My earliest memory of wearing the scarf around my head was at the age of seven. I was so excited to be like my mum and wear it to school. My community was predominantly ethnic people, so there were a few young girls also wearing their baby scarves to school. It felt euphoric to be part of a little community of baby Hijabis. There were no restrictions, no meaning, just a few little girls who wanted to be like their mums and express themselves with as much vibrant fabrics as our school uniform would allow.

It was until I turned eleven, that I realised it wasn’t just fun, extra clothing.

My family was very conservative. The hijab was expected to be worn by every girl at some point in her life. When I was in primary school, I wore it on and off because no one explained what it means. When I would ask, the only answer I received was “You will go to hell if you didn’t wear it”. I was confused, but I didn’t question it until I went to secondary school. My mum took me to buy school uniform, and when I went to reach for the trousers, she said no. I was to wear an ankle length skirt and full length abaya only. This was the first ever time I felt the restriction of the hijab.

Suddenly, every single thing I did was monitored. As a Hijabi, you are not allowed to dance. You are not allowed to sing. You are not allowed to raise your voice in public. You must not show any outline of your body, including wearing trousers. If there is hair peaking out of your scarf, that piece of hair will testify against you on the day of judgement and you will go to hell. If you wear makeup or draw attention to your face, even if you wear lip balm, you will go to hell. I became so self conscious about every single thing in my body, every single action I made, because eleven year old me really and truly believed God will be mad at me and I will end up in Hell.

By the time I reached fourteen, I began to really question religion and God himself. I thought, “If God hates me so much and is going to punish me for being a human, why should I listen to him? If I’m going to hell for being a bad Muslim, I might as well not be Muslim”. I battled extremely hard with religion for so long, because to me, all it was at the time, was a way to oppress me. Why didn’t men get the same treatment? That’s when I started to research religion outside of my parents’ explanations.

The more I researched religion and the Hijab, the more it became apparent that actually, what my parents have been teaching me, and what they have been enforcing on me goes against everything God says. The Hijab was a form of protection for women, it forced men and people to look at you as a human being and take your words seriously, rather than be lustful and look at your body. It protected you (most of the time) from men with evil intentions. That wasn’t what I was raised on. The Hijab didn’t feel like a form of protection for me, it felt like a regulation, a restriction. An invitation for other Muslims to comment and judge my actions and mistakes. It didn’t feel like a cloth on my head, but rather a cloth around my neck, wringing it tighter and tighter. I was unwillingly a walking representation of Islam, and so I wasn’t allowed to mess up, make mistakes or God forbid, be a child.

When I made the decision to no longer wear my scarf last summer, I felt the pressure and judgement lifted off my chest. I didn’t feel the need to adjust to this new person, because I was always the same, with or without the hijab. It never held any value to me because I didn’t make the conscious choice to wear it. I didn’t do my own research and feel inspired to wear it, it became like shoes for me. At home, I didn’t wear shoes, it’s just something I put on when I leave the house. For the first time in my entire life, I was allowed to be a human.

The biggest difference I’ve felt is the fact that no one was monitoring me. No one was correcting me, no one had opinions, no men would leer at me near a mosque, no man was approaching me trying to marry me or make me his wife (the fetishizations of Hijabi women is an entire other topic I’m not even going to get into today). I was finally able to practice Islam in a more comfortable, safe environment.

Ironically, I felt closer to Allah when I stopped wearing it. I could finally learn about Islam and understand it without the fear that I would be going to Hell. In a strange way, I grew closer to Islam. I questioned everything, researched everything, and a lot made more sense to me. I’ve always said that your relationship with God and religion itself are separate things. I have a strong relationship with God. I talk to him often, I pray for things, I ask for clarity and forgiveness. I have a greater love for God because I was finally able to explore being a human first, identity second.

Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs is the best way I can explain it. Essentially, humans needs are ranked into 5: Psychological needs, Safety and Security needs, Love and Belonging, Esteem and Self Achievement. When the first two needs are in danger, we return to our primal instincts. If belonging to a certain identity compromises the psychological and safety and security needs, our primal instinct is to make sure we are safe first so religion become secondary.

Society needs to own up to the damage that repackaging culture as religion does to young girls and women. When religion is taught as a symbol of peace and forgiveness, that is the only way that young girls will feel safe practicing it. Shame culture is very prevalent, especially in Muslim communities, and that takes away from the beauty of Islam and turns it into control and oppression. We all know from history that oppressed will revolt. There is shame in not wearing it and there is shame in wearing it. At the end of the day, the Hijab and modesty is often used as a primary tool of control, a tool that takes away freedom of choice from women, when it was never intended by God for it to be that way.

To address the most common question I get, “Do you ever regret making the decision to stop wearing the Hijab?”. My honest answer is no. I genuinely feel more comfortable in my skin than ever before. I understand its value and beauty, and I am deeply envious of girls who had the choice to wear it and it wasn’t forced on them growing up. I don’t regret it because I was robbed of being a child and a human FIRST. I love the hijab, and the weight it carries is very powerful. I respect all the women who wear it, even more so because I know how hard it can be in this day and age. The Hijab is a beautiful thing, and one day, I want to return to it on my own, a choice that is completely my own.

I still have a good relationship with Allah, I still pray, I still avoid committing most sins, I still follow Islam as much as I can. I just feel like I can breathe again.

Initially, I didn’t plan to delete it for long. I just needed it off my phone for one day, so that I can put my head down and focus on working on my assignment without checking my phone pedantically. However, one day turned into two, and two days turned into a week, and suddenly, my assignment was submitted but I had developed a visceral disgust for social media and decided I wasn’t going to use it until I wanted to.

See, it wasn’t keeping up with other people that bothered me, no no not at all. I love my friends, I love my little niche micro-influencers and I love seeing what everyone gets up to. It exposes me to worlds I wouldn’t otherwise know of and I feel as if I’m experiencing life alongside them. It also exposes me to worlds I may want to be a part of, one I can easily attain through careful contrivance. No, you see, the problem was never with ME doing the watching. It was other people watching ME.

The title was intentionally misleading. In reality, having a fear of being perceived stems from having a fear of judgement; they go hand in hand, one is the cause and the other is the result. I don’t believe anyone truly fears being perceived. As humans, we are conditioned to crave community, companionship and connection — it’s part of survival, especially in the earlier days where all three were just as necessary as food or water. Today, we still require these needs, just in a different format that social media has become the enabler of. Humans don’t fear being perceived, we simply want to control HOW we are perceived by WHO. Perception is necessary for survival and so is controlling it. The issue with apps such as Instagram and TikTok, where you are encouraged to post your life to all of your followers, your identity becomes available for public scrutiny and you lose control over who you are allowing yourself to be perceived by.

Once your identity is public, that is where you are enmeshed. You can no longer confidently distinguish between who you are, and who your followers say you are. Every story you post is a presentation of who you are to the public. Every post you make, no matter how scrupulous you construct it, is a call for validation. Each part of yourself that you put on your social media, you are constructing an identity for other people to see and subconsciously, you start conforming to the cage you have built for yourself. Even worse, social media algorithms start mirroring the cage you have built and show you content you may like, when in reality, they’re just decorating your cage for you. The only difference between a Palace and a Prison is that a Palace is more comely to look at.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be perceived. Like I said, being perceived is necessary for survival. When you start developing a fear of perception, you must stop and ask yourself, why is that? Almost certainly, the answer is going to be that you fear judgement. If you were to fully present yourself to the world, as you are, the truest version of yourself, and receive not ONE stricture or judgemental expression, you would have no problem being perceived. You are not afraid of being perceived, you are afraid of being judged. Why? Because judgement leads to exclusion from society and when you are excluded from society, historically, you’re not far away from death.

