in the middle of a Yemeni winter, still blazing hot. in the house my father and his fourteen siblings were born and raised. on the verge of turning twenty-four years old.
every day, stuck in a veil that, although I knew was necessary, made me scream inside.
the arab spring. seeing the country my father called home crumbling to pieces. preparing for my trip to Egypt, the country my mother calls home, to join my fellow comrades in protesting for their rights. our rights.