From the grey and pink uniforms to lining up to sing the school anthem in the courtyard to being checked for short nails and tied hair, “AlRawabi School for Girls” threw me into a nostalgic spiral for a time I had subconsciously pushed into the very back of my mind. The rose-colored glasses, however, came off sooner than I expected.

The Netflix original series, the second to be based in Jordan, centers the struggles faced by young girls attending a prestigious school in the city’s capital, Amman, prompted by a case of severe bullying and physical abuse. The social circles that dictated high school translate onto camera seamlessly, following the trope of the popular mean girl, Layan and her followers, Rania and Roqayya, bullying the nerd, Mariam, her friend, Dina and the outcast, Nouf.

The plot conveys the realities of the high school experience in Amman in a way that resonated heavily with me. In my experience, bullying started in middle school, with snarky comments frequently covered up as banter. Slurs for homosexuality were used casually. I was told to “make a sandwich” time and time again to instigate a reaction and “locker room talk” happened out in the open. As I binged one episode after the other, I realized how deeply these familiar comments were rooted in gendered social expectations: the tomboy insult, the fatphobic comments, the homophobia … The list unfortunately goes on.

It is safe to say that this is the first time that I have seen a realistic representation of Amman’s youth. I am left wishing that my fourteen-year-old self had access to this form of representation: to feel heard, to feel seen, to feel voiced. The majority female cast allowed for taboo topics to be powerfully discussed. Bullying was a launching pad for more to be explored, including mental health, nepoitism, sexual harassment and honor killings that plague Jordan’s communities. It is about time.

The mark was, however, missed at specific points in the limited series. Some scenes were overly dramatized. For example, the horrendous reaction of laughter and snickering to Dina’s period stain was beyond unrealistic, particularly at an all-girls school. Consequently, authenticity was lost. Tension was built sporadically at best.

Not to mention, character development felt rushed, the entire series being crammed into six episodes. The plot twist of Layan and Mariam switching roles, with Mariam driven by revenge, was shocking and definitely hooked the viewers, but the progression leading up to it was inadequate. For one, Layan’s newfound sympathy for Nouf midway through the series didn’t match the snobby character that viewers had seen so far. On the flipside, it was not believable that Mariam lost the sympathy that the show opened with in such a short period of time. Girls may not always support girls, but it is in these societies that they understand the consequences of their actions more than usual.

In the final scene, I did not believe that Mariam would pull the metaphorical trigger, knowing that a real trigger could be, and was, pulled. The feeling of frustration at the end of the series mimicked the ending of the first episode, where tension was left unresolved leaving viewers with a punch in the gut. However, the lack of realism in doing so meant that the impact was severely reduced.

The open ending makes up for this fact ever so slightly, as does the symbolism and beauty in the cinematography of the series. Layan’s death is only alluded to, but the power in the final clip leaves you holding your breath. In the center, her uniform hangs on a drying rack and in the backdrop, trees and desert, representing the innocence stripped of young girls subjected to the violence perpetuated by patriarchal values and the abandonment of society to these pressing issues, respectively. A gunshot, silence and a young girl's school uniform. That is how the show closes.

“AlRawabi School for Girls” comments on the female experience in a patriarchal society chained by notions of reputation and shame leading to painful and permanent consequences. At the end of the day, no one wins. 17 women died in 2020 in Jordan at the hands of male family members. There is no closure or explanation. Women almost always lose.

If I’m being honest, glossing over the five years I spent attending highschool in Amman was a conscious decision. Memories of a city I love and a place I call home are constantly tainted by the judgement that comes with gendered social constructs, whether that may be from students, family or complete strangers on the street. Jordanians and other similar societies must look introspectively at the harmful customs and beliefs that they so strongly hold onto.