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.

Since I was a child,
My father wanted me to grow up to be a good person.
He wanted me to be educated and open-minded.
He believed that all women should grow up to be like his mother no matter how they were brought up.
But I didn't take after my grandmother.

Whenever I see my grandma, she grabs my finger and asks me the same question every time,
“When are you going to make me happy?”
“You’re not happy?”
“No.”
“How can I make you happy?”
“By getting married.”
“But what about my own happiness?”

My mother says that a girl’s degree and her career are more important than marriage.
They are her weapons.
That way, if she gets married and any trouble arises between her and her husband,
She’ll still have her career.
marriage, social pressure, engagement

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

I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have to carry the burden all alone after my father’s death.
My father made me promise,
Not to ask for any help from any of my grandparents or uncles.
masculinity, social pressure, parents

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.

I was the only one left on the bus.
I kept banging my fists against the car to get off, but the driver wouldn’t stop.
I banged and banged and banged, but he wouldn’t stop.
I was very scared.
I thought he’d kidnap me or dump my body in an area called Al-Khour,
And no one would ever find me.
gender violence, sexual violence, social pressure

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.

Girls, I know that at this age, you like to flaunt your beauty.
“Look at my long hair!
Look at whatever!”
Here, you must forget about all those things.
The uniform you must wear is a galabiyya.
The kind your mothers wear.