I am the 7th child of a Muslim family. Don’t get me wrong; I am someone who grew up in her corner. I am not sure if I could even be counted as their child.
My father didn’t allow me to go outside when I was only six years old. The reason was that I was playing with boys. Funny, isn’t it? I wasn’t allowed to wear pants by the time I was eleven. I was at the beginning of my adolescent years, and my breasts started to appear a bit. I was wearing loose clothes just so that my boobs wouldn’t show. I would have to start wearing a hijab if they showed. Then I had my period. But I couldn’t go to my mom crying like all the other girls. I needed to fix it immediately. I couldn’t have told anybody. I could only hide it for two months, and then my mom found out about it. My dad said to me that it was time to start covering my hair. I cried for days. My older sister defended me; she told them that I was too young. My father stopped dealing with me, but he was waiting for me to get older. I was very irritable, but there was nothing that I could do. Because my father was going to force me to get into a hijab no matter what, at some point, I did it myself. I was behind on so many things. I was forced to take Quran classes. The people from those courses violently abused me. When I told my family about this, they said, “You probably deserved it.”
Now I have a boyfriend, and he is the one person who understands me the best. Think about it; there is someone whom you think loves you more than your parents do. Because neither your mother nor your father cares about you. Now I study something that I don’t want at university. According to my family, this is a privilege; because no other girl in our family stood up against our relatives and went to university. I’ve been fighting ever since I was little, sometimes by staying quiet, sometimes by raising my voice.
I decided to stop wearing a hijab, so I did it. Then what happened, you ask? My mother was taken to a hospital and said, “I am in this state because of you,” “You embarrassed us.” And I got into my hijab again. Then she found out that I had a boyfriend and threatened me to tell my father about him. I told her that I broke up with him. But I didn’t, I won’t. Now I am studying what my parents want me to study, and I stay in a dorm. But my fight isn’t over yet; I am preparing for the university exam again. I thank my parents, who made a six-year-old girl a warrior.
(Image: Spirited Away)