But of course, judgement is unavoidable, and so you must learn to achieve a stasis between allowing judgement to enter your life and letting it flow out of it, just as quickly as it entered.

What does that mean for me? Well, I’m really enjoying my time off Instagram and social media in general. I’m more focused on university and my life. Do I see myself permanently staying off it? Definitely not, I receive great pleasure from posting my life and staying up to date with everyone else’s. When will I be back? When I can distinguish between my online personality and my real life one. Oh, and once I can get through a study session without checking my phone.

Academic validation has always been what kept me going. As long as my grades were up, so was my self esteem, and for the most part, it worked. I got into university, I started studying the subject I pursued and everything finally fell into place — until this year. Now that I’m midway into my degree, my purpose changed. Academic excellence was no longer an achievement, but an expectation. Before I knew it, my career was no longer a far away ambition, but a tangible purpose I had to start preparing for. By the end of my first year, I was drowning in internship applications, attending career fairs, job-hunting for a role that was relevant to my degree and filling out aptitude tests. I thought my biggest milestone was getting a degree, now I see it’s just the foundation.

Students carry the heaviest burdens on their shoulders. Not only do we have to get excellent grades, but we have to get excellent internships, make excellent connections, build an excellent network and obtain an excellent job. On top of that, we also don’t want to waste our youth, so of course we need to go to the best parties, make the best friends, travel to the best places and live our best teenage, young adult lives. But no, wait — isn’t our youth meant to be spent building our future? Aren’t your twenties the most formative years of your life, and you should spend them focused on yourself and your work?

How are we meant to travel, if our summers and breaks are spent doing internships? How do we build a community, if we’re tied to our desks studying for the best grades? How do we go to the best parties, if we’re bound to only networking with people in our industry?

It’s just NOT enough to be a student.

Living in London, especially a few minutes tube ride away from Canary Wharf (Wall Street of London), I spent a lot of time observing the corporate lifestyle, and I very quickly realised, this isn’t what I want. A life tied to my desk, morning to evening, having limited sick days and vacation days, not being able to travel to another country for longer than a month. Whilst the stability and pay out of these jobs are a tempting inducement, the ineluctable thought of giving up my time and energy is exhausting.

We need to bring back JUST being a student. No interviews for internships until graduation, no job interview preparation until my degree is in my hand. No LinkedIn networking, cold emailing, hand shaking or career fair attending until the moment I step out of my university gates for the final time. My life as a student should just consist of classes, assignments and hanging out on the grass with my friends. This wasn’t the university student lifestyle I was promised.

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Generally, I’ve managed to keep it under control. I had weekly meetings with school counsellors, I went to NHS therapy, I self medicated with herbs like ashwagandha and valerian root, I worked out regularly, I took yoga classes and I picked up new hobbies like painting and writing. Sometimes, very rarely, I would spend a day doing everything above and I would feel a brief period of relief. Is this how normal people feel on a daily basis? It must be nice.

Of course, this never lasts long and over the summer, I found that another way to temporarily subdue my anxiety was by staying busy. If I was constantly focused on a task, I had no time to focus on my worries. It was genius! I spent the entire summer doing exactly that. I attended summer school 9am to 4pm, then I would hang out with friends every single day until night time. Over the weekends, I would work in the mornings and go to events and socialise for the remainder of the day. I was tired, yes, but more importantly, I had no time to think about my worries.

Come September, the impending doom of my future started to hit me. My downfall started when I got rejected at the final stage of an interview for a Software Developer internship at an Investment Bank. The final stage felt like three hours of pure hell. There are many times in my life where I have felt stupid, small even, yet nothing beats the perennial three hours I endured there. As I sat in those meeting rooms with interviewers, I could see the pity in their eyes as I feigned my confidence and attempted to impress them with my tenuous achievements. I have never in my life felt so small. Any confidence I was instilling in myself prior to the interview flew right out of the window of the 11th floor window in Moorgate, London.

Leaving that building, I felt defeated and insignificant. I rarely ever feel that way, and even when I do, I’ve always reminded myself of how hard I work to disprove that acrid voice at the back of my head. Unfortunately, my failure haunted me for many nights after that, and even worse, the tiny voice in my head that I successfully shut down all year grew into a diatribe and overpowered my actual voice. My head became a war zone, two sides vacillating between each other and as collateral, everything else in my life started falling apart, just in time for university to start.

In September, I continued the work ethic from summer. I was working three jobs, setting up the Cyber Security Society as President, tutoring multiple clients, volunteering at a cyber security cluster and keeping up with my university work, all whilst going through a major relationship ending in my life. Peace was but a nebulous idea to me and I had no time for myself. I was so subsumed in staying busy I was not meeting my basic needs, like eating, drinking water and sleeping. My room became a reflection of the mess I had going on in my head and I spent every night socialising, avoiding the ubiquitous feeling of anxiety I was carrying everywhere with me.

I neglected not only myself, but also everything I live for. I neglected my passion for painting and creating, I neglected my passion for writing (although I could argue I was gathering great content for my Substack), I neglected my passion for baking and just my reasons for living in general. My ambition overpowered my sense of self and before I knew it, I had lost who I was because I was busy building for my future self. I don’t want to live in the future. I’ve been doing that my entire life. I’m going to prioritise being bored over being productive, so that I can create and just learn to be.

Approaching winter, I’ll be mimicking nature by slowing down. Fully. As much as it pains me, I’m going to cut down on the work I’m doing, cut down on the jobs I’m taking on and learn to delegate tasks to others. My focus will be me, my health and my mental health. Well, we’ll see how long that lasts. Maybe I’ll hibernate.

The train arrived at the time I booked it so I did not suspect anything. I boarded my train as usual and took my position right next to a window. As the train starts to pull away from the platform, a woman’s voice sounds over my head on the speakers as she reads out the upcoming station names: This is the Greater Anglia service to Norwich, calling at Colchester, Manningtree, Ipswich… - hold on… Colchester??? A sinking feeling settles into my stomach. I’ve gotten on the wrong train. I was meant to go towards Southend but instead, I am heading up to Essex. Panic suffuses my body and I sit rigid in my seat. The next stop is 40 minutes away. What do I do?

The train pulls in to Colchester and I head towards the station café. A coffee first to mollify me and then I can think straight about what to do. I always said I wanted to explore the UK more, and there was a different beach only 30 minutes away from where I was. This was the perfect paragon. There is always something about being in a coastal town, miles away from the city, that is quite bucolic. As expected, I had an amazing time, an even better time than I would have had in Southend.

How often in life do we miss out on an opportunity, a job or a trip but end up getting so much better? How often do we feel annoyed about missed flights, delayed trains or running late for an event but we end up having a good time regardless? We as humans inculcate the idea of perfection in ourselves so much that we relegate the same notion to life yet, every time, life proves us wrong. Every time we rush a task, it fails. Whenever we try to find short cuts to anything, it refuses to become embroiled in our conflict with time. A handmade Persian rug may cost hundreds of thousands more than a factory made one — simply because time is valuable.

If you, like me, visit historical sites often, you may also find yourself amazed at the architecture behind these buildings. Every minutiae detail carved, every comely corner meticulously attended to. People back then never strived for perfection. Yes, they had an idea in their minds. But creativity blooms in the space made for mistakes. Artists don’t follow a script. They outline their vision, gather their colours and paint. When they mess up, they either paint over it or include it in their painting. That’s what we need to do. Make mistakes part of the plan. Enhance our plans with mistakes. Allow mistakes to be part of the plan.

