There are things that have happened,
That we refuse to admit.
Even when we remember the details.
We can never admit they’re true.
It’s just like watching a film,
That you aren’t the protagonist of.
That could never happen to me.
I’m stronger and better than that.
It’s never going to happen to me.

He was my neighbor at our old house.
He wasn’t much older than me.
We became friends really quickly and talked on the phone a lot.
We couldn’t go out together here.
He called me one day and told me he was on his way back from university and would stay for a while at his family’s apartment.
“I want to see you,” he said.

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.

S: “Who was he?”
G: “My godfather.”
I had been searching for an apartment for a long time.
I had to sleep in his office several times.

He was like a father to me.
He’s the one that encouraged this idea.

I was sexually assaulted in public, and no one tried to help me.
It happened at night. They tied me up and started physically assaulting me.
Then, in turn, they started groping and molesting me.
When a passerby tried to intervene, they threatened to hit me again and to continue molesting me elsewhere.
gender violence, sexual violence, rape, social stigma, social pressure, the street

His cousin tried to convince me to go back to him.
I told him I won’t.
He said, “Do it for the girls.”
I told him, “Growing up with a mother and father, who are divorced, but respect one another, is so much better than living with two people who hate each other.”

He took me, and said,
“Don’t worry. People in love do this.”
He gave me a pill, which made me dizzy.
I didn’t feel a thing.

I remember the pushing,
The kicking,
And the yelling.
I remember every time I said no,
And how he continued anyway.
At times,
I felt as if I were transforming into a pillow,
By the way he’d close his eyes,
And forget that I was even there.
It killed me.
gender violence; sexual violence; rape; masculinity; sex; sexuality

I’m a guy.
I was ten years old at the time.
We were living in a family house,
Which meant I was oftentimes left alone with other family members.
They’d tell me they were just going to play with my toys,
But we never actually played with them.

I’m happy I made Hassan furious in court.
He looked furious, ready to explode.
I was scared in court.
When the judge asked me why I wanted a divorce,
I said that I felt we were incompatible.
Hassan looks older than he is.
The trial was postponed,
But I’m happy that I made him furious today.
I was scared,
But I tried to ignore my fear.