Chapter 3: The Summer Escape

At eleven, I almost ran away. This time, I was not alone - I had convinced my closest brother to come with me. We were supposed to spend the summer with our grandparents in Jordan, away from the suffocating control of our home. For those brief moments before our escape was foiled, the world seemed full of endless possibility.

We had managed to slip away for an hour, hearts pounding with the thrill of freedom, until my mother's anger and disappointment forced us back into the reality of our lives. Her fury was a stark reminder of the boundaries from which we could never truly escape.

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The Haircut

When I was twelve, my mother adored my long, waist-length hair. It was a crown she cherished, a symbol of the delicate beauty she expected from me. One day, in a moment of defiant rebellion, I cut it. Not completely, but enough to send a clear message. The scissors had not just removed strands of hair - they had severed a piece of the identity she so rigidly controlled.

Her reaction was a mix of heartbreak and anger, and though I knew it was expected, I felt a thrill in the knowledge that for one fleeting moment, I had asserted my own will.

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The Stage and the Prince

That same year, I found myself on a stage in front of the Prince of Kuwait, performing The Hunting of the Snark in a ballet production. Under the bright stage lights, I poured every ounce of emotion and talent into my performance. My instructor's praise had filled me with the possibility of greatness - an escape from the daily struggles of my constrained world.

But the magic of that night was short-lived. At home, my achievements were dismissed. My father barely acknowledged my performance, and my mother's praise was as fleeting as the spotlight on stage. The brilliance I had felt faded, swallowed by the persistent shadows of expectation and disappointment.

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