For the longest time, I’ve lived life so rigidly. I worked incredibly hard to get into Cambridge University, only to be crushed with defeat when I couldn’t go. I spent months studying and rotting away in libraries, selling my soul for the highest exam scores, only to get an average grade. Never did I stop to consider, all of that hard work still got me to an amazing place right now. I may not be studying at the world’s most prestigious, competitive university, but I am at a respectable institution with a workload that allows me to explore my subject beyond the classroom. The end-goal is not exactly what you plan out. Life gives you what you deserve.

Life doesn’t obey rules or strictures but neither do humans. We have proved this again and again throughout centuries. Despite how many religions are formed, empires built and governments made, people have never been good at doing what they’re told — so why do you not extend the same expectation to life? Letting go of your control over your life isn’t reckless or dangerous. All it does is make room for better things to enter it.

Sometimes, you will get on the wrong train. You will spend the entire journey panicking that you can’t get off only to find that it has taken you somewhere better.

I went on a walk today. I didn’t wear my usual tight fitting jeans or a nice figure hugging top, I put on my comfiest, oversized hoodie and jersey trousers in my favourite colour, burgundy. I didn’t really know where I was going, I just took my book with me, wired headphones and headed off. Although it’s the beginning of June, in perfect UK fashion, it was raining. I didn’t mind though. It gave me permission to reflect.

It was still lightly raining when I got to town so I sought shelter in the book section of our local charity shop. Instead of looking at the non-fiction, self development aisle, my eyes wandered over to fiction. How long has it been since I read a book purely for pleasure? I picked out a mystery book, something I know 13 year old self would love, and wandered the kitchenware aisle. My favourite tea cup broke a few weeks ago and I was devastated, so I have been on a mission to replace it ever since. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a worthy teacup but a mug caught my eye. It was a plain, white mug, with some pictures of a witch and her cat, along with the words “Fire burn and cauldron bubble, this witch needs coffee or there'll be trouble”. So corny, I thought.

My hands reached for the shelf, about to place the mug back, when a flashback of my 11 year old self appeared in my mind; I was in a witch costume, playing the role of Witch Number One in Macbeth, in Stratford East Theatre. I was so proud of my role, simply because I had more lines than anyone in the play, even Macbeth himself. Something about this mug rekindled that competitive, playful spirit in me and so, I took it to the till. The joy I got from this purchase was unexplainable; it was like I found a piece of me in a shop, and for 50 pence only. How ironic.

These past few weeks, I have strained myself working hard. Weeks blurred by whilst I was studying for my end of year Computer Science exams, running and getting elected as President of the Cyber Security Society, applying and getting accepted into summer schools and internships, signing up for Artificial Intelligence hackathons, interviewing for summer jobs and tutoring on the side. My first year at university has been spent networking and seeking out opportunities that I didn’t realise how drained I was. I spent so much of my time striving for excellence that I didn’t realise I was already living in it.

My nature has always been competitive and hard working. From as young as I remember, I have been reading self-development books, watching YouTube videos on success and striving for the best at all times. Yet today, I had nothing to do and with no one to accompany me, I was forced to be alone with my thoughts. With no distractions, I realised how unfulfilled I feel. My mind was so caught up with excelling in this world, that slowing down for the first time made me think, is any of this worth it?

Scrolling through LinkedIn, there is always someone doing better than me. It doesn’t bother me though. I read their journeys and note down key points, then use it as motivation for myself. Having shows like Gossip Girl and Dynasty on repeat, not because they’re just entertaining, but because if you watch closely, there are hints and guides on how to live their extravagant lifestyle. Going to the gym and listening to podcasts on YouTube, always something about bettering myself. Day dreaming about being successful, so I may manifest that life for me. Even in my resting time, my brain and body is working on being better.

I guess what I need is permission. Permission to live without feeling the need to prove I should be able to. Live without worrying about my future, what’s going to happen next year, how I’m going to get a placement, how I’m going to land a job, how I'm going to retire my parents. I want my days to be filled with mundane things, like buying mugs in charity shops and talking to strangers on the street. Is a mundane life the key to happiness?

I don’t know. Tomorrow I’ll be tutoring and doing an online course on Cloud networks and security. The day after, I have a career’s event and the following day, I’ll be celebrating Eid with my family. I’m grateful for the opportunities I have and grateful my parents instilled a hard work ethic in me. But tonight, I will drink some tea out of my Witch mug and put together a 500 piece puzzle I picked up from the charity shop. Maybe I’ll speak to God, I’ve forgotten how to.

You see, spring is like the morning after a rough night. You wake up to sunshine spilling through your window, blinding your eyes, no idea what time of day it is or how long you slept. Last night’s mascara smudged around your eyes, gluing them shut and you didn’t bother taking your jeans off before knocking out. Eventually, you roll out of bed, have a shower, wash your face, put some clean clothes on and finally, the sun is at the middle point of the day and you feel rejuvenated and ready to take on the day. That is summer.

If you’re a Rom-Com fanatic, like I am, you would have spent a considerable amount of your year daydreaming about your summer; what you’re going to do, the friendships you’re going to make and the places you’re going to go. However, every summer, the time slips by slowly and as soon as the leaves start turning yellow, you realise — I haven’t done anything.

This year I refuse to allow that to happen and that is why, I have made a guide on how to make the most out of my summer. This is a true and tried guide, which worked for me last summer and so I am going to share it with you.

Lina Boudelaa’s guide to a perfect summer

Step 1: What do you want?

The first thing I like to do is write out roughly what I want to do. Don’t be too rigid with this, you just want to get your ideas out on paper so you know what you want. There is no structure or guide to this, just see what you like, anything you saw on social media that you want to try out and get it all out. Make it vague; we will get into it deeper in the next part.

My main aims:

• Learn a new language

• Immerse myself in art, fashion and culture

• Join some sort of weekly club

• Connect with new people

• Develop my tennis skills

• Spend more time by the ocean

• Visit one new city outside of London

These are all things I’ve always wanted to do, need to do more of, or started to do through out the year and wanted to develop it further now that I have more time.

Step 2: Prioritise

Now that we’ve identified what we actually want, the next thing to do is to prioritise. How much time do you have for summer and what do you really want to do? How badly do you want to achieve a certain aim? Do you want to spend your entire summer learning a new language? Are you willing to go abroad for it and study it intensely? Do you want to invest in a top quality tennis membership and use it all summer? Think about what goal you really want to achieve and the lengths you would go to achieve it then determine its priority

My goal priority list:

• Develop my French - High priority

• Become more cultured - High priority

• Join a club - Medium priority

• Connect with new people - Low priority

• Develop my tennis skills - Medium priority

• Spend more time by the ocean - Low priority

• Visit one new city outside of London - Low priority

The general rule of thumb I like to use for determining a goal’s priority is:

High priority - I want to be doing this every day or at least a few times a week

Medium priority - Once a week or a fortnight is perfect for me

Low priority - Once or twice a month

Step 3: Visualise

Now for the fun part! What does each goal look like to you? How do you plan to achieve the aims you wrote down above. Remember, there’s no solid step by step plan for achieving exactly what you’re visualising (ironic since this is a step-by-step guide), but each goal might mean something different for you. For example, connecting with new people might mean clubbing for some people, joining sports classes for others or a book club for another. Each aim can be achieved through different means so think about what it is that you want to do.

