I couldn’t go through with having this baby. I just couldn’t. Even though I knew my own safety was in jeopardy, I acquired two ecstasy...

Despite the façade my dad wore the majority of the time, I’d also seen what was behind the mask. My Grandad used to call him “Jekyll and

| This is the 563rd story of Our Life Logs® | Rat-tat-tat-tat! I yelled. I screamed. I couldn’t move. I was ready to die. I am originally...

I remember washing my armpits in the sink of the bathroom at work, layering on the deodorant, all while hoping nobody would notice the...

In that moment, my body was no longer mine; I couldn’t move or speak. He didn’t speak either. The only sound was his heavy breathing...

My mother had what some would call a “dirty” pregnancy, meaning my parents weren’t together and my father wasn’t in the picture...

In this moment, I find myself looking back on a road that almost broke me and amazed that I’m still standing...

As I begin to tell you my story, please know that it is painful. Even so, I wish to do so for all the victims out there so that...

As the baby of the family, I was the apple of everyone’s eye. My dad was a businessperson who worked at a supermarket...

I remember the fear in my mother’s eyes...I remember the pounding of my heart. It was the first night my father came home drunk...

Growing up, I saw thousands of faces in my town. I was born in Kasur, Punjab, in Pakistan. Kasur is a very small city...

The first 15 years of my life was bliss. I was born in the city of Abeokuta, Nigeria, in 2000, as an only child to my parents...

I’ve often wondered what drove me to have those wicked thoughts of wanting to commit suicide. Did I, in fact, have a mental illness?...

You never think it’s going to be you until it is. And then it is...

But what I wish I didn’t remember— what I wish I forgot so completely—was my father’s drinking. My father’s hands as they beat me...

My wheels are a chariot to freedom rather than a temporary crutch to prop me up from the harsh aspects of society...

For as long as I can remember, it was always a constant battle for survival...hunger was our close friend...

My childhood was not sweet, to say the least. Instead of love and security, it was filled with mockery and humiliation...

My story began before I was even born, when the traditional values of the Pakistani culture sunk into the hearts and minds of my parents...

...Lagos, Nigeria, a sparsely over-populated city with a mix of lifestyles and cultures. It was like the America of Nigeria...