The Story of a 20-Year-Old Girl

1. For some time now, I have been coming to the psychiatric clinic, and I am told: “Miss So-and-so asked about you.” And when I go home, I am also told, in a different tone: “Miss So-and-so asked about you.” I am puzzled by her and the coincidence that makes her inquire about me more than once, and each time I am absent from the clinic and absent from home. And at night, my absence is always permanent because the night that I do not stay awake slips away from me like moments of happiness vanish between lovers in certain circumstances. I cannot imagine days that are entirely night or entirely day, because that makes life difficult, boring, and devoid of the feeling of longing for a new dawn or a dreamy evening.

2. I return to Miss So-and-so, who occupied my mind on the phone without mentioning who she was or what she wanted from me. Why does she ask and repeat the question without leaving her number? It was a Saturday noon when the phone rang, and it was her again. I heard a soft, breathless voice say: “Dr. Antoin?” — “Yes.” — “I have asked about you many times but could not find you. Before I tell you who I am, I want to ask you: if there is a girl abandoned by her family, people, and society, and becomes desperate and lost, what should she do?” I felt the sincerity and pain in her words, so I said: “Such a question cannot be answered over the phone.” She said: “If my situation were not strange and miserable, I would not have dared to call you and ask: What should I do?” We agreed on an appointment, and she came, and I found myself facing a girl in contemporary clothing with long hair. I looked into her eyes and face, and an authentic beauty shone through, marked by sadness, despair, and loss. Her smile when she shook my hand was pale… I jokingly asked her: “What do you drink besides alcohol and drugs?” — “Coffee,” she said. I wish I had avoided joking; she remained silent, then after a while began to cry… Then she asked: “Are you in love?” She said: “No, I am the beloved.” I asked: “By a poor young man?” — “No, but by many men, most of whom own wealth and fame. But what can I do when everyone, even these lovers, abandoned me? They abandoned me because they are beasts… and because I did not find among them the man worthy of surrendering to.” Then she asked me again: “Do you have time to hear my story?”

3. She began to tell her story, or rather her tragedy, which differs from the stories of many girls of this era in the precise details, compared names, witnesses, and the striking style in which honesty manifests—unless she were the greatest actress, and I was one of the biggest fools. The strangest thing about this story or tragedy is that its heroine, who knew many lovers, got used to drinking alcohol, taking drugs, and undressing in private… yet this girl is still, at age 20, a virgin. She sat telling her story, tears in her eyes that would not dry, until one fell into her coffee cup; she did not care as she drank the coffee mixed with tears. Then she said: “I will tell you my story to vent and finally ask: What should I do?” I said: “And why did you choose me in particular?” She said: “I heard about you a lot and believe that you are experienced.”

4. The girl continued: I was diligent and outstanding in my lessons at a school run by nuns, and my father always repeated that my mind was older than my age. I was 10 years old when my father lost everything in a single stroke of fate, giving in to despair, struggle, and deadly loneliness. Days passed, and I became 13; young men started to hover around me, complimenting and flirting, sometimes impolitely. One evening, as I was returning from school, someone blocked my path, claiming he loved me. I recoiled at him, and continued to recoil as he followed me on the street and by phone until I felt some response to him, despite my mother’s warning against men. One evening, I was home alone when the same person knocked on the door. I panicked, and he rushed to calm me by hugging me to his chest and showering me with passionate kisses. It was the first time a strange man kissed me. He was intelligent and experienced in moving the feelings of dreamlike virgins, so he stopped at kisses and left suddenly…

5. I did not want to tell my mother what happened; I found myself keeping it from her and contacting the man secretly. I call him “the man” because he was not a young man but in his forties. I felt my maturity when I realized I was loved for the first time by a man a quarter of a century older than me. Then he returned another time to hug and shower me with kisses, and I no longer felt embarrassed but felt the desire to explore the unknown. I let him continue with hugs and embraces while I remained stiff, not moving or responding. He continued to hold and kiss me on my cheeks and neck, repeating that he loved me, worshiped me, and wanted to marry me… At this point, Miss X sobbed and sighed, saying she felt as tired as she did relieved as she told her life story and plunged into private details, exposing herself—not her clothes, as other girls do—but the false image she was forced to live. I interrupted her, saying: “I congratulate you on your courage to strip away the false image.” She said: “Is stripping off clothes not also courage?” I told her: “No; the proof is that anyone can strip off her clothes, but not everyone can say she has stripped.”