What my goals mean to me:

• Develop my French speaking and listening skills

  • Taking online classes

  • Conversing with my French speaking friends

  • Hanging out with my French speaking family

  • Watching French movies

  • Reading my favourite books in French

• Immerse myself in art, fashion and culture

  • Attend art exhibitions

  • Stroll around galleries in London

  • Visit fashion pop ups

  • Read books on understanding art

  • Try new cuisines

  • Attend art classes

  • Attend pottery classes

• Join a club

  • Join a book club

  • Join a running club

  • Renew my yoga membership

• Connect with new people

  • Join clubs (as seen above)

  • Visit art galleries solo

  • Talk to more strangers

  • Say yes to more plans

• Develop my tennis skills

  • Make use of the Tennis courts near me

  • Book out Tennis courts around London

  • Introduce my friends to Tennis

  • Make plans to play with my Tennis friends

• Spend more time by the ocean

  • Book weekly / fortnightly trips to Southend

  • Spend the day in cafe’s by the sea

  • Plan a trip to Brighton with friends

• Visit one new city outside of London

  • Possibly weekend trip to Cornwall?

  • Visit friends in Manchester

Final Step: Turn them into habits

The best way to make sure you actually do what you wanted to do is to turn your goals into habits. In the previous step, we listed out how we plan to achieve said goals. In this step, we want to write out little habits we can do to make sure we actually do what we said we would. Remember: Don’t overwhelm yourself with habits and to-dos. The point of the summer is to enjoy it, not turn it into a chore. These habits are just to make sure we don’t fall into a slump and spend our entire day in bed.

Weekly habits

• Meet one new person for lunch / activity

• Play tennis

• Visit one new art gallery, museum, exhibition, pop up etc.

• Attend at least 2 yoga sessions

Monthly habits

• Spend one day by the sea

• Attend a few French classes

• Attend a book club

• Attend a running club

• Read one new book

• Attend one art/pottery class

There you have it! The perfect guide to a perfect summer. This year will be different; you will not spend your time rotting away in bed but instead, going out and developing who you are as a person.

Don’t be too hard on yourself if you don’t achieve everything you wanted to. The point of summer is to relax and do things that make you happy. Bonne chance!

As a woman who considers herself to possess a considerable amount of beauty, I noticed the privileges it brought me from a young age. In my early school years, the boys went out of their way to pick me flowers from the playground or help me with my school work. I never worried about being picked for team sports because I would either be the captain or be picked first. Going to an all girls secondary schools, I got invited to birthday parties and hangouts (although my parents never let me go). I always had a friend to walk to school with, a friend to eat with and a friend to walk home with. By the time I hit puberty and my childish features were replaced by mature, feminine ones, it became increasingly difficult to pretend to ignore the attention I got on the street; from men and women alike. It also became increasingly difficult to filter out unwanted and malicious attention from admiration.

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As I went into sixth form and my network grew, I became friends with many people. People who studied all different subjects, of all different personalities from different places around the world. There was always someone there when I needed something, whether it was to study with in the library or to hang out with after school. However, it wasn’t until the middle of my first year, when I had a fall out with my best friend and she moved to another country, that I realised; I was incredibly lonely.

See, I had friends. I knew people. Wherever I would go in school, I would bump into someone and say hi. But for some reason, it always felt like no one dared come closer to me. In the great words of Cher Horowitz, I felt like a ‘Monet’; beautiful from afar but the closer you get to it, the more you realise it was imperfect. I wasn’t a stranger to compliments or admiration. They built up my confidence but often, people put me on an unwanted pedestal, held up by assumptions that my life must be perfect. Some people became so hell bent on this idea that once they realised their assumptions were incorrect, the pedestal comes crashing down and they wanted nothing to do with me.

There were always three types of people in my life:

1. The Mona Lisa: people who would watch me from afar, lurk on my social media to see what I’m up to or talk about me to other people yet never actually sought a connection with me. They were too scared to penetrate the non-existent bullet proof glass case around me.

2. The Jewels: people who would get close to me and become friends with me, only to try to hate and try dimming my light, try to coerce me into hiding myself through their spiteful comments, backhanded compliments and hate disguised as “jokes”.

3. The Rose: people who would use me as a social connection, become friends with me, only to realise I am in fact a human, with needs and flaws and not just a pretty face, then neglect to maintain the connection with me.

There are still times I feel lonely. Despite being surrounded by loving friends and people, I still feel alone and misunderstood. The privileges that come from beauty are incredible and I would not give them up for the world. The circles it invites me into, the quality of life it offers me and the opportunities it unlocks for me are benefits that I am so grateful for. But to deny the negativity that surrounds it would be deleterious.

Beauty holds immense power. Beauty is threatening. In a world fuelled by sex, money and power, beauty is a currency. You can either learn how to harness this power and use it to your advantage or continue to allow yourself to be taken advantage of.

By the time I reached secondary school, this insecurity grew bigger as I became more aware of my financial situation. Going to a girl’s only school with a strict uniform, our ability to express ourselves through fashion was limited. The only way we could be individuals is through our accessories and so, they became a status symbol. The cool girls were wearing £100+ shoes whilst I prodded around in shoes my mother got from the sale aisle. The ‘mature’ girls strutted around proudly in expensive handbags whilst I prodded around in my oversized backpack my dad used to wear. In year 9, I begged my dad to buy me better shoes. I didn’t want ballet flats anymore, I wanted Nike Air Max 200’s and after many requests and a slight bit of begging, my dad finally caved in and bought me the shoes I wanted. I felt like a new person, yet, although I had everything the cool girls had, I still felt imperfect.

The fear of allowing outsiders to see my imperfections wasn’t just me. When we had family or guests over, me and my siblings mocked my mother for frantically running around the house, cleaning every possible spot. we questioned her sanity when she would make us sort out our wardrobes and clean our bedrooms, even though we knew the guests wouldn’t even bother looking in there. The night before anyone would come over, she would ensure every wall was scrubbed, every speck of dust cleared and every inch of the floor hoovered. Our house was never dirty or unsanitary but for some reason, to my mother at least, she was convinced it would seem that way to the guests.

For as early as I remember, I have been vying to prove to the world that I am perfect. That I belong. I have allowed myself to be convinced that my self worth relies on whether I have the latest shoe or the latest bag. I refuse to allow anyone to enter my room without having cleaned it completely first. When I am getting ready, I still hear my mother’s voice in my ear, telling me to always show my best self to the world. I can’t let anyone see me as less than otherwise I’ll get treated as less than.

Well now I’ve learnt that that’s stupid.

When I walk into someone’s home, my eyes don’t flicker to their undusted shelves or slightly teared up sofa. When I make friends with someone new, I don’t look down at their shoes to see whether it’s the latest version or whether their handbag is new. When I meet another curly haired girl, I don’t think of her it as unruly, I think “Wow, she’s beautiful”. Slowly, I am unlearning the negative affirmations I grew up surrounded with and it is only through the love I have for other people that I am able to do this.

My curly hair is no longer ‘untamed’ or ‘unruly’. It is free and beautiful, much like its owner. My room isn’t ‘dirty’ or ‘a mess’, it is scattered with books and trinkets that form a window into my soul. I no longer care for the latest shoe or latest bag. The shoes I wear will depend on the level of comfort they provide me and the bag I carry is crafted from real leather and holds all my books and pens so that I can study well. As I enter my 20’s, I am learning to care less about what everyone around me deems as perfect; I crave a life of imperfection

I want a home with white walls marked with crayons left by my children. I want a bathroom with pen marks that indicate how tall everyone in my family is. I want a home with toys all over the place for us to trip over and a couch with slight rips and tears in it, a result of the endless evenings spent with the ones I love. My daughters will be taught that their hair doesn’t need to be straight to be beautiful and my sons will not care what brand their shoes are, as long as their feet are comfortable. My money will be spent on private tutors and coaching lessons to broaden my children’s minds and maximise their health and weekends will be spent away from cellular devices and instead, having fun outside.

But it’s more than that. I’m giving myself permission to allow imperfections in everything. I wear sweaters that have been worn out through the amount of evenings I spent studying in them. My trainers have slight scuff marks from the mornings I’ve spent running and working out. I drink out of teacups with chips and cracks achieved through the late nights I have stayed up chatting ardently with my friends at university.

