biggest secret of all.

I wanted to move out and live alone.
My father, in order to prevent me from leaving,
Locked the door and chased after me.
My mother came after us.

You know, if you weren’t a public figure that appears on TV,
And who talks about women’s rights in the papers,
I would’ve loved you, married you, and made you quit your job to be a housewife.”

My first divorce was because I wouldn't have sex with him,
But there were a lot of things I didn’t understand.
My family didn’t tell me anything.
I didn’t know anything at all.
To the extent that I wasn’t quite sure what the bridal cloth was for.
domestic violece; gender violence; physcial violence; sex; motherhood; addiction; social pressure; marriage; divorce

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.