Tuesday, June 8, 2010
What Is Mayonnaise In Canadas Food Guide
This can not be called life: I have always been driven by all ... the first from my father and my husband ... more than husband I must call him "my master" because I'm his schiava.Non I leave the house if a man non'è with me, if I want to go to the market to shop I can not go alone are forced to go with a uomo.Mi feel like an animal trapped in a box! I can not breathe, I want to die ... maybe I'll find a better world and will protect it Alah ... Women are not inferior to men. I want to scream! Then ... I have to put the burqa, for me the burqa, and only a way of hiding the woman from everyone and everything, I do not want to live a life hidden behind a veil ... from where you barely see your eyes, but they are hidden behind a retina.Il world does not see a grate. I still remember my wedding: I 15'anni, I was in love with a boy of my age, was an American, specifically a soldier, blond and eyes azzuri.Lui called me "princess" mysterious ", he loved my veil that covered my bocca.Amava touch my hair when the wind had fun uncombed, his gesture was sweet as miele.Questi moments are etched in my mind are mine and no one will ever ... Then one day my father decided to marry me off with a man I had never seen before. He was 35 years, called Igmal ... When I saw him for the first time ... it was when my father invited him to our house one week before the wedding: he was tall and slender with a beard was dressed like ... a boy, had his pants with holes and a military jacket but ... I could not say anything nice set of sgradevole.Ma sbagliavo.Solo when I was my own father was così.Quando were offended me beat me and filled me with me umigliava botte.Pensavo that marriage would settle everything. .. The wedding day ... I remember my father asked me why I had those bruises and Igmal made me look threatening that I will never forget ... and so I replied that I had hurt our marriage took place by cleaning casa.Il in the living room of my father and perform the ceremony was the Imam. I was alone in front of the Imam, when he entered Igmal, visibly drunk, had red eyes ... his gait was unsteady on her wedding dress was all dirty and strapatto.Arrivò altar My father gave him a pat on the shoulder and grinned horrible ... also added his best wishes ... my mother was scandalizata.Mi remember that at the end of the ceremony, I lifted the veil and gave me a kiss that tasted like alcohol. .. Then when the time came the banquet Igmal ate so much vomit on my mother's dress ... I do not know how I held the tears did not want to be with this man ... my mother got up and began to scream for ... My father away, but the layer in between time laughing like crazy, he enjoyed that thing ... THAT HORRIBLE MAN! Not to mention the wedding night ... This was my wedding ... Now I'm 24 and I have 3 sons and 4 we are slaves of a man who I have never liked being beaten every single day ... is my father and his complice.L 'only person who still believes in me and my brother, and this marriage did not want to just celebrate ... but now he is in Italy in search of fortune, and every month sends me some money for feed me and my children, because Igmal all money earned and used to drink and smoke in secret. I now ask you to help ... in tears ... telling my story I want to denounce the hate that men have toward women ... and with this I hope that what has happened to me does not happen to other women .. . Sorry if I did not sign, you will easily understand why ... even though I know that my husband could easily recognize in this letter ... [Marinela Komine]
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