My relationships also have permission to be imperfect. My closeness with my family is a result of forgiving each other and promising to be better after many arguments and silent treatments. The connection I have with my friends is achieved after years of going through terrible friendships and working on my own toxic traits in order to become a better person and better friend. The relationship I want in my life is not one where we never disagree but one where we are able to disagree and argue but forgive each other out of love and respect.

Being imperfect is no longer gauche. Imperfection is the new perfect. Life itself isn’t perfect, why do we as humans think we need to be?

By ‘lonely’, I don’t mean in the having-no-friends, being constantly alone way. My family surround me and support me daily, I catch up with different friends once in a while and my students keep me entertained and up to date with their personal lives which I enjoy listening to. However, for the first time in my life, in my gap year, I was not surrounded by people 6–8 hours a day like I was throughout primary and secondary school and sixth form. Even though I wouldn’t consider everyone around me at the time ‘friends’, I still had people my age to talk to everyday that I was able to relate to. I was able to walk into a classroom of around 15–30 students and have a peer to talk to. Being the social butterfly I am, if I walked into the library or canteen, I could almost 100% guarantee that I will find a friend in there that I could sit with. Even if there was no one to sit with, I could find a place in the library where I can get on with my work.

No longer being in that environment, it became much harder to make friends and connections. If I wanted to maintain friendships, I couldn’t just sit down with them in class or bump into them in the library. I had to put in extra effort to reach out to my friends and make plans and in most case scenarios, good plans involve spending money in some way, whether you’re getting lunch or catching up over a coffee. Even then, most of my friends were at university or working jobs and had to be notified days in advance and by then, whatever I had to catch up with them about loses it’s dramatic effect.

In terms of making friends, it was practically impossible. Throughout my school years, I’m constantly meeting new people, talking to new people and going to different events and trips. My environment was evolving and changing with new people continuously throughout the years so I had many opportunities to develop connections. After graduating however, I became in control of the connections I make and I was not prepared to have that much control over my life. Meeting people became more difficult on a daily basis so the chances of developing meaningful bonds was extremely low.

Beyond just friends, what I’ve come to realise is adults weren’t lying when they said the only person you have as you get older is yourself. If you don’t like yourself or aren’t at peace with yourself, life from now on is a horrible experience. I have never spent more time with myself in my entire life than I have during my gap year and what I’ve found that while it is peaceful, it was also dreadfully boring. Majority of my days were spent in solitude, I was lucky if I could see a friend once or twice a week, even my family is either at work or at school so I truly was alone most of the time. Not that I spent my days moping around in bed but even if I went out, it’s usually alone or I dragged my brother along with me to places.

Being alone also matures you. I’m very grateful to have spent my year living with my parents who paid for the roof over my head and the food in my stomach. However, beyond that, I managed the rest of my finances. Dining out, meeting friends, buying clothes, skincare, makeup, shoes and everything else is my financial responsibility. My parents don’t pay for any of that. That is why I had to learn to manage my money and become more financially literate at a younger age than the rest of my friends. In a way, I think that money management is the quickest way to become independent and mature because you start seeing life through adult lenses very early on.

Regardless, being alone gave me more time to sit with my thoughts, re-evaluate my life decisions and assess my friendships. It made me realise who I actually enjoy spending time with and truly care about and who I was only friends with out of convenience because I saw them around all the time. The longer I spend with myself, the more I discover about myself and my interests and I highly recommend everyone spending at least a decent amount of time just going on walks and alone with their thoughts, no music in.

However, I won’t sit here and lie and say I enjoyed it all the time. Being who I am, I think I flourish better around other people and socialising. I always feel better after I go out with my friends and being in solitude for too long depresses me a little. But without the solitude, I wouldn’t have figured that out either. A healthy balance is needed in everyone’s life, you just need to figure out how much of each is balanced enough for you.

So yes, I was not prepared for the loneliness during my gap year. I was warned about it and excited to learn more about myself but I wasn’t prepared to feel that isolated from people. But I believe it’s a good thing that I learnt to be comfortable with loneliness early than if I had to deal with these feelings while now that I’m at university or working a full time job and it could potentially have an effect on my performance.

Though I quite enjoy Computer Science, I guess a part of the reason I’m pursuing it is because it is a lucrative field. The industry is so vast and changing rapidly that there is always a new job, especially with the recent growth of tools such as Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning. Computer Science offers greater job stability (despite all the jokes about the current job market) which is what entices me to it. However, the deeper reason goes further than that. Programming is a chance to create. Coding offers solutions to problems and as programmers, we are constantly problem solving.

Have you ever sat down with an idea, planned it out and brought it to life? That is what coding feels like. In a way, programming is art, literature and linguistics all in one. Coding a program in such a way and watching it come together is equivalent to watching an empty canvas come to life from your fingertips. Experimenting with different coding languages and finding out which one works better for you is the exact same as learning different languages and curating your personality in each one. My favourite thing about learning French is noticing all the similarities with English. The same goes for programming. My favourite thing about learning Java is seeing all the similarities with Python.

The essence of coding is to literally bring something to life. You start off with a palpable concept and finish off with a tangible product. Though one could argue that art is not meant to have a purpose, the same could be said for coding; programs don’t necessarily need to have a purpose. Writing a program in Python or Java is the equivalent of writing an essay in another language such as French or Latin, except, with programming, you’re producing a tangible output, whether it be for a project or pure enjoyment.

So yes, I am a creative person, even though I am a STEM student. We need to start recognising STEM subjects as creative instead of delineating them to be all logic and numbers with no fun.

Unfortunately, as a kid, we see life through rose coloured glasses. For most of us, our parents did an excellent job at shielding us from the world and so we only focus on the positive things in life. I’ve always looked forward to returning to Algeria as it was my break from reality. For 6 weeks, I could ignore my life in the UK and was free to curate my own life in my little small coastal town, Jijel. However, as I started going through puberty and becoming inundated by the changes happening in my body, I also became cognizant of the changes in my experiences in Algeria. The summer I turned 12, I couldn’t understand why I was shouted at for going to the corner shop alone, a corner shop I frequent for my 50 Dinar ice cream and 2 Dinar chewing gum. I didn’t understand why my suitcase was filled with jebbas and no trousers (my mother always packed my suitcase for me) nor could I understand why I wasn’t allowed to sit in a room with my male cousins alone. It was all so confusing to me.

Going into womanhood was supposed to be an exciting experience. I was ecstatic to get my first period, I was no longer a child but finally growing into a lady. An experience usually dreaded by women around the world, I was sanguine about it. What I didn’t realise was that being a woman was more than just monthly cycles and changes in mood; the world around me started treating me differently.

Women in ethnic cultures are heavily protected and sheltered from the world. We are taught from a young age to cover up in order to be protected from wandering eyes. We are told to stay at home in order to be protected from evil intentions and we are encumbered with home making responsibilities, in order to be protected from the horrible fate of spinsterhood. Summer no longer felt like a break but rather a prison. I could no longer enjoy sitting at home comfortably as there was constant shame pervading my body and anxiety subsuming me. The longer I stayed in Algeria, the more I started developing a visceral hatred towards my country. Algeria no longer felt like home.

However, the feeling of entrapment didn’t hit me until last year: the summer of my gap year. Having spent majority of my year in solitude and pensive thought, I became accustomed to my loneliness. In fact, I revelled in it. No one was around to tell me what to do nor did I have to consider anyone else’s feelings. All that mattered to me was myself. My entire gap year was spent strolling about museums and exhibitions in London alone, sipping tea in cosy cafes and dining in 5 star restaurants solo. Initially I was trepidatious about spending time by myself. All that went through my head the first time I sat in a café alone was What if people thought I was lonely? What if everyone is looking at me thinking I’m a loser? The second time however, these thoughts were supplanted with No one cares. I realised I could go out alone at any time and go anywhere and no one would care.

