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 when I was 11.
Mama was understanding.
I have older sisters so I knew it was going to happen.
The first time I got it,
I told my sister and she lent me a pad,
And mama was happy when she found out that I got it early.

The first time I got it,
I thought I had injured my privates.
The pain, the shock of seeing blood—it was all new to me.
I had no idea what was going on.
womanhood, body image, period

I was 12 years old when I got my first period.
I cried because I knew that meant I was a grown-up now.
My mother and my father’s relatives ululated and cheered.
My father was happy.
I still don’t understand the reason behind the immense happiness families feel when their daughter gets her period.
Does it mean there’s nothing wrong with me?
I don’t get it.

A couple of months later,
There was a copy of the Quran in the living room,
And my father asked to move it.
My grandfather was there too.
“I can’t,” I replied.
“Maybe it’s that time of the month,” my father said.
I went to my room and cried,
Because now everyone knew.
I don’t know why I used to be embarrassed about it.
I don’t know what made me feel embarrassed.

But I’m not embarrassed by it at all now.
If anyone asks me what’s wrong with me when I looked tired,
I tell them I’m on my period.
It doesn’t matter who it is that’s asking me.
I’m not afraid or embarrassed saying it, like I used to be.
And I don’t have a problem eating in front of other people when I’m not fasting.

I remember the exact day.
It was on a Friday in February.
My mother had told us, ever since we were 10 years old,
That we’d start wearing the hijab as soon as we got it,
Because it’s a religious obligation.
I’d hoped I’d never get it.

I don’t know if there’s anything I like about my body.
I don’t know if there’s anything I like about bodies in general.
It’s because my thoughts are always fixated on the parts I don’t like or want on my body.
body image, womanhood

I didn’t get my period until I was 15.
Everyone told me to wait,
And that I’ll get it eventually.
I listened to them and kept waiting.
I thought it was just late.
My younger sister even got it before me.
My mother took me to see a doctor to find out what’s wrong.
I expected the doctor to say that it was just a hormonal imbalance.
But it turned out that I had a condition called an “imperforate hymen”.

I love my dawra [cycle].
I call it dawra.
I don’t like using the word “period,”
Because it makes me feel as if I’m ashamed of it.
It’s one of those words we say in another language,
Because we’re too embarrassed of it.
I refer to it as my cycle because I’m not embarrassed by it.

They separated us.
Girls in one class,
And boys in another.
I thought it was better,
So that we’d be more comfortable,
And be able to ask questions freely.
But after explaining the upper part,
Ms. Amina said,
“That’s it.
You’ll read this lesson alone anyway.”

School, Period

Because of my curiosity,
I asked mama for one too.
“That’s for big girls only,” she’d say in an upset and serious tone.
My curiosity compelled me to wear the hijab like them,
Just so I could be a grown up woman like them.
But still she ignored me.
I kept secretly watching them,