My father came in and slapped me on the face.
“Isn’t it enough what you did?” he said.
Then my mother said,
“Isn’t it enough what happened?!
Isn’t it enough what you did?
What more will you do?”

For years, I never cried in front of anyone.
“Man up. You’re weak,”
My mother used to tell me.

Her brother overheard her speaking to him on the phone at night,
So he grabbed her, pulling her by the hair, and beat her up.
The next day her face was bruised.
He chopped her hair off and made her take off her veil.

“Because you’re a girl.”
Many of the incidents that happen at home end with the phrase, “You’re a girl.”
When I decided to take the hijab off, I spent a year and a half trying to get my father’s permission
“What will people say?”
“It’s taboo.”
“What will they say?”

Whenever I see someone crying, especially my younger siblings,
I immediately tell them to stop.
I’m their older sibling and I must always appear strong.
They can’t cry because I can’t cry.
I have to hold it in.

Everytime I park in the street,
Everyone drops whatever they’re doing to watch me.
It makes me nervous.
“They’re watching me. I have to show them that I can park!”

When I was little, I used to play with boys and girls.
It was okay to play football with boys.
But when I came to Egypt, I found that girls and boys played separately.
I wasn’t allowed to play with boys.

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