I was very young,
About 8 years old,
When I found blood in my underwear.
I didn’t pay any attention to it,
Until my mother saw it and asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Tell me if you find blood again,” she said.
She explained menstruation to me,
And explained what a hymen was.
She told me it resembles a wet napkin,
And that it could tear easily,
And that they’d kill me if I tore it.
This scared me,
And stopped me from doing anything.

When I was a kid,
Mommy would always tell me that God would only start judging me for my actions when I got my first period.
Before that,
My slate was clean,
Because in front of God,
I was still a baby: clean and innocent.
But when I got my first period,
That was it.
We’d be the same.
I’d be a woman.
Grown up and aware,
And accountable for all my actions,
Just like her.

Walk like a soldier.
Don’t you know how soldiers walk?
Eyes straight.
Back straight.
No swaying.

We were in the North Coast at the time.
I was not allowed to go swimming,
Because I was wearing a pad, and it was going to get wet,
Making it known that I got my period.
womanhood, period

I can’t remember how old I was when I got it,
But I remember being in the third or fourth grade.
I remember being really upset.
I remember crying.
I was scared that someone would force me to don a headscarf.
womanhood, period

I got my period for the first time when I was 11 years old.
I wasn’t taken by surprise.
I didn’t get scared.
Mama had always made me get her pads ever since I was very little.
And she had told me that when girls get older,
They bleed a little every month.
womanhood, period

I would always hear stories from my friends,
About how they were surprised the first time they got their periods,
And how it affected them,
And how they accepted their changing bodies.
Thank God for my mother,
May she rest in peace.
When my body started to change,
And show signs of puberty,
My mother explained to me what menstruation was,
What happens exactly during it,
And why it happens.

It was me and two or three other girls on the bus.
Two of them were veiled and one was wearing the niqab.
We were all standing in a corner.
We were surrounded by men.
There was a man sitting with his legs wide open and laughing loudly.
It was as if he was the owner of the bus and could act any way he liked.

I feel like I can’t be feminine and taken seriously at the same time.
I have to either be a child or act like a man to be given worth and acceptance.
Strong women are considered to be confusing—troublesome.
womanhood, social pressure

I don’t really remember the details of the first day,
But I remember being afraid.
Afraid of growing up,
Of having to wear the hijab.
Of not being young anymore,
And the changes my body will go through.