The woman sat up straight by the window sill looking down at the wet city and pouring rain below her. She watched carefully the cars that roamed by and the kids crossing the streets gripping their mother’s hands. She saw the innocent faces of the small girls that had a few more years to live freely. To be themselves without having to worry about pleasing others. Girls who could commit mistakes and not be brutally marked by them for the rest of their lives.
Her skirt reached all the way to her ankles with a traditional flower print and her white blouse covered her skin up to her neck bones. Her dark heavy hair was tied up in a perfect bun. All of her movements were delicate and slow, showing gossamer and subtleness. However, a shadow of despondent casted upon her and had very dearly attached to her soul. It had become her daily companion in her lonely life.
From the young age of five she has been taught by her mother how to be the perfect wife. To not speak if not asked to or to not give her opinion is not asked for. To be a great cook and to have a clean house. To greet her husband joyfully when he comes back from work. All of this wouldn’t have been so hard if she could only have a life or her own.
A woman who is deprived from independence is no woman at all. She couldn’t leave the house by herself nor go out for a walk. She couldn’t see the few other people she knew outside her prison unless a man stood by her side. Slowly, as any other woman in this situation, she fell into a deep depression. It became a battle for her to stand up straight and to keep her chin high. Her bony fingers would tremble when she made tea. Even placing the herbs on the Gai Wan without her weakness being noticed was a