Of course, this only applied in London. When I went back to Algeria last year, I was forced to spend the entire 6 weeks, at home with little to no freedom to go out as I please. Firstly, in order to leave the house, you need a car. As a girl accustomed to public transport, I had yet to receive my licence so I needed someone to drive me somewhere. Secondly, as a woman, I’m unable to go anywhere alone due to my safety. We always have to travel in groups or take a man with us. Though this is not right in any way, it was the unfortunate reality of things.

For generations, women have never had the privilege of being alone. We have never truly been allowed to discover who we are, away from prying eyes. Wherever we went, we constantly needed a chaperone, whether it was to another country or down the road to the corner shop. Living alone as a woman was unheard of and the only acceptable universities available for girls was one within sniffing distance of home. Our mothers and grandmothers before us were denied the right to explore their identity on their own. For most of our ancestors, they went straight from the home of her father to the home of her husband. Women before us have been tied to people their entire lives that they don’t have an identity outside being a daughter, a mother or someone’s belonging.

As I sit, typing away in my own place that I am paying rent for, paying for my own groceries and doing my own laundry, I am acknowledging the fight I had to go through to convince my parents to allow me to be on my own. Years of preparation, perennial arguments and silent treatments went into earning my parent’s respect yet still going out and making my own way. Especially as a Muslim, Hijabi woman, the world is unforgiving to us. I’m also incredibly grateful to my father for the effort he put into creating a life for us outside of Algeria, acknowledging the fact that both he and my mother grew up in the middle of a civil war. They never HAD the privilege of being alone because it wasn’t a matter of comfort but rather, a matter of safety. I am so lucky to be sitting in my own room, feeling comfort, safety and gratitude.

Being lonely isn’t uncomfortable. Being lonely is a privilege. In a world where being a woman is not safe, I urge you to look for safety and comfort within yourself. Your company is the best company.

We’ve become so heavily reliant on our phones for every day life. A gadget that was once intended for long distance communication has turned into much more; a calendar, a clock, maps, a notebook — everything. When I wake up, I instantly use my phone my to turn off the alarm, already greeted with notifications. As I’m getting ready, I’m repeatedly checking the time on my phone to make sure I’m not late, again, confronted with more messages. Sitting down to check my schedule, new post notifications come up on my phone. It’s almost as if there is a little kid inside my device, giving it the slightest attention and it wanting more, wanting me to stay.

The problem isn’t that we need to get off social media; it’s that we need to get off our phones. Just over a decade ago, we didn’t need our phones as badly because we used other means of getting around. We used our wristwatches as a means to tell the time, rather than a fashion accessory. We looked forward to rushing home to our computers so that we could check our messages, rather than being accessible 24/7. We had to memorise where places were and actually ask strangers for directions. I honestly don’t remember the last time I was stopped for directions and I live in London. We constantly talk about how great life was before 2016 but maybe it’s because we were actually present, rather than being locked up at home living our lives through our screens, bereft of any actual human interaction.

However, maybe all of that is about to change. With the recent uproar in America about the TikTok ban, could it actually be a positive step towards a more analogue life? I’ve noticed a burgeoning desire for less screen time on social media, with more creators opting for books and podcasts, rather than films and short videos. Users are supplanting their phones for books on the tube and Substack has been gaining popularity in the recent year or so. People are showing tenuous interest in being online and craving more presence in their lives. It’s no secret that our phones are useful tools but people are starting to wakeup and realise there is more to life than our phones.

However, I’m also noticing a difference in social media usage within different social classes. Pleasure has become a privilege. With activity classes rising in popularity, so are the prices. In a capitalistic world, group activities have become monetized: book clubs, run clubs, art classes… creativity comes at a cost and so, not everyone is able to afford it. On top of that, with the current recession, grocery bills and rent prices are increasing whilst the average income remains stagnant, people don’t have the time to indulge in themselves as all that time is spent worrying about actually living. Being offline is becoming reserved for the privileged, ones who have the time to be able to slow down in life.

As I’m writing this, I’m also acknowledging the privilege I have to sit down and write about my observations.

So in 2025, I’m pledging to slow down in life. I’m finding alternatives for everything I once relied on my phone for. I’m investing into an analogue clock for my room, I’ll be using my wristwatch to tell the time, I will manage my schedule using my physical diary and stay updated with events using a wall calendar. No more needing my phone. Instead, I’m opting for intentional use of my phone. I want the feeling of rushing home afterschool to play on my computer to return to me. 2025, we’re going analogue.

During the introductory session, we were put into teams and I was grouped together with two other boys whom I have never met before. As we were introducing ourselves to each other, I asked what subjects they studied and they gave me the most common amalgamation of a student within my field: Computer Science, Mathematics and another related subject (Physics, Further Mathematics or Business — I forgot). Then, they turned to me and asked me what subjects I took. Satirically, I asked them to guess. Their first guess was Psychology; I said no. Their next guess was Sociology; again, no. Biology, Chemistry, Law, Criminology… no, no, no and no. By this point my countenance had changed from amused to puzzled. We are sitting in a room surrounded by computers, laser 3D printing machines and robots. I’m attending a Robotics summer school. The fact that Computer Science wasn’t even a suggestion for them was unbelievable.

This is not to say that the aforementioned subjects are any LESS valuable and intelligent than STEM. I am speaking about my experience as a female student in a male dominated field and the critic, misogyny and doubts I receive as a result. I highly respect humanity subjects and genuinely wish I studied psychology and criminology alongside computer science and mathematics.

Throughout my life, I have been made to believe that a woman who cares about her looks is shallow and will amount to nothing. The stereotypes surrounding girls who started wearing makeup from a young age reinforce the belief that if we spend so much time trying to look pretty, we won’t focus on school. In fact, most British secondary schools ban makeup, hair colour and jewellery altogether; the trifecta of self-expression. Going to an all girls secondary school, we grew up slyly bending these rules. Whilst other people were smuggling drugs and cigarettes, we were hiding from our head of department because we put on false eyelashes. Other girls would let down their hair to feel pretty, we let down our hair to hide our second ear piercings. Our beauty was a form of rebellion and from then, I’ve always associated beauty with a lack of interest in academics.

My looks are my pride and joy. I take good care of myself and how I look, not for other people, but because I feel good. When my face is presentable, I feel my best. When my outfit looks good, my confidence is boosted. When I have my jewellery on, I feel put together. I’m scrupulous with the face I give out to the world because when I look my best, I feel my best and my day is propitious. Yet often, when I am having a conversation with people and they ask what degree I study, it’s impossible to ignore the shift in their expression to one that is surprised; “Wow, you’re actually smart?”

Whilst I’m sure there is no ill intention behind their reaction, it elucidates the underlying belief that beautiful women cannot possibly study such an intense and logical subject. If we care about how we look, we cannot possibly care about our studies. Our thoughts must be so shallow, how do we have any space to produce creative pieces and solve complex theorems? Being a woman in academia, it’s so dispiriting to receive the same, constant diatribe from people. It’s even more dispiriting to receive this from women themselves.

We see this belief applied everywhere. Now, I’m not one for celebrity gossip, (not that there is anything wrong with it) but take the relationship between Kylie Jenner and Timothée Chalamet for example. An unlikely pair, sure, but the chief conversation happening is “What do they even talk about?”. Kylie Jenner is the epitome of the modern beauty standard. She built an empire based off her looks and body and is most famously known for her family’s TV show, Keeping Up With The Kardashians. The world sees her, not as a person, but as a figure of beauty and so, the idea that she is with an actor, who more or less does the same thing except he is a man, elicits worldwide censure from people. What does a beautiful woman think about besides her looks?