6. Frequent pressure generates explosions, especially in romantic adventures. I always resisted at first, then accepted after insistence, where opposites coexist: fear and boldness, and boldness usually prevails. I trembled with fear, but my curiosity and desire to explore the unknown made me lie most of the time. I said to her: Every girl subject to strict traditions must develop a fear complex against anything considered harmful to her reputation and act with caution in all her deeds. This practice trains her ability to improvise and lie in tight situations. Necessity is the mother of invention. She said: “Why do I find myself unable to invent a solution to my problem, which is despair, sadness, and loss?” I said: Because urgent need is one thing, and an intractable problem is another. The first is a dilemma helped by cunning, the second is considered a disease. But I had never known a girl like you who revealed her adventures and those of others with such honesty, simplicity, and tearful eyes. Alas, we children of life, when involvement—every involvement—becomes a girl’s story read in an open book.

7. She continued: When darkness fell on me, I went to confide in a friend who worked as a private secretary for an Arab rich man with a beautiful house in the mountains. She suggested introducing me to him when he came to Lebanon, saying he was kind, generous, and could help me if God wills. Indeed, he was a polite, handsome, and truly generous young man. He soon showed readiness to support me until I finished my studies, allocating $2,000 every month. I had a crying fit caused by embarrassment and fear of accepting such generous help, which I desperately needed. The secretary reassured me that the assistance was innocent and could be considered a loan I could repay whenever I wished. I calmed down because his way of giving was gentle and clean, within the bounds of kindness and hospitality. He was a rich, legitimate, well-mannered young man with beautiful, intelligent, calm eyes. His absence from Beirut lasted, and I began longing for his presence, as he provided me a happy, worry-free life. I started caring about my elegance, dressing as I wished, attracting young men, while colleagues competed for my friendship and company to restaurants, cinemas, and beaches.

8. One evening, a liberated friend visited, laughing, dancing, singing, flipping on my bed as if she were high, saying that hashish makes one happy, euphoric, laughing endlessly, and surrendering to bliss and beautiful dreams. She asked me to try hashish. I said: “I seek refuge in God!” She laughed: “I told you before trying it,” then lit a cigarette and insisted. I hesitated but tried, coughing and almost choking. With repetition, I became like her, laughing, dancing, singing. I thus learned hashish… and became a victim of it because it gave me ecstasy and made me forget my tragedies. I was 15 then; why not repeat at 17, when my body became taller, my chest fuller? She embraced me, showering me with hot kisses on my face and mouth, asking me to sleep with her. I refused; she persisted, undressed, standing before me and the mirror nude except for a fig leaf. She said: “Undress.” I returned to resistance; she persisted. Eventually, I yielded, and we stood before the mirror comparing our bodies. Since then, I became accustomed to undressing before the mirror, admiring and taking pride in my body, especially my chest.

9. This habit developed over days, becoming public, at special parties with alcohol, dance, and hashish, yet without relinquishing the fig leaf. Believe it or not, despite all experiences, I am still, until now, a virgin, keen to tease men and humiliate them more than caring about the matchstick that lights only once. My friend insisted I sleep with her in bed, nude, and I will not mention what happened after that because it is embarrassing. She said: I do not believe in marriage, love, or men in particular. I said: All men? She said: Yes, all of them. I asked: And me among them? She replied: Maybe… I had not known you well yet. I said: I have known you very well. She asked: What do you mean? I replied: I mean that you are a sick girl, and the secret of your sickness is that you wrong yourself, imagining that people wrong you. I did not regret my harshness, even if it caused her tears, as long as she was the one who came to ask: What should I do? I waited until she calmed down, then told her: Please continue your story. I confirmed my help and extracting lessons and benefit from her story.

