May 14, 2025

I have to write down what happened today.
Because this isn’t just a story of a single day—
it’s the embodiment of everything I’ve been silently carrying for years.
And sadly, it came once again at the hands of people I know.

The sun was already out when we set off. It was around 10 in the morning.
There was a strange energy in the house, but no one told me anything.
They simply said, “Get ready. We’re going to the woods, to see some fruit trees.”
Supposedly, it was to help me clear my mind.

Part of me was already suspicious.
But I stayed quiet.
Maybe it would do me good.
Maybe I could breathe, walk a little, be alone with my thoughts…
But deep inside, I knew. I always know.

The place we arrived at…
It wasn’t the forest.
It was a grave.

Not an ordinary grave, though.

A small hill.
Surrounded by stones in a circular shape.
At the center, a symbolic tomb.
Left with cloth pieces, talismans, strange markings.
Thin blankets laid across the ground.
Some women laying silently, others praying.
Children sitting still.
No one speaking.

My breath grew heavy.

And then the truth came out.

They had brought me to the symbolic grave of a jinn.
A made-up grave, built to look real.
They believed that the entity buried there could silence or cleanse whatever was “wrong” inside of me.
To them, I was the problem.
To them, calling myself a woman meant I had a demon living inside me.
A voice, a curse, a possession.
Something not human. Not holy. Not acceptable.

And I was brought there…
To be fixed.
To be purified.

I was told to go inside the circle,
to lie down near the grave,
to close my eyes,
to “let it pass.”

That was the moment everything crystallized.

They didn’t see me as someone trying to live her truth.
They saw me as something broken,
something that needed to be buried,
cleansed,
silenced.

I didn’t lie down.
I didn’t cry either.
I just stood there.

My eyes met theirs—
and in that silence,
we all understood.

They couldn’t break me.

They could wrap me in rituals,
they could chant and pray,
they could build a hundred graves for a thousand imaginary demons—

but none of it would change who I am.

Because being a woman isn’t a curse.
It’s not a sickness.
It’s not something that can be exorcised or erased.

It’s the strongest word that defines me.

On the way back, no one spoke.
They acted as if nothing had happened.
But everything had happened.

My mother took me to the grave of a jinn
because I dared to say I’m a woman.
And yes—
that deepened the fire inside me.
It poured fuel on everything I’ve ever known to be true.

People will go to extraordinary, terrifying lengths
to bury what they don’t understand.

But me?
I keep rising from their graves.
Again and again.
Because I know who I am.

And no ignorance, no superstition,
no stone circle will ever change that.

Yes, I hurt.
But this pain has become my armor.
Every grave they lead me to
only makes me more alive.

And one day,
this fight will end—
and I will survive
as myself.