I have always been a little chubby, ever since I was a little kid.
I started to develop breasts as a teenager.
The condition I have is called “gynecomastia”, or “enlarged breast tissue in men”.
Although it’s prevalent among men, I was subject to a lot of ridicule from classmates.

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 six or seven years old.
Mama wanted me to learn a musical instrument, so I chose the piano.
She looked for a place that could teach me and found an instructor at the club.
They arranged for me and my brother to take lessons with him.

He used to hit me,
And curse me.
He wanted me to quit everything: work and school.
Because he wasn’t very ambitious.
He only agreed that I get a job when we decided he’d take my salary.
“You should thank God I married you,” he’d say.
“You’re supposed to clean up my shit.”
domestic violence, marriage, divorce, gender violence, physical violence

I wanted to be a boy when I was young.
My brother and our cousins would be allowed to play in the garden behind our house until late, but not me.
They used to hop the fence, play hooky, then come back and lie about it, make up stories.
As for me, if I even so much as tried to call my cousin at night they’d tell me
“Why? Aren’t you going to see each other tomorrow morning?

You’re a slut.
You travel with boys.
You smoke.
And your paintings?!
You brought us shame,
Don’t come back home.

He knocked me to the floor of our home,
And kept punching me in the stomach,
Threatening to chop my hair off.
No one came to my rescue,
So I decided to leave.

I was walking home from a private tutoring session.
It was during Ramadan,
At around 8 a.m.
I was walking alone as usual.

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 was going home after practice dressed in sports clothes.
Two men were checking me out in the street:
“Is that a girl or a boy?”
“It’s a girl, man.”