I’m wearing the wrong pants today.
Please, God, divert their attention elsewhere.
I hate them.
I hate my life.

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

How is it that he molests me, and takes away a part of me,
but I’m expected to censor myself when I tell the story?
I regret ever listening to what you had to say,
to what you call traditional or proper or haram.

I was on my way to college, and I was  in a hurry. I was looking around for an available microbus to get on, when a little boy sexually harassed me.
gender violence, harassment

A white-haired old man
Dressed in a suit,
And driving a fancy car,
Stopped me to ask where the nearest supermarket was.
I very naively started giving him directions.
Then this man, who’s as old as my father,
Started doing the dirtiest thing ever.
I can’t give any more details,
But I’m sure you understand what I mean.
I screamed,
And burst into tears.
He drove off, of course.

I was walking down Faisal Street with Nada.
We were on our way back from a funeral.
I could feel that Nada was waiting for someone to say something,
So she’d hit them.
I was scared.
Oh, God!

I came nowhere near you.
So, did he stand you up?
Yes, you. There’s no one else here, is there?
I’m here if he doesn’t show up, you know.

I don’t know why I’m going to tell this story,
But I’ve bottled up so much inside me.

There was a period when my parents were separated,
And my grandfather interfered a lot in our lives.
He was a very cruel man,
And so was my mother.

My father was the first person to touch me.
I used to tell myself that I was imagining it.
When he’d touch me with his leg from behind,
I’d tell myself he was just being playful.

My sister was walking down the street,
And a guy was following her.
He kept catcalling her.
She was minding her own business.