10. Then she continued, saying: The wealthy Arab man started with me kindly, gently, and without ulterior motive, just as you began with me now. Suddenly, however, he changed, and one night he insisted on romance and music, then kisses, hugs, passionate kisses, caresses, and so on, until he finally attempted to remove the fig leaf from me. I resisted and continued to resist until he became annoyed, then he summoned his driver and ordered him to take me home. Immediately afterward, he cut off all contact and stopped his assistance, and I returned to suffering the weight of poverty and debt, after having become accustomed to drinking alcohol and hashish… and all this because I held onto the fig leaf—not out of chastity, as I previously mentioned, but out of a desire for defiance and the conviction that the fig leaf is given, not taken. There was only one person toward whom I felt love and a desire to surrender the fig leaf, but he rushed to claim it and failed to choose the right time and method. My story with him is long; it began in a restaurant and then continued into an evening outing, from the first admiration and first meeting between us: a look, a smile, a greeting, conversation… leading to a visit to his house in the mountains.

11. Another time, we were on the beach with three girls and two young men. I was the extra girl in the group. At first, I tried to excuse myself, but the two girls refused my excuse, and one of them said: “Your presence with us is necessary.” I asked why, and she said: “When we are three girls and two boys, the balance is lost, and each of us can, in a pinch, claim innocence.” I accepted the invitation on that basis. I hoped to encounter a young man during this outing whom I could befriend and take revenge on the wealthy Arab through my friendship. After putting on my finest clothes according to the girls’ taste, a private car arrived driven by a handsome young man, with the other young man beside him, who was less handsome. They had previous relationships with the girls, going on romantic outings… We got into the car after a brief introduction, and I sat in the back seat on the right. The driver kept glancing at me through the mirror along the way, while the second young man pressed his leg against mine in a movement that was neither spontaneous nor innocent. The extra companion in any group stirs men’s instincts and provokes desires for harassment, hoping to possess the loose prize. The car almost lost balance several times without anyone noticing the reason. When we arrived at the beach, the more handsome young man kept stealing glances at me from behind his girlfriend and my friend. I kept turning my gaze away until our eyes met, and I felt a virgin shiver.

12. Later, we changed into our beachwear. The young man hovered around me, whispering words of admiration in my ear, making me feel comforted, yet shy and embarrassed as he stared at my body and chest as if undressing me entirely. At the table, he extended his foot from under the table and touched mine. I immediately moved my foot away, and he pursued it; our bare feet met in a secret, escalating touch. Over time and repeated experiences, I realized that what happens under tables is more frequent and more dangerous than what happens above them. Once, while visiting a dear friend—whose friends always seemed unlucky for me despite my will—her virtuous husband insisted on pressing his shoe against my foot, not content, but removing one shoe and signaling for me to remove one of my slippers for closer contact. I complied because I found pleasure in discovering men’s manners and sensitivity… The lunch ended in Tabarja, and the young man secretly arranged to meet me the same evening at his house in the mountains. I did not hesitate to undertake this adventure, being under the thrill of love and the intoxication of alcohol. We entered one of the bedrooms and immersed ourselves in blissful hugging, caressing, and passionate kissing… He asked me to remove my clothes, and I did so without hesitation, as if I had been waiting for this request. When he saw that I preserved the fig leaf, he laughed and said: “Continue your principle.” I laughed and said: “Not now; leave it for another time.” After insisting and my refusal, he settled for limited giving, and I was extremely happy, as he did not get angry like the wealthy Arab did. Our love continued, as did our outings and private meetings, while my financial crisis worsened, yet I did not let him sense it nor encouraged him to notice. He spent on me when we went to restaurants, cinemas, and the beach, often leaving me without a single lira in my purse.

