Earthen floors, maybe clay even. Lamplight, flickering but not eerie, casting warm shadows on uneven stone walls, smooth to the touch nevertheless. Inside the room, the lamp makes everything yellow, orange, amber, brown. Its light is bright enough to make the outlines of the objects in the room visible, but not bright enough for individual colours, textures, to be seen clearly. A thin curtain separates this little oasis of light from the rest of the world. Outside, the night hasn't yet surrendered to dawn and the sky and the world shift between shades of blue, as if uncertain whether it's time for light or darkness. There are no trees outside, only bare mountains, rock and stone, but beautiful in a hard way and not inhospitable. Inside, on the cool floor, a cold breeze rippling across the room, I sit cross-legged , covered with some kind of dark, woollen shawl or robe, only my face uncovered as I drink hot, spicy, unfamiliar tea through a small earthen pot. ...
Everybody gets to hear them at some point. Before job interviews and first dates, while writing scholarship essays and before meeting prospective spouses. Just be yourself, darling, they're told. Me; not so much. I get pearls like, "Don't use long words and scare him off", "Don't make fun of anybody", "Maybe you should tone down your bitchy a notch", "Don't be sarcastic and intimidating, you know - don't be all... you ." A quick survey of my immediate social circle reveals that people think I'm loud, abrasive, sarcastic, cynical, overbearing, domineering, high-maintenance, blunt, semi-attractive (despite all this, apparently), not as cool as I think I am, evil, weird, hard-assed novice feminist. If one colleague is to be believed, barely a woman at all*. An overwhelming majority of people also assure me that I shouldn't worry because I will find the right man, all the above points notwithstan...