Society fears a comely woman; not only does she have power with her looks, but she also posses power through her knowledge. Don’t give in to the notion that in order to be an intellectual, you cannot focus on yourself. Continue doing what makes you feel good and continue pursuing whatever knowledge you want to pursue, whether that is mathematical equations, understanding social behaviour or creating powerful, beautiful artwork. Stay beautiful and stay smart.

As a frequent user of the underground services, naturally I walk on the correct side to efficiently exit the station (they make me nauseous and dizzy). However, the other day, as I was navigating my way out of an empty station, in the distance a man was walking towards me making his way to the platform. There was nothing odd about that, except for the fact that the closer he got, the quicker I realised he was walking on my side of the path with no intention to move to the correct side. Instinctively, I moved out of his way a few paces before he got to me and then went pack to my position but it was only once I got out of the station that I started thinking, “why did I move out of the way for him when he was on the wrong side?”

Women have been conditioned for years to accommodate others. From a young age, we are lampooned for our ego whilst our male counterparts are congratulated for their confidence. Daughters are expected to behave with utmost propriety and tolerance towards impertinence whilst their brothers are encouraged to lash out and stand up for themselves. Young girls are subconsciously being prepared for marriage their entire youth whereas a young boy is unencumbered with such responsibilities until his late 20’s. This conditioning starts from an incredibly young age and as a result, we inadvertently apply this belief in everything in life.

It’s no wonder women suffer from self esteem issues. Our self doubt and low self worth comes from endless strictures from everyone around us: family members, teachers, classmates and loved ones. Growing up, I was characterised as “lazy” and “unladylike” because I wouldn’t pick up my brother’s mess or help with the cooking. Never mind the fact that I was a straight A+ student with an alarming amount of extra-curriculars, receiving awards every other week and constantly praised by my teachers; as long as I couldn’t cook or clean, I would never be propitious.

Luckily, I spent majority of my teenage life in an all girls school, an environment where my abilities where never doubted because I was a woman. I was able to express myself with effusion and praised for my hard efforts. To be honest, the atmosphere in my school was so feminist and supportive, I doubted whether sexism even existed. Surely there can’t be people out there who truly believe a man is better than me, simply because of my gender and not my abilities? Unfortunately, reality hit me like a bus once I left school and went out into the real world.

During my sixth form life, I experienced misogyny at full blast. Being a computer science and maths student, I went from being surrounded by women to suddenly chucked into a room with a gender I barely interacted with. To top that off, I also ran for and held the position of chair of the student council. One thing about a woman in power is that you will receive a LOT of hate, especially from people who can’t handle a woman having more power than them. Much of my sixth form life was spent dealing with sexism, hate and even threats. Nevertheless, I still managed to organise and host events, lead meetings and bring about good change in my school. I was adamant to never let anything get to me.

As strong women, we need to achieve a stasis between being soft and kind-hearted but also, knowing when to put our foot down. Accommodating to others does not make you a better or kinder person. People see your soft nature and your sensitivity and have no problem exploiting that. It is important that we stay deferential towards others but also, acknowledging when you’re being taken advantage of and not letting that happen. I’ve stopped moving out of the way for men in the streets. Most of the time, they realise a few paces away that I won’t be moving and they will end up moving out of my way. I’ve started calling out men for their rude jokes. Yes, I can “take a joke”, no I will not allow you to humiliate me at the expense of making others laugh.

You can call me bad-tempered. You can call me sensitive. You can call me acrid and you can call me a b****. But from now on, I will not be moving out of the way for anyone and neither should you.

See, the thing about being 19 and living in London is that there is public transport everywhere. Especially where I live, I have access to TFL services that will get me almost anywhere and now that I go to university in Surrey, I have a direct train that gets me into London in half an hour. Of course, I will learn at some point but personally, at the moment, I don’t see a desperate need to learn how to drive.

As if my phone was pedantically listening to every word, a few minutes later I open Instagram and the first post that comes up was a meme liked by many of my friends that went “hot girls don’t know how to drive”. Initially, I was amused by the statement because yes, I consider myself a hot girl and coincidentally, I also don’t know how to drive. However, I started seeing a lot more of posts in this style. Posts such as “hot girls can’t do maths” or “hot girls can’t change a tyre”. Pretty much all the posts were excusing basic human capabilities and downplaying it with the phrase “hot girls don’t”.

The more I thought about it, the more I started vacillating between being amused and being offended. While yes, this innocuous trend sees trivial but over time, aren’t we just reinforcing the old-fashioned belief that women are incapable? Honestly, there was a time where women weren’t allowed to board trains because people believed the speed of the train would damage our organs. Women have worked so hard to give us a voice and allow us to choose our fate instead of having it preordained and yet, we’re actively regressing in the silliest manner.

Even worse, this phrase has moved away from social media and is now used colloquially; how many times do you hear someone say “I’m just a girl” in normal conversation? I will be the first to put my hand up and admit that I regularly use this term, especially when someone asks me to do something I, quite frankly, do not want to do. The fact that I now use it glibly is concerning. I’m subconsciously demeaning my value in front of others when I have worked so hard over the years to prove myself and my worth; as have many other women.

Even the term ‘girl’ is allusive. It strips our maturity and value as women and shrinks us down to a simple, young, ‘girl’. A naïve girl who can be taken advantage of. Now you’re probably thinking “this is so silly, one small term isn’t that serious” but the truth is, the smallest portrayal of women can have a seismic effect on how women are perceived for decades. In a patriarchal society, where we have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously with women of colour working triple or even quadruple as hard, why are we allowing this casual nomenclature to demean us?

I’m just a girl is not an excuse. You don’t know how to do something? Learn. You can’t figure out how to fix something? Ask for help. Let’s not normalise incompetence and let’s not undo the work our ancestors have done to bring us to the position and power we have today. We need to stay embittered and proud of the fact that we have the ability to go out and achieve what we want with minimal barriers in our way instead of creating even more to get past.

I couldn’t believe it. How could my closest friends show such irreverence towards a day that celebrated me? I knew my birthday was close to exam time but was it so unfeasible to take a few hours out of one day to have some food?

For generations, people have always relied on the sense of community instilled within us for help and support. Helping others was seen as our duty to others yet, with burgeoning rise of social media as a medium for connection, the opposite has taken effect and we have grown to see it as inconvenience. Social media has reinforced the idea that we, as people, don’t owe anyone anything. We are being sold this idea that our time must be used valuably and any time spent on others must be equally self serving otherwise, it’s a waste of time.

Our brains no longer crave human connection like we used to. I mean, how could we, with miniature portable devices supplementing us with artificial dopamine and serotonin. It’s no wonder we aren’t seeking it out from others. We have become so officious that we convince ourselves we don’t need anyone’s help. Even worse, we’ve become incognizant to those who need our help.

It’s a no brainer to see that our bereft sense of community came about during the pandemic. With the world on lock down, our only means of connection were through texting and calling online. We saw this change not only occur with each other, but global businesses also adapted to this. There is no longer a need to walk into a shop, be greeted by an assistant and mindfully pick out clothes. Now, with a few clicks, the entire shopping experience is brought to your doorstep, with no human interaction needed. The same goes for food. The act of dining out with a group of friends is supplanted with the ability to order food in and build up a barrier between engaging with your loved ones.

