Jeg har nøgler til min egen hoveddør « Snaphanen
En elementært bevægende tekst om frihed, angsten for friheden, for at nyde den og angsten for at vænne sig så meget til den, at tiden i ufrihed og alle som lever i den glemmes. Forfatteren ropa de moda 2011 kalder sig Marwa, eks-muslim og flygtning ropa de moda 2011 fra Mellemøsten og islam til et universitet i USA. Der findes ikke noget foto af hende. Ingen i hendes familie ropa de moda 2011 kan bevise, hun skrev dette. Jeg fandt hende via Aliaa Elmahdy .
Even now, I sometimes cannot believe I am not hallucinating all of this from a dark room in Beirut. I am afraid of being happy because it might mean I accept and am blind to my former chains. I am afraid of becoming capable of being free. I am afraid of transcending ropa de moda 2011 my ability to let my trauma and unhappiness consume me. I am afraid that once I have freedom, I will no longer understand what freedom is worth and why it is important… I can walk down the street whenever I want to. I can have romantic relationships. I can have facial expressions. I can have facial expressions. I have keys.
There will be nobody waiting for me at my house to ask me where I have been, refuse to let me in, call me a liar, and use my walk as renewed incentive to rifle through all of my possessions for proof that I am doing something wrong.
In the first weeks when I was in the United States, I had so much fear and trembling at this freedom. I stayed in my apartment alone during ropa de moda 2011 my first two days in my new home, and when I did finally venture out, I checked to make sure my keys and ID and wallet were in my purse a thousand times. I wore long, flowing dresses and tied my hair up in a scarf even though it was August and very hot, even though I am an atheist who happens to find no personal value in modesty, even though I was not going out to meet anybody and knew not a single man in town, even though I tried to convince myself that in this land it wouldn t matter if I was. I looked ropa de moda 2011 around every corner and checked ropa de moda 2011 over my shoulder in case my father was somehow watching, lurking.
I soon got into the groove of my new life, my new graduate program, my teaching and department readings and events. I actually went to bars and stopped feeling guilty about it. I met people. I made friendships, some of them with men, none of them that I had to hide or lie about. I had sexual and romantic relationships.
I have my own place. My front door. MY key. And I can open the door and walk out into the street? Whenever I want? And I have MY papers and MY things and MY income? And I can just go somewhere. When I want? I can do this?
And I can be at the library however late I want without panicking and fearing for my safety once I go home? Without ropa de moda 2011 knowing ropa de moda 2011 the neighbors will call me a whore? I can have people over when the sun is down and some of them can be men and we can play games and eat and drink and talk together and nobody will hurt me because of it?
And if it s somewhere else, it is likely I moved it and forgot, and I will not start panicking, wondering where and why and how it was moved. I will not wonder: if whoever moved it saw it, did they see that other thing and did they do something with it and what do they know and what do they not know?
Even though I am hiding simple ropa de moda 2011 things. A tube of mascara. Some lacy underwear just to see what it feels like to wear that. A poem I really love from the persona of the devil. Something written by a Jewish author. A novel a boy in my class gifted to me. A box of tampons.
I can write things without hiding, coding, burying, and stashing them. I can make notes for myself in a notebook that are for my eyes only without fearing ropa de moda 2011 anybody reading them and demanding I reveal their meaning. I can have a password ropa de moda 2011 on my computer and to my email and facebook accounts that my parents do not know. I can save my contacts under their real names and not under various female pseudonyms.
I can keep my texts when I receive them and not instantly erase them. I can take my phone off silent mode and if it vibrates in my pocket I can take it out and answer it or turn it off without having a panic attack and without having to find a reasonable excuse to sneak out of the room without seeming flustered.
I can brush my hair and look in the mirror and try on clothes and try to feel like I can manipulate and move and enjoy my body, try to feel pretty, without ropa de moda 2011 being interrogated and asked who he is and how long I have been seeing him and what I am doing with him and whether I am a prostitute or pregnant.
I can get up in the middle of the night and use the bathroom or get a drink of water without tiptoeing in terror.