13. Once, he was absent for two days, during which I felt hungry. On the third day, he arrived to find me curled up in my bed, soaked with tears. He apologized for his absence and asked why I was crying. I did not want to tell him I was hungry, preferring that he realize it himself and remedy it with a sandwich… But alas! He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned to kiss me, and since a kiss cannot satisfy hunger, I felt more distress and agony, and found myself shouting at him to leave me alone. After he left, I fainted and awoke to the sound of the wealthy Arab man’s driver calling to inquire about me and express his personal concern. He had not forgotten that I honored him whenever he brought me the $2,000, so I asked him to come immediately with a sandwich. He arrived accompanied by an Armenian man from his friends—Nerses, tall, large-bodied, 45 years old. The driver addressed Nerses, pointing to me: “Imagine she preferred hunger rather than surrender herself to one of the wealthiest and most generous young men.” Nerses listened, looking at me with admiration and shyness. I began going out with Nerses; he spent on my food and drink, placed some money in my wallet, and recorded everything in a small notebook, repeating that this was his habit. I did not like this habit. I had left school, and all my concern was obtaining money without relinquishing the fig leaf. Why? I do not know, and nobility had no role in the matter. The fig leaf was all I held onto; it was my obsession and the cause of quarrels with everyone. They wanted me to give it up, and I insisted on keeping it. The more they pressed, the more I resisted. None could convince me to fully surrender. Nerses, however, was the strangest in his way of loving. He loved me quickly, and I must admit I paved the way, praising his care and noble behavior toward me; men are easily seduced by praise, especially when coupled with looks, smiles, and nighttime companionship. I went out with him to restaurants, cinemas, and clubs, sticking close to him for hours without him touching me or expressing his love more than with shy glances.

14. Occasionally, a young man would invite me to dance, and Nerses did not object nor show jealousy; rather, he seemed pleased and proud seeing me dance, attracting attention with my beauty, grace, and bare legs. He accompanied me home at the end of the evening and entered the bedroom, sitting on a chair or the bed’s edge, witnessing my readiness to sleep, then kissed my forehead and left. Over time, I prepared myself in front of him, disregarding clothes except for the fig leaf. Just as one hears the roar of an earthquake from the earth’s depths, I heard Nerses’ suppressed roar inside, waiting for it to explode so I could resist, as was my pleasure. Yet he remained calm, quietly releasing his restrained force. Perhaps he wanted me to take the initiative, to tease him, entice him, and say: “Come.” Men’s natures are no less strange than women’s in romantic relations, and Nerses was one of the strangest men I have known. By nature, I am not materialistic, and it is difficult for me to accept money from anyone, but what could I do? I tried working as a secretary, saleswoman, and flight attendant, but all doors were closed to me. When occasionally open, I was asked to pay a price, which I refused.

15. Here, I interrupted Miss X, saying: It seems your luck was so bad that you only met bad people. The handsome young man you stole from his companion—you loved him and still do, for love involves sacrifice and self-destruction, how could it tolerate indulgence? You said you do not believe in love, marriage, or men in general. She burst out, saying: You, like others, do not want to understand me. I tell you, despair possessed me after knowing men and trying them, as none of them made me feel innocent affection or pure love. Even the handsome young man I loved was selfish; he abandoned me because I gave him much and he wanted more, without marriage or even spending on necessities. Many followed, and they were like him or worse. All were selfish, loving themselves in my proximity; not one loved me for myself or for what is unseen in me. All loved me for themselves; not a single one loved me for myself.

16. Miss X continued: One day, I went with the wealthy Arab man’s secretary to an invitation to dinner with a famous politician at a luxury hotel, and he warned me that he was a “womanizer,” but very kind. I said to the secretary: If he’s a womanizer, why does he need a virgin? She said: He melts for virgins and is old. Her words shook me: “old,” for I am inclined to men past youth, believing them more compassionate, mature, and experienced. I also loved fame, being invited to dinner with a famous politician. The evening extended past midnight, and he insisted I tell him my life story. I did so, hiding nothing, nor did he hide his love for beauty and weakness before beautiful women, though he never settled on one. Now, having known and loved me, as I was the most beautiful, youngest, and smartest girl he had seen, he is ready to commit to me forever. He asked me to associate with no one else. He added that he could not marry me due to insurmountable reasons, but could provide me happiness, fame, and help me marry another in the future if it suited me.

17. Thus, all doors of hope and expectation opened at once before me, paving my path with roses and beautiful dreams. I returned with him in his luxurious car; he asked for nothing along the way, merely enveloping me in his arms, letting me rest my head on his chest to feel safe, receiving his gentle, tender kisses in my hair. He bid me farewell affectionately, placing $2,000 in my wallet without my seeing it. Days passed, and our emotional bond grew stronger; I associated with no one else, and he was satisfied and happy with my restraint, which ended at the limits of the fig leaf. Then an open conflict arose between us: he spent each day with one, I with one of his political friends.

