I used to always watch her from the examination room window in the government hospital that I worked at.
Her name was Sokkara. She was young. She couldn’t be older than 13 years old.

I was the last one to get her period at school.
I was 15 years old.
It was just me and one other girl left.
Everyone thought getting their period was a big deal, but not me.

I ran away from you the first time you tried to kiss me.
“You’re a coward!” you said.
I was scared.
Scared of myself.
There was a voice in my head telling me,
“Are you sure you want to get so close to him?”
I was hurt by everyone I got close to.

It felt as if I was in a wrestling match.
That his purpose was to invade and destroy everything.
That he had no intention to listen.
That survival was for the fittest.

When I look at other people who don’t live in Egypt, I feel like their bodies are a part of them.
They don’t drag it behind them like so many of us do.
It’s not a heavy weight.
A burden.
Something shameful.

The Women of Establ Antar
Those women were in control of their bodies, unlike most of the women in the city.
They would bellydance anywhere, anytime.

I used to end every sentence with “when I lose weight.”
I’ll be more energetic.
When I lose weight...I’ll catch the eye of the man I want.
When I lose weight...I’ll be better at my job.
When I lose weight...I’ll attend more social gatherings.
When I lose weight...I’ll get more roles in movies and plays

The first memory I have of my appearance is from when I was 5 or 6 years old, or younger.
I was wearing a bathing suit and standing at the entrance of the club’s gymnasium, refusing to enter.