To the Latin American woman in Portugal who called me a “bitch”:
Maybe you felt justified. Maybe you were angry.
But before you throw a label on me, know this:
I am Kurdish.
I come from the mountains, from stories written in exile,
from a people erased from borders but never from history.
You, a woman from Latin America —
you should know what it means to carry pain, to carry fire.
You should know what it means to be misunderstood,
and still stand proud.
So why would you, of all people, use a word meant to reduce me?
If I seemed cold or distant,
it’s because I’ve had to guard myself from a world
that never tried to understand who I am.
Not because I am heartless, but because I have been tested.
More than once. More than you’ll ever see.
You called me a bitch.
But you don’t get to define me.
I am Kurdish.
I carry centuries of survival in my bones.
I speak with a voice sharpened by silence.
And I still rise.
If you don’t like me, fine.
But know that I come from a nation you can’t erase with a word.
So next time you speak my name,
remember:
I am not your insult.
I am my ancestors’ roar.