I was pushed against a wall, then I was pushed and shoved some more until I found myself inside a clothes shop on Talaat Harb Street. The attacks were random but very aggressive. I could hear gunshots.

I’m tired of my parents.
I don’t know why some people feel bad for orphans.
Maybe their lives are much better without parents.
I don’t want my parents.
They don’t do anything for me.
I don’t spend time with them.

When I first started wearing those pants,
The way people looked at me changed.

I hate you.
I hate everything about you.
Your skin tone, your size, all your little details.

Trust me when I say that I’ve tried to accept you so many times, but I just can’t.
I can’t keep fooling myself.
body image, body shaming, beauty standards, harassment

The story about Hamada began when I started a fellowship in a reputable university.
We were six girls and two boys.
We were studying community development.
I found a message from Hamada one day saying,
“I miss you.”

I was in third grade the first time I was sexually harassed.
 I don’t even really remember what happened, but I remember feeling that something wrong had happened.

Two boys on a donkey were passing by.
They said some things.
I was worried about the girls who were with me.
As they passed by us,
One of the boys got close to me and pinched me.

I was waiting for my husband in the car one time. I remember wishing I was a man, so I could get out of the car and smack one of the harasser’s with a shoe. I wanted to tell him to have some respect.

I used to work in a landline service store that opened on Fridays.
I would go down to the store on Fridays alone.
All of the other nearby stores would be closed that day and the store where I worked was in a narrow passageway with a dead end.

There was a guy in a red car,
Who kept slowing down for me.
He kept saying something,
But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
All I can say is that it was about a specific part of my back.