“Tell me, dear.
Are there any potential suitors?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.
Just tell me if there’s someone.

Why are you looking at me now?
Where were you before?
I’ve been around for years.
Have I done nothing worthy of your attention other than wearing this ring?

Ali: “Fuck that, how could my wife wear a swimsuit like this one?
And stand in front of men, while they look at her thighs?
Does it not bother you, Sherif, the idea of your wife wearing a swimsuit?”

Growing up, I was taught that girls were responsible for preserving their honor.
I, as a man, have nothing to do with it.
My mother never brought up the word “honor” around me or my brother.

The first time he hit me was the day I found out I was pregnant.
He picked a fight with me when his friend and his wife were having dinner with us,
And I fried the mombar (a kind of sausage dish),
Before the chicken breasts.
He pulled me by my hair,
And dragged me to the stove,
And threatened to set me on fire to get rid of me.

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.

She stood, pretty as a picture,
In the midst of a place that despised beauty.
The eyes of the passengers, once cold and dead, were now filled with anger and jealousy.
Filled with unspoken words I’ve heard before.

My mother started buying me things for my dowry when I was in middle school.
She got so many towels, sheets, underwear, blankets,
Pots and cups.

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.