I used to ask, “What is the purpose of educating young girls? What are they good for? Why would I ever want a daughter...

Each time we visited the hospital with the fear that this would be the time, the moment life would leave my father...

To me, my father, my so-called “hero,” single-handedly ruined my life and my family, all over a personal dispute...

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...

As a young girl, my purpose was as fickle as the wind, but my hope was firm. I wanted to be as loved and as encouraging as I knew my dad...