My name is Fatima Daas. I am the “mazozia,” the youngest daughter, the last one. My father was hoping I would be a boy. I am French, but of Algerian origin. I’m a practicing Muslim. A girl from Clichy who spends more than three hours a day on public transportation. I’m a tourist. A neighborhood girl who observes Parisian behaviors. I’m a liar, a sinner. As a teenager, I was an irregular student. As an adult, I am highly maladapted. I write stories to avoid living my own. I’ve been in therapy for four years. It’s the longest relationship I’ve had. Love was a taboo subject at home, along with expressions of affection and sexuality. I think I’m in favor of polyamory. When Nina came into my life, I had no clue what I needed or what I was missing. My name is Fatima Daas. I’m named after a symbolic character in Islam. It’s a name that can’t be degraded. In my house, to degrade means to dishonor. I don’t know if I’m worthy of my name.