Born into Cairo’s middle-class chaos, I spent 31 years dodging my father’s abuse, internalizing misogyny, and accidentally becoming a trauma tourist for Western institutions that love “rescuing” brown queers—just long enough to gaslight us later. Now, I dissect my life through lenses like Sapolsky’s stress cascades, Crenshaw’s intersectionality, and Muñoz’s disidentification, because nothing says “self-care” like turning your PTSD into a theory playground.

This site is where I rant about surviving fibroids, Dutch racism, and the joys of being a “difficult” woman in a world that prefers us silent, hijabed, and grateful for scraps. I also unpack concepts like epistemological violence (spoiler: Dutch asylum interviews suck at it) and why capitalism’s a horror show even Orwell would blush at the level of dystopia. When I’m not crying into my welfare groceries, I’m on TikTok debating existentialism in Egyptian Arabic, roasting colonial feminism, and explaining why your fave “trauma-informed” guru’s probably gaslighting someone. If you’re looking for a neatly packaged story that fits into the usual victim-rescue tropes, go bother someone else—I’m busy being the chaotic good to systems that thrive on our compliance. Welcome to the mess.