Dear old friend,

You cannot imagine how gloomy life is inside this Middle Eastern closet.

The rush of wind I feel is the howling roar of gender discrimination and the warm sun is as blistering coals like the racial bigotry in this seemingly advanced and open land.

If I had balls to kick, they would be of those adolescent boys who harass women without fear because their laws protect them, those men who have mastered the art of (unwelcome) sexual advances, those strangers who spit lewd remarks, those workers who offensively gawk and those minds behind the idea that girls shouldn’t wear shorts and kick balls.

I am still waiting for that moment to strike a goal.

Tell all my football-playing girl friends not to take for granted their freedom to play without prejudice. Tell them the wind, the sun and the company of men in our country are incomparable to whatever is here.

Tell them boys that I appreciate more than ever, the purity and courtesy of friendship we had. In your company, I have never, not even a hint, experienced being looked at like I was fresh meat. At no time was gender an issue in the playing field. Mutual respect came naturally.

I wonder why men here are so different. If there your instinct is to protect, here their instinct is to attack. I am tired of the conscious effort to always be in defensive play.

Don’t let the field stay quiet.

Round up the team and play. Seize that liberty and score some goals! Make big noises that the sound of freedom may reach me in my big desolate sandbox.

Tears.