18. One evening, he knocked on my door, extremely angry because I had gone out with several of his friends, and I deliberately informed them of my relationship with him… I told him: I am free to go out with whomever I wish and do what I want. He lost control, attacking me, shouting: “You betrayed me!” He beat me on my face, head, and ears. I fell to the floor screaming in pain while he continued striking with hands and kicking with feet, blood flowing from my mouth. He did not stop hitting, shouting: “You claim to be a virgin and go out every day with men? You lie, you are the biggest… I have ever known.” My tears mixed with my blood, and I pleaded for him to stop and bring a doctor to verify that I had not lied and was still a virgin. Mercy overtook him, and he calmed down. My emotion rose, and I stood up, shouting: If you do not want a doctor and do not want to believe, come and see for yourself… come, and I will relinquish the fig leaf to prove I am not lying nor the biggest… He remained standing in place, not moving, while I challenged him with my cries, tears, bleeding mouth, and complete nudity. Suddenly, I saw him burst into tears; I could hardly believe that the monster of moments ago had turned into a human being so quickly. He enveloped me in his arms, wiped my tears and blood, and treated the marks of the beating on my body with cold compresses.

19. After this “encounter,” I felt that I loved him even more, if not to say that I truly loved him. After all this, he calmed down, believed me, and cried shyly at himself. Then we embraced and reconciled, and he did not hesitate to help me put on my clothes. Then he invited me to dinner and a night out, and at that moment, I was guided, not free to choose, and it was he who guided me—and I am still guided now, but not by anyone, only by fate. And as I narrate my story, I feel pain—not in my body this time, but deep within my soul and being. I am lost, desperate, tormented, and I ask no one for pity. All I ask is to find the person who understands me, no matter his age or social or economic status… When we arrived at the luxurious restaurant, I rested my head on his chest and leaned my shoulder against his muscular arm. He held me gently and tenderly, whispering words of love, apology, and regret for having hit me, repeating: “Forgive me, my love.” Dinner was brought to us, and he fed me bite by bite as if I were a child, and his remorse and pain increased each time he noticed my difficulty chewing due to the pain and aches. He continued to show love, tenderness, and care, until a foreign band with semi-naked dancers appeared, and he became distracted from me, no longer sensing my presence, for the slender bodies attracted him and captured all his senses. If I had been the stranger dancing semi-naked in front of him while another woman was near him, the same attraction and capture would have occurred.

20. These men are never satisfied, never content with the portion of sustenance allotted to them; they remain perpetually hungry for every provision that appears before them. When the dance ended, he returned to feeling my presence and asked me: “Are you alright, my love?” Despite all this, I did not feel the need to cry or prepare for resentment and hatred. Rather, I felt that what had happened to me was something new in my life, making me return to myself and admit that I am weak before a strong man, even if he hits me with the harshest forms of violence.

21. Two days later, I walked the streets aimlessly, feeling nothing but the weight of hunger, homelessness, and emotional deprivation… I realized the truth through my experiences: my insistence on the fig leaf led me to this state of hunger and homelessness. How long shall I remain determined to cling to it? True honor is not measured by this tiny leaf, especially if its owner, a girl like me, possesses nothing of the qualities of honor except the fig leaf! Nevertheless, honorable men secretly hate that I retain this remnant of honor, insisting on claiming it; if I refuse, they abandon me and expel me from their hearts and luxurious, furnished apartments… If I had accepted, they would have satisfied their desires, then joined the ranks of virtue advocates who wished to stone the sinner. I always felt the thrill of victory over men. Now, however, the feeling of defeat dominates me and makes me consider surrender, if it means obtaining shelter and bread.

22. Driven by anger, hatred, revenge, and the desire to challenge, it occurred to me to stand in the middle of the street and shout at the top of my voice: “Fig leaf for sale… Who wants it? Who takes it with a dinner, a roof over their head, a dress, or a touch of tenderness? And if tenderness is hard or missing, then with food and shelter only… Come on, men, you devourers of women’s flesh!” It occurred to me to do that, offering the precious leaf along with youth and beauty, at a low price and in a crazy way… but I feared being stoned without any sale, for men are accustomed to buying fig leaves in secret, not openly, behind walls, not in the public street.

