I don’t know. I really don’t know how to start my life’s story.

My story is not a salvation story. It’s a story of a little girl’s dreams shattered with a hammer. That girl never had the chance to collect pieces of her dreams. She just watched the pieces hurting her and cried. And this girl is still crying. But I have to say this; I can feel that I’m not crying alone.

I was living my life without knowing anything when I was a little girl. Everything was normal for me. I wasn’t allowed to wear shorts, and also a t-shirt after I was 11. I have a very clear memory; one of my friends came to school show and was wearing a short. I showed her to my mum and told: “it looks nice, why can’t I wear this?” My mum looked at me furiously and told, “She doesn’t obey her religion’s rules, and you won’t as well? It doesn’t look nice.” I couldn’t say anything to her. In fact, it was the first time that my freedom was restricted.

Days fly by. My mum was sometimes telling me to wear a hijab for practice. My dad was fully supporting this, as well. I wore a hijab with my friend’s encouragement when I was in 6th grade. My family didn’t make any comments and told me that they would let me not wear it until high school. I was happy, but when I was in 7th grade, my friends were going to the toilet and trying hairstyles with their hair and wearing t-shirts, so I felt bad about this. I started thinking, “I wish I could wait until high school, I wish I could think more about this before I wore hijab.” I restricted my freedom with my own hands, and this time this restriction was to my hair as well. I think about all of these for approximately 3 months. I decided not to wear a hijab. I told my mum about this when she was cooking in the kitchen. I asked her, “Mum, what happens if I don’t wear hijab?” She reprehended me a lot. I couldn’t make it. I was hearing my mum and dad was talking about me when I was in bed at night.

The day after, I told my dad about my wish, but he told me, “This is not about what you want.” It was about what I wanted when I was wearing a hijab, but it wasn’t when I decided to took it off?

But it didn’t give up, I was talking persistently. This time they bought me books about the hijab. I read them. I thought maybe they change my mind. But no, nothing changed. My dad started yelling at me, and I was scared, so I kept quiet. One day again, I told my mum, and she said, “go talk to your dad.” But I couldn’t talk. Because I knew if told him, he was gonna hurt me. So I’m quiet. Still quiet. But when I was outside and in front of the mirror, I hate myself. I hate everything.

To my family; was it worth to gain my hatred? It wasn’t.

I am outside, but my hair is in prison. I can’t feel the wind in my hair. I’m still paying for my mistakes and their mistakes. They couldn’t stand my voice for just a couple days, but now I’m paying for a lifetime about being silent.

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