“How’s it going, dear?”
“No good news for us?”
“No baby on the way?”
“I’ll give you the most important piece of advice:
Take good care of your home and husband.

As I was leaving Hijr-Ismail—it can get really crowded there—I felt someone shove their hand between my legs and grope me.
I immediately spun around and started punching the man behind me.
“In front of the Holy Kaaba, you kaafir?!” I screamed.

My looks didn’t concern me when I was entering into journalism.
I told myself that as soon as I speak and show my personality,
I’ll draw everyone’s attention.

What’s he thinking of?
Does she have the right to say no?
Is it my right to pass judgement on her?
Is it her fault that she’s giving in to society’s standards?

How are you, Sara?
How are you doing, dear?
Sara is one of a kind.
She’s extremely well-mannered.
No one is perfect but Allah, of course.
But you’re honest, kind, and well-mannered.
But you’re not perfect.

You’re a slut.
You travel with boys.
You smoke.
And your paintings?!
You brought us shame,
Don’t come back home.

My dad was engaged to a woman called Aida before he married my mom. Mom used to ask him, "Why did you break it off with her?"

“Be careful while crossing the street.”
“Don’t take flowers from strangers.”
“Don’t walk down dark streets.”
The things I especially could never forget were,
“Don’t walk like a girl! Walk like a man!”

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

I thought it was a small apartment,
But it turned out to be really big.
She wanted me to change her baby’s diapers,
And make them breakfast,
While she and her husband and baby were asleep.
I hated work because of her.
My job was supposed to be just cleaning and tidying.
social pressure, work