Back in architecture school, I had a friend who would almost always introduce me the same way; this is Nour, and she’s a feminist. Back then and even now, this way of introducing me pissed me off. I considered myself a gender equality and social justice advocate. I didn’t mind being a feminist. I minded being only that. But to her, I was always Nour, The Feminist, for some reason.
However, to be fair to her, I might have given her that impression during our first design studio.
Our design project was to create a two-storey villa for ourselves, one that represents us in both functionality and design. We started the course with self-introductions; each one of us would sit in front of everyone and talk about ourtselves.
As I heard everyone introduce themselves, I panicked. On one hand, it seemed like everybody’s self-intro was concrete; on the other hand, I was dreading my turn, not knowing what to say. At the time, I still didn’t know everybody personally, and it felt like this self-intro would either make or break my next couple of years.
I was going through so much in my personal life back then, and I didn't want to talk about it in front of 30+ people. Our professor didn’t let anyone go with a half-assed self-intro; she wanted us to dig deep and find a unique perspective on which to base our design project. In theory, I loved the way our studio was heading, but in practice it was hell for me.
I realised that the only way to avoid talking about anything personal was to focus on one small, unique detail about myself, so I talked about social justice and how important it is to me. For the next four and a half years, this became all that I am known for. Nour, The Feminist. Nour, The Liberal. Nour, The Controversial. Nour, The Manhater. Nour, Whom You Can’t Just Say Anything Around. Nour, The Pain in The Neck. And, for the most part, I loved every second of it.
While I consider a lot of these titles to be mostly true, titles that I took pride in (like The Manhater; someone needed to scare men off on that campus), it was still a difficult start to my young adulthood, it felt confusing to be put in one category at an age where I was still trying to find myself and figure out who I want to be in the world. If anything, my actual chosen theme was unboxed; I believed in the freedom of fluidity, whether in self-expression or life choices. And I still do! We don’t always have to be one thing and stick to it, and we don’t have the right to box people into certain categories and not accept their change. We can grow; we should grow and change and renew our ideologies.
I am a strong believer in freedom of choice and an even stronger advocate of it. Or at least I think I am.
It was terrifying, but the adrenaline rush and the changes I saw myself making were worth it to me. I didn’t mind the hassle of being the outspoken person. As days, weeks, months, and years passed in college, I found this categorisation suffocating. I would always be expected to speak up and defend people when they felt powerless (a.k.a. when they put themselves in stupid situations and wanted my help), especially women. I guess this is why people always thought of me as a feminist and why guys felt uncomfortable around me.
It was difficult making friends with most people; after all, I was difficult to deal with. However, looking back, this helped me graduate with solid friends, people who actually cared to know me and love me for me. But I also lost a lot of friends, friends whom I cared deeply for, friends whom I was extremely hurt by when they distanced themselves from me or cut me off completely.
I stopped being outspoken and I guess, along the way, I stopped speaking up about a lot of social causes I strongly believe in. At the time, I called it self-preservation. I was tired and strained; I was losing friends left and right; I was treated as a spectacle rather than a human being, and I was treated as a shield rather than a person with feelings. It was a lot for 20-year-old me.
After graduation, I ended up working with my dad at the family factory. I was the youngest employee, and currently, I am also the only woman among much older men from a completely different generation. I don’t hope to make friends here, so I don’t care how I am perceived beyond my work ethic and performance, yet I still find my feelings about my social views confusing.
Some of them discuss their outdated views comfortably in my presence, yet here I am: The Feminist, The Liberal, The Manhater, sitting quietly while men express how victimised they are in today’s social climate.
I am silent because what’s the point? How many times do I need to speak up before being called difficult again? Once. How many times do I need to speak up before they actually reconsider what they believe? Unknown. Maybe numerous.
I like to believe that I have learnt to choose my battles. I still speak out on social issues I find important to me on social media, but I also ignore people in my DMs arguing about my views and beliefs; views and beliefs about equal rights and equal accountability.
With my mom, part of me believes that there’s a glimmer of hope so I still argue. My mom is open-minded and accepting, but when she speaks, she is still constrained by what society accepts and what it shames. I almost forget that when talking to her. I almost always try to convince her of what I believe. And I almost always have to give up at the end because, no matter how much she seems to agree, she will never admit agreement.
With my dad, it’s not just different; it’s difficult. He tries to keep an open mind, but I don’t think he actually wants to comprehend much beyond what society dictates. Debating with him is fruitless, and the sooner one realises that, the more one’ll protect one’s peace. I realised that, but my younger sister doesn’t seem like she did.
Dad could say the most unhinged thing, and I will fall silent. I wouldn’t agree; I would just stay quiet and let him speak his mind. My sister, on the other hand, would passionately argue with him. Could she truly believe that she can change his mind and views? I admire her, but do I admire her because she still has something I’ve lost, or am I relieved that I no longer have to feel everything this deeply? Her passion; it makes me miss my own.
Sometimes I wonder if I truly am picking my battles or if I’m just too tired to fight them anymore. Maybe I’m no longer passionate about my beliefs, and I refuse to admit that to myself.
Even if I am still passionate and am just picking my battles, I can’t help but feel guilty. Guilty towards my beliefs, and guilty towards the minorities and people I fight for.
Who truly gets to decide what battle to choose? Should it be the people affected or me? Right now it feels like it’s my mental bandwidth and my tiredness deciding. Which isn’t fair to anyone; it’s not reason enough.
Am I still as passionate as my younger sister? Or have I simply learnt to call my exhaustion “choosing my battles”?
