I liked to sleep next to my parents in bed.
I’d hug my mother for a while,
Then turn over,
And hug my father.
One day, my father didn’t come home.
I stayed up all night waiting for him.
A couple of days later,
I heard he got married.

“You eat with your left hand?
That’s haram.
How could your parents let you do that?”

I don’t want to be the kind of woman they expect me to be.
I don’t want to shave.
The problem is that people see that as a lack of cleanliness.
But I think it’s okay.
I want to be flat.

body image, social pressure

My hair is curly,
And I love it.
I’m tired of the stupid things people say to me.
Going out is one of the worst experiences ever.
I feel a knot in my stomach whenever I’m about to go out.
I don’t know if this is social anxiety.
I have self-confidence,
And I love my hair.
I wish people would accept differences.

Hair, The Street

I was brought up to be a doctor.
That’s why I love science.
I became really good at it,
And was famous for being a good student at school.
My parents are regular people.
They didn’t know there were good or bad upbringings.
They didn’t have the best upbringing.
They worked hard to raise us the best way they could.
But it wasn’t always perfect, of course.

I’m very handsome,
Thank God.
But I was very thin as a teenager,
Which made my facial features look big,
Especially my lips.

“Hajj, where do you want to go?
I’ll take you.”
“Help me cross the street,
To my house.”
“What’s your name?”
I told him my name.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you not Muslim?”

My story is the story of hundreds of people.
The story is that of differences.
The difference that isn’t allowed,
Which you’re scared of and hate,
Because you know it’s haram.