There is no problem with wanting to be alone. There is no problem with having boundaries. As a girl who is currently perched on the windowsill, sipping tea in the corner of my room and writing away alone, I’m definitely not one to criticize putting yourself first. However, when putting yourself first means becoming entirely selfish, that is when it becomes a problem. We need to get used to allowing our loved ones to burden us. We need to start picking up our friends from places, dropping them home to make sure they’re safe, consoling your friends when they’re going through a hard time, even if you’re not in the mental space to. We need to stop cancelling plans you agreed to, in advance, because you’re simply “tired”. Yes, you should put your mental health first but also make sure you’re still respectful.

Social media has been putting out prosaic beliefs about relationships in your life. You don’t need to go to fancy restaurants or spend an enormous amount of money to maintain friendships. My purest friendships have grown from simply sitting in the same room with one another or going on walks in nature. Relationships aren’t materialistic. People can still love you even if they’re not spending money on you or with you.

We live in a world where ethnic women on mainstream media are stereotyped as feisty or aggressive, usually imputed from a rough, poor background. Adjectives used to describe these women range from “angry”, “stubborn”, “strong” and “soft”, all at the same time. Take ‘Maddy Perez’ from the show Euphoria as an example. The writers of the show portray her as the stereotypical Latina girl; growing up in a rough household, displaying anger issues throughout her child hood but exuding softness and femininity at the same time. In fact, majority of Latina women produced by Hollywood contain this stereotype; Gloria from Modern Family, Gabriel Solice from Desperate Housewives, Jasmine Flores from On My Block and the list goes on. These attributes are not limited to Latina women. We also have Devi from Never Have I Ever, an Indian teen with convulsive anger problems and a rooted hatred for her ethnicity, Nadia from Elite, a Palestinian private school girl who takes off her hijab, feeding into the oppressed Muslim women stereotype and again and Emma from One Day, who not only does not have an ethnic name but also shows little signs of her culture, other than her skin colour. This is all without mentioning the depictions of Black women in Hollywood, which is another story in itself. Whilst we can show an appreciation towards the feeble attempts to introduce diversity into Hollywood, it would be wrong to deny the fact that all these women of colour are always fitted into a box, one that determines how they should think, behave and react.

The age of TikTok and Instagram reels don’t help these beliefs either, especially with the vast volumes of videos going viral today. Creators online act out Moroccan/North African stereotypes excellently, being both humorous and relatable to young girls like myself who were never represented on mainstream media growing up. Watching satirical videos about typical North African characters transports us back to the comforts of our countries, from the security of our own beds. Many viewers, like myself, are extremely appreciative of these innocuous videos and the intentions behind these videos are fairly innocent I am sure. However, to deny that these videos have not further encouraged the stereotypes surrounding North African women today would be fallacious. The portrayal of women in these videos usually entail them shouting at someone, displaying visible jealousy and hatred towards people or being ‘fake’ or simply having a lack of propriety in public settings. To non North African viewers, it is probably just 30 seconds of pleasure that they will hardly think about but the damage is irreversible. Skits like these instil a subconscious belief that will be rooted within them forever. And to North African viewers like myself? It is just another step backwards in our attempt to be taken seriously in the world.

Some readers may sit there and say “Well, the stereotypes are true! A lot of North African women do act like that”. As a North African woman myself, I am not going to deny that. I can name at least a dozen family members of mine who have those exact attributes, including myself. However, it is important to understand where these behaviours stem from and to do that, we must first acknowledge the history of colonialism that took place in 19th and 20th century North Africa, so sit back and enjoy a very quick history lesson. Summing it up shortly, in 1830, France first invaded Algeria, then shortly took control over Tunisia in 1881 and then Morocco in 1912. Italy invaded Libya and the British took Egypt. All countries at one point fought back and gained their independence between the 1950’s and 1960’s but that did not mean all is well. Being under European rule for over 100 years left the economies in a state and resulted in a desperate power struggle between political parties which lead to a civil war in Algeria between 1990 and 2001, meaning even more bloodshed and violence.

You most likely feel bombarded you with dates and facts that have flown right over your head so let me use a different means of comparison so that we can understand the facts better. If you are Algerian, your parents grew up in the civil war. They were around your age when bombs were set off near their houses and classmates kidnapped from their schools. Instead of watching cartoons after school, they tuned in to the news everyday, praying a family member would not appear on there. If you are North African, your grandparents would have been alive when your countries were still colonised. Your great grandparents would have known your country before colonialism. Does that put it into perspective for you?

So is it so surprising that North African women have strong attitudes and aggressive personalities? It is no wonder that a lot of ethnic women are more susceptible to anxiety and symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder, even when we may not have suffered any sort of trauma. The oppression our parents and grandparents went through buried itself deep in their DNA and thanks to epigenetics, transferred itself onto their off springs; aka us. Intergenerational trauma takes many forms and pair that with the mental health taboo that exists in our culture, as well as many cultures around the world, the probability of us healing our mental states are significantly reduced. On top of that, women like me who are trying to navigate living in a first world country and create an alternative narrative to the one that is imposed on us are having actively to fight against these allegations every day. Although this article is mainly focused on North African women, it is not limited to just females. North African men have also been through as much trauma and are also facing their own stereotypes and pre-determined beliefs and it is just as important that we recognise their troubles in the step towards debilitating our labels. That is for a different article perhaps.

Recognising the effects of intergenerational trauma in our cultures is a first step of many towards healing. Making peace with the fact that generations before us have suffered and that it is okay to feel the consequences is crucial to understanding our behaviour and fixing it. The effects of intergenerational trauma is quite an interesting subject, one I highly recommend everyone reading this to delve into. The focus of this article was mainly North African women but I am sure that many women of colour around the world, or just people of colour in general, can relate to the points discussed in this article.

It’s no mystery that women’s brains and men’s brains work differently. We are different in the way we think, act, speak and view the world so it’s no wonder that our literature will also be different.

In the many years I’ve spent reading books, I have undoubtedly picked up on the difference in the style of writing.

Women portray emotions more accurately as we are naturally more empathetic and sensitive so we can relay those emotions better in our writing, art and music. Men focus more on the story, the details of the story, maybe more logistical thinking.

Of course, it’s not that I’ll never read a book written by a man because of a hidden agenda, and, from time to time, I do enjoy a book that takes my mind off my own emotions and allows me to just focus on the story. But personally, I prefer literature that conveys my emotions in ways I would never be able to understand.

My idea of escape is diving into someone else’s mind, allowing the protagonist to take control of my thoughts and feelings which in turn, enables me to decipher my own. For me, to enjoy a piece of literature or art, it must be relatable. If not in the story or environment, at least in its thoughts.

In the same way, I enjoy films that have been directed by women. Women’s portrayal of other women are typically more accurate than men’s portrayals, understandably so seeing as we know ourselves better. It’s the simple things, like our night time routine, our reactions to news, our hobbies. The portrayal of these scenes in movies directed by men and by women may be subtle but it makes a great difference.

Men written by women tend to also foster more complex thoughts and emotions. I love entering into a character’s mind, knowing why they think a certain way, the justifications they have for their actions. A man’s mind is so foreign to me, the only way to understand it is to read it.

In “The Secret History” for example, Donna Tartt writes in first person, from Richard’s point of view and I am actually able to enter a man’s mind and see how he views the world around him. How he views friendship, girls, superiors and his peers. In the book, we can read his descriptions about Camilla Macaulay, the way he overly romanticises her in his head and thoughts, his subconscious mind revealing itself in his internal dialogue. If a man wrote it from his perspective, whilst the actions may be more accurate, the thoughts may not be portrayed as descriptively.

On the other hand however, what makes a great reader is one who can understand all perspectives; or at least try to. Books expose you to a world you wouldn’t have otherwise known and so although my preferences are books written by women and include deep, thought-provoking characters, I should probably expose myself to a wider world by reading all types of books.

Or not. I don’t have to do anything. I can read what I want and create my own perception of reality.