I hate feeling like a hypocrite: wearing one thing in front of friends, dressing differently in front of family.
I wish I could share pictures of me enjoying myself at the beach, but I can’t, my father would have a heart attack at the sight of me wearing a two-piece.

One day I called her to see if we can go out together to the mall so that I can shop for some clothes and other things I needed. She said: “OK, but I have to take my dad’s permission first because he’s off from work today and he’s staying home and I won’t be able to fool him.”

Because she wanted her own place.
She wanted to live.
That’s what a marriage contract was to her: freedom.

I wore the hijab when I was 17 years old.
I wasn’t influenced by Amr Khaled.
I got really emotional and exclaimed,
“I swear to God I’m not leaving this house without the hijab!”
I wasn’t a member of the community that called itself “The Righteous Companions.”

I remember I went to visit my aunt the morning after her wedding.
Everyone was in the bedroom talking about it.
Everyone would enter and look at the great wonder.

I’m 41 years old.
It’s a frightening number, I know.
But what’s more frightening is that I haven’t accomplished anything worth mentioning.
I struggle every day to cover my expenses.
It might sound easy,
But it’s actually difficult for someone who’s starting from scratch.
social pressure, work

I think I was 9 or 10 years old.
I was at the marketplace with my aunt,
When a man with a crutch, and who was older than my grandfather, groped my behind.
He kept walking around in the market looking for other girls to grope.
I looked at him in disgust and anger.
gender violence, sexual violence, rape, social stigma, social pressure, the street

I was always humiliated and beaten up over the most trivial reasons.
He’d hit me and flip the dining table over if there was just a little extra salt in his food.
I was never allowed to open my mouth and give my opinion.
Cooking zucchini was always a frightening experience, because if just one piece of zucchini turned out smaller than the other, it’d be a disaster.

Mamdouh, Mamdouh, get up!
I’ve heard that the apartment in front of ours has been rented by two girls.

I have to sit a certain way, I can't move my hands when I speak.
I can't cry around people, and if someone hits me, I have to hit them back. These are just a few examples of things I should do if I want "to be a man."
I’m still going to be myself, no matter how much this costs me and no matter how many times people tell me that I'm "not a man."