Saying I want to be alone, that I need space, that I do not want to reveal personal ropa de moda 2011 information, that I do not choose to answer that question, that it is none of your damn business, that this is my body and I can position it on the furniture however I like, that I do not have to explain to you why I a
En elementært bevægende tekst om frihed, angsten for friheden, for at nyde den og angsten for at vænne sig så meget til den, at tiden i ufrihed og alle som lever i den glemmes. Forfatteren ropa de moda 2011 kalder sig Marwa, eks-muslim og flygtning ropa de moda 2011 fra Mellemøsten og islam til et universitet i USA. Der findes ikke noget foto af hende. Ingen i hendes familie ropa de moda 2011 kan bevise, hun skrev dette. Jeg fandt hende via Aliaa Elmahdy .
Even now, I sometimes cannot believe I am not hallucinating all of this from a dark room in Beirut. I am afraid of being happy because it might mean I accept and am blind to my former chains. I am afraid of becoming capable of being free. I am afraid of transcending ropa de moda 2011 my ability to let my trauma and unhappiness consume me. I am afraid that once I have freedom, I will no longer understand what freedom is worth and why it is important… I can walk down the street whenever I want to. I can have romantic relationships. I can have facial expressions. I can have facial expressions. I have keys.
There will be nobody waiting for me at my house to ask me where I have been, refuse to let me in, call me a liar, and use my walk as renewed incentive to rifle through all of my possessions for proof that I am doing something wrong.
In the first weeks when I was in the United States, I had so much fear and trembling at this freedom. I stayed in my apartment alone during ropa de moda 2011 my first two days in my new home, and when I did finally venture out, I checked to make sure my keys and ID and wallet were in my purse a thousand times. I wore long, flowing dresses and tied my hair up in a scarf even though it was August and very hot, even though I am an atheist who happens to find no personal value in modesty, even though I was not going out to meet anybody and knew not a single man in town, even though I tried to convince myself that in this land it wouldn t matter if I was. I looked ropa de moda 2011 around every corner and checked ropa de moda 2011 over my shoulder in case my father was somehow watching, lurking.
I soon got into the groove of my new life, my new graduate program, my teaching and department readings and events. I actually went to bars and stopped feeling guilty about it. I met people. I made friendships, some of them with men, none of them that I had to hide or lie about. I had sexual and romantic relationships.
I have my own place. My front door. MY key. And I can open the door and walk out into the street? Whenever I want? And I have MY papers and MY things and MY income? And I can just go somewhere. When I want? I can do this?
And I can be at the library however late I want without panicking and fearing for my safety once I go home? Without ropa de moda 2011 knowing ropa de moda 2011 the neighbors will call me a whore? I can have people over when the sun is down and some of them can be men and we can play games and eat and drink and talk together and nobody will hurt me because of it?
And if it s somewhere else, it is likely I moved it and forgot, and I will not start panicking, wondering where and why and how it was moved. I will not wonder: if whoever moved it saw it, did they see that other thing and did they do something with it and what do they know and what do they not know?
Even though I am hiding simple ropa de moda 2011 things. A tube of mascara. Some lacy underwear just to see what it feels like to wear that. A poem I really love from the persona of the devil. Something written by a Jewish author. A novel a boy in my class gifted to me. A box of tampons.
I can write things without hiding, coding, burying, and stashing them. I can make notes for myself in a notebook that are for my eyes only without fearing ropa de moda 2011 anybody reading them and demanding I reveal their meaning. I can have a password ropa de moda 2011 on my computer and to my email and facebook accounts that my parents do not know. I can save my contacts under their real names and not under various female pseudonyms.
I can keep my texts when I receive them and not instantly erase them. I can take my phone off silent mode and if it vibrates in my pocket I can take it out and answer it or turn it off without having a panic attack and without having to find a reasonable excuse to sneak out of the room without seeming flustered.
I can brush my hair and look in the mirror and try on clothes and try to feel like I can manipulate and move and enjoy my body, try to feel pretty, without ropa de moda 2011 being interrogated and asked who he is and how long I have been seeing him and what I am doing with him and whether I am a prostitute or pregnant.
I can get up in the middle of the night and use the bathroom or get a drink of water without tiptoeing in terror.
Saying I want to be alone, that I need space, that I do not want to reveal personal ropa de moda 2011 information, that I do not choose to answer that question, that it is none of your damn business, that this is my body and I can position it on the furniture however I like, that I do not have to explain to you why I a
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