“Just stay home” was the answer I got as a teenager when ennui set in and I wanted out of the house. I am not talking about going raving or going to sex clubs. I am talking about the mall, the bowling alley, a friend’s house or just to see a flick. But no. Home, for my devout Muslim parents, was a sanctuary where nothing bad could happen.

Those four walls of our suburban Willowdale, Ont. box were meant to shield us girls from the baddies out there, from what the grownups in our extended family called the “3D”: the triple demons of “drinking, dancing and dating” — their very own axis of evil.

My brothers? They roamed free, exploring the unholy 3D at their whim, while my parents looked the other way.

It was oppressive, it was frustrating, it was boring — especially for someone like me, who has a naturally outgoing, inquisitive personality. No surprise: Much to my parent’s fury, rebellion set in.