23. I continued walking aimlessly, without goal or pause, until a thought of salvation flashed in my mind as I stood motionless before the rock of suicide. All the tragedies of my life and all my sins manifested before me… My soul spoke to me, telling me it is better to be wronged than to be the oppressor, better to be a martyr to instinctual weakness than a strong man crushing the flowers of life. I am wronged and now a witness to the beast hidden in man. My tears were words read by men laughing because they did not understand them; and if they did, their laughter turned into debauchery, harshness, anger, and curses… I now see the beautiful houses and luxurious palaces inhabited by lies, pretension, and deception, hiding humiliation, misery, and unhappiness. They are lime-coated graves, containing the cunning of the weak woman and the selfishness and animal instinct of men, full of hatred, malice, deceit, fraud, and falsified inherited honor… These palaces are graves where I do not want to bury myself alive with those who unite with bodies and repel with spirit. I do not condemn them but pity them. Often, vanity allowed me to cling to the love of rich and famous political men, as my passion for the splendor of clothes and the softness of life blinded my insight and led me to thoughts of suicide. Now, my soul’s thirst and longing surpass the satiation of my body, and my fear of myself is dearer to me than my body’s reassurance.

24. My heart does not change with time nor transform with the seasons. It struggles long but does not die. The light is for my eyes, the melodies for my ears, the wings for my soul. My agony grew until it became mute. I want to become a symbol of this oppressed, tormented nation. Men tried to grasp the truth of my matter and my love, but they did not understand the secrets of my heart, the hiding places of my chest, my feelings, and emotions, because they view them through their instinctual desires, seeing nothing but the charms of my body, hoping to find weakness and submission. Limited love demands the possession of the beloved, and the heart’s torment through steadfastness in hardships and trials is nobler than retreating to safety and reassurance. Fidelity in love makes all aspects of life good and honorable. Therefore, I want to die of longing, not live in boredom. I do not trade the sorrows of my heart for the joys of others.

25. My emotion would vanish in a moment when I realized that all men want from me is to be a virgin only. Then, no love, no spirit, no meaning in giving, nothing else makes them love me and care for my love. I saw love and hatred playing with the human heart, and humans in between, confused, sometimes leaning toward hope, other times despair. Confusion is the beginning of knowledge, and he who does not see sorrow does not see joy. I was like a musical instrument in the hands of men, and they did not know how to play me, so they heard from me melodies that did not please them. Money in the hands of the wealthy among them was a snare for their failure with me; in the hands of the stingy, it was a cause for my hatred and loathing of them; in the hands of the sincere in love, I saw no money. Money led me to obsession, and obsession led me to misery, so now I am a prisoner of habits and traditions, pretending with my clothes to please men.

26. I enjoyed romance and love, kisses, embraces, and hugging, and my body remains forever a victim of longing and separation. And now I drink tears and inhale sorrow. I forcefully expelled Adam from Paradise with my will and Adam’s weakness, and I am now able to return him to that Paradise with my tenderness and obedience. And now I see nothing but obstacles in my way. My misfortunes opened my insight, my tears purified my vision, and my sorrow taught me the language of hearts. The first glance was the first seed love sowed in my heart, and the first kiss was the first flower on the branch of my life. So where is now the first fruit of love? Poverty revealed the honor of the soul, and wealth revealed its meanness. Sadness softened my emotions. I used to curse life and bless it, and now I contemplate it. I overcame men with strength drawn from men. Money killed me without pain, and love revived me with agony. Foolishness taught me the paths of knowledge. My pains and sufferings became a friend who comforts me, and if I were not a friend to myself, I would have been an enemy to others.

27. Life now emanates from within me and does not come from what surrounds me. I was once timid of heart like a rabbit, clever and cunning like a fox, and both sly and wise like a serpent. Now I have become like a crow, a harbinger of misfortune. I am now rejected, because the eyes of men see only outward appearances, and they are captivated by my emotions through promises and false words that embarrassed me, failed to convince me, softened my thoughts but did not change them. And who among them looked at me through the eyes by which he sees himself? Love gave birth to me, rebellion created me, and freedom nurtured me, until I found among the rich pretension, lies, and hypocrisy, and among the poor, fear, cowardice, and ignorance. My silence had two forms: one born of boredom, the other born of pain. Now I see but do not speak; I walk but do not look back, and my spiritual being has changed, but it will never diminish. Men believed that gentleness was weakness, leniency a form of cowardice, and dignity a form of pride.

