I was 14 in middle school, my teenage years, and I thought with my emotions a lot.
I talked to the first person that I liked and got to know him.
The happiest moments of my life were the hours I’d steal before or after class to talk to him.

We were all girls like you once.
I was a young girl just like you before marrying your father.
We all went through the same things.
We’d just play sports and take a cold shower.

I wore the hijab even though I wasn’t really convinced I should.
I was trying to please God, since it’s an obligation for Muslim women.
It was also a way of meeting society’s standards of being modest.

Every girl has an Aunt N’amaat in her life.
And every girl receives the same remarks that are repeated on various occasions:
“Come on girl, hurry up!”
“Did all the men go blind?”
“May you be in your own house next year, God willing!”

“What’s up with your hair? Put water or oils on it to make it softer.”
“Why is your hair like that? Why do you have such ugly hair?”
“Have your mother style it for you because it looks horrible like that.”
“Looks like the doorman’s wife styles your hair.”
beauty standards, hair, body image, bullying, 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.

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.”

“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, Hatem is such a girl. He's shy and doesn't like talking about asses and boobs and stuff like that!"

It didn’t feel normal or spontaneous.
Between being scolded by your conservative [female] relative for doing something “immodest” and listening to your friends whispering about touching certain [private] areas on maids’ and female cousins’ bodies, you eventually learn to associate the opposite sex’s body with shame.
There has got to be something shameful about it.