Why I write?


I was 12 years old when I wrote an essay that blew my teacher’s mind. We were asked to write about the Arab poetry in Spain, which used to be called Andalusia during the time Spain was under the Arabic rule. I imagined myself there and so I was. My feelings were so vivid that I could hear the ripple of the flowing springs, the birds chirping and the music flying in the air. I could smell the sea, the flowers and the perfumes. I could see the landscapes in the back of my mind. Up till now I can relive those feelings that made me sob for days with nostalgia for that far and imaginary homeland. At that time I knew that I was capable of writing amazing things as long as I could connect to some mysterious place inside me, because there were times when I couldn’t write one sentence. I kept writing when something moved me.

A few years later my maternal grand mother died. I was so attached to her. I knew about her tough life and I started hearing more about all what she went through after her death. I wanted to write her story, but I was just 15 and soon I forgot about it.

During my marriage, I suffered while observing my life. After I got separated I started observing other women’s life in marriage, I started to see how much a woman contributes to her suffering because she ignores her rights and capacities. Then I recalled the idea about writing my grandmother’s life story, but I thought it would be best writing about my grandmother and the Middle Eastern women in marriage through my life story.

After few years of trying, I have written pieces scattered between two laptops, notebooks and scraps of papers. But I am still determined to write my memoire hopping it would be a wake up call for women in the Middle East.

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