28. All men are of the same nature, differing only in outward appearances. The personality of men is deceitful, neither pleasing to the eye, nourishing to the heart, nor uplifting to the soul. Their dreams are chains and golden shackles, which they drag proudly, yet find themselves imprisoned within them. When desires and wishes fade in the human heart, life becomes empty, desolate, and cold. If lies, deceit, fraud, mockery, and gossip were to vanish, the world would become like an abandoned garden where only the thorns of virtue grow. The experiences I have lived are the measure by which I understood the illusions and deceptions of my heart, and the scale by which I gauged the weight of my mind or its lightness. Those men who know me best criticize me: one says I am spoiled, another says I am crooked, and a third group says I am malicious, and the malicious have no honor. These harsh criticisms stem from my morals, which I cannot and would not change even if I could. Nothing is more difficult than the life of a girl standing between a man who loves her and a man she loves. How bitter are the admonitions of the fortunate in the hearts of the wretched, who know not the hidden calamities behind apparent greatness. I still rebel against myself and long for what is not mine, until my rebellion becomes effective strength and my yearning transforms into creative will.

29. I am dying now, dying with knowledge of what lies beyond the place of my birth, and this is the purpose of life. I hope no one interprets the truth of my being from what is apparent in me, nor uses my words and confessions as the story of my life. Bold audacity is not heroism, and silent modesty is not cowardice. People are known not by their faces, but by their hearts. Do not consider me ignorant before examining me; do not presume before stripping me bare; do not speak of me before seeing my heart. Do not call me beloved until my love is revealed to you in all its light and fire. Have mercy on me, take from me, and give to me. Pity me and take what I have… I have found no one to love me. I wish I were a nun in a convent, for the pain of giving is harsher than the pain of receiving. The melancholy of my love sings, the melancholy of my experience speaks, the melancholy of my desires whispers, the melancholy of my poverty laments… yet there is a deeper melancholy than love, nobler than experience, stronger than desires, and harsher than poverty, and this melancholy has no voice, for it suppresses feelings. My grief and joy have magnified until the world seems small in my eyes. True love is not a trait of the lover, but of the beloved. I will never be sated with love, yet in this burning there is a pleasure that does not fade. I no longer delight in men’s praise nor fear their censure. I now speak of my inner self, and in my words lies some of my suffering. Your silence is a form of virtue. How strange is love: like life, all humans possess it; like death, it overcomes all humans; like eternity, it embraces all. Man has a blind power that rages in madness and diminishes before desire.

30. When I was enslaved by my mind and emotions, I could not be free in my clothes or customs. I nearly died of boredom if I had not torn apart this revolt against the selfishness, habits, and inherited traditions of men, including so-called noble honor. He who does not bury in forgetfulness what has passed of his past is himself a shroud of the past. Now I am captive to my suffering, a servant of my desires, which I obeyed like wine and hashish. Death is before my eyes, longing in my heart, and immortality in my soul. I see nothing of life but its shadow, and I place in my illusions an idol for men, trying to restore their hearts, once alive with love and tenderness, to feelings that have now been buried under false masculinity and falsified personality. These men, who hid themselves from the tragedy of my life, have also hidden from their souls the joys of life.

31. Where is the man, companion of my soul, whom I lost, the other half from whom I was separated when I was destined to come into this world? Man has become for me both friend and enemy: friend if I conquer him, enemy if he conquers me; friend if I open my heart to him, enemy if I give him my heart; friend if I take from him what pleases me, enemy if I place myself in circumstances that please him. I am weary of men. Weariness is the end of every woman. Weariness is dying in the form of sleep, fainting in the form of slumber. After my experiences with men, I know them better than they know themselves: with a single glance, I see their consciences, thoughts, hearts, and instinctive actions. In vain I attempt to approach them through deceitful words or artificial behavior. I will not listen to what they say nor watch what they do; I will hear what they do not say and see what they do not do. When men are stripped of their superficial and social attachments, I find them all alike. They admired my body, the visible spirit, but did not perceive my heart and soul, which are my hidden body. Flower and fragrance are one: men enjoy the form and color of my flower, but never smell its scent.

