Born to a house where women were only seen as tools to birth children, I was already in my twenties. I was standing on the crossroads of life. At my fingertips were close to fifty photos of different men. They were the marriage partner candidates my father had prepared. Those who took the initiative and volunteered because they wanted his company, and those that were recommended to strengthen our ties with other companies. There were various reasons, but I was to marry one, and build up a child. That was my reason for existence in this house. I don’t think I can love another. I wonder how everyone believes in something so shapeless as love. It was only a marvel to me. That I couldn’t do something any standard person could must be because I was a person who was never properly loved.