Created to a house where women had been only seen as tools to delivery children, I was already in my twenties. I was standing on the crossroads associated with life. At my fingertips were near to fifty photos of different men. These were the marriage partner candidates my father got prepared. Those who took the effort and volunteered because they wanted their company, and those that were recommended in order to strengthen our ties with other businesses. There were various reasons, but I had been to marry one, and develop a child. That was my reason for life in this house. I don’t think I could love another. I wonder just how everyone believes in something therefore shapeless as love. It was just a marvel to me. That I couldn’t make a move any standard person could should be because I was a person who was by no means properly loved. I put a rest on the countless unanswered questions I actually held since my birth, plus stared down at the photos about me. That I chose him has been truly a coincidence.