32. The mirror of my heart and self reflects only the men who stand before it and their varied behaviors. Were it willing, it could reflect all. Light cannot cast a shadow of something that has no being; were it willing, it still could not. Belief in something is knowledge of that thing itself. The believer sees, understands, and experiences truths through senses different from those used by ordinary people. Women have not hidden or suppressed their feelings from men; rather, men have hidden and suppressed their feelings from women. Flowers may fade, but seeds remain to grow new blooms. Thus, I wore patience like a garment, which burned and spread like a pillow, only to collapse. Oh, my heart, I say to you: conceal your passion and hide what you lament about men from those who watch you. Do not be foolish: silence and discretion are better for one in love. If you wish to know me, lift your eyes to the sky and observe your reflection in the mirror, morning and evening. My life holds a home for love, and my heart a temple for peace. Those who feed from my sustenance need not fear tasting my dreams. Yesterday, my heart was full of love, giving rest to others and taking rest itself. That chapter of my life has passed amid suffering, worries, and tears.

33. The joy of love is an illusion that does not last, and the promises of love are fleeting dreams. How many nights I have stayed awake, watching over longing and love so that I might not sleep, while my eyelids whispered: sleep is forbidden. When the breezes of emotion and passion blew, I writhed, dancing in my joy and delight, drinking, becoming intoxicated, and discarding my garments without shame. That was yesterday; today it has vanished like mist, and distance has quenched the flames of my heart, erasing the traces of weeping and lamentation. If I am angry, do not be angry yourself, and if I laugh, do not be astonished; such is the way of the lover. My desires and inclinations are aided by my patience and by you. My wishes vanished before I reached twenty. Wisdom lies not in words but in the secret beneath words: the wise knows what he says, the ignorant says what he does not know. Beauty lies not in bodies or faces, but in the light of the eyes and the radiance of hearts. I am now like a fruit: when ripe, I fall and disappear. Human needs change, but love does not, and so too the desire to satisfy love’s needs. My ambition was not in what I had reached, but in what I now long to reach. My mind was a sponge, my heart a flowing stream. The truth of men lay not in what they showed me, but in what they could not show. I wished to know their inner being, their hidden selves, so I listened not to their words but to what they did not say. All men were like window glass to me: I saw the truth through them, yet they separated me from it. Most often, I borrowed men’s hearts, but rarely could I keep them. I loved two men: one of my imagination, the other not yet born. The man who could not forgive my small faults could not enjoy my great virtues. I always dreamed that love with men would renew every day and night, so it would not become a form of endurance that turns into bondage, for bondage destroys love; love is freedom.

34. When my heart became a volcano, I no longer expected flowers to bloom in my hands. Now I have two hearts: one that aches and one that contemplates. I contemplate and pray to my deep yearning, so that I may rise and fulfill all my desires. I was weak, following the man whose sweet, tender words and gentle looks reassured me; now I am strong through my personal experiences with them. I have lived love that grows in pain, that rises with longing, that increases with yearning, and fades with the first embrace. I resembled life, enjoyed by all men, yet I also resembled death, for I conquered all men. Man seeks risk and play, which drives him to desire a woman, the most dangerous of games. A man does not love the fruit when it is fully sweet; he desires the woman because he savors bitterness in the sweetest of women. Within every man lies a hidden child longing to play; women must discover this child in him. And men should beware when love seizes a woman, for she sacrifices everything for love, letting the value of all things pale before the value of her beloved. Beware a woman in whom hatred stirs, for if a man’s heart harbors cruelty, a woman’s heart harbors evil. A man’s happiness depends on his own will, while a woman’s happiness depends on his. A woman may feel the strength of a man but will never fully understand it. Nothing is impossible for a woman: she reaches the farthest in winning hearts only when she parodies herself.

        Dr. Antoin Elias Jaajaa
        (Clinical Psychologist)
      antoinjaajaa@gmail.com