I could only learn how

women felt if I did what they did； ate what they ate； said what they said；

imitated their behavior and； yes； only if I wore their clothes。 Therefore； one

Friday； when my mother； father； older brother and aunt went to my

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grandfather’s rose garden on the shores of the Fahreng； I told them I was

feeling　ill　and　stayed　at　home。

“e along。 Look； you’ll entertain us by mimicking the dogs； trees and

horses in the country。 What’ll you do here all alone； anyway？” said my

mother；　may　she　rest　in　peace。

“I’m　going　to　put　on　your　dresses　and　bee　a　woman；　dear　mother；”　was

an　impossible　answer。　So　I　said；　“My　stomach　hurts。”

“Don’t　be　such　a　coward；”　said　my　father。　“e　along　and　we’ll　wrestle。”

I shall now describe to you； my painter and calligrapher brethren； exactly

what I felt once they’d left and I donned the underclothes and dresses

belonging　to　my　now　dearly　departed　mother　and　aunt；　as　well　as　the　secrets　I

learned that day about being a woman。 Let me first state forthright that

contrary　to　what　we’ve　often　read　in　books　and　heard　from　preachers；　when

you　are　a　woman；　you　don’t　feel　like　the　Devil。

Not at all！ When I pulled on my mother’s rose…embroidered wool

underclothes；　a　gentle　sense　of　well…being　spread　over　me　and　I　felt　as　sensitive

as　she。　The　touch　against　my　bare　skin　of　my　aunt’s　pistachio…green　silk　shirt；

which she could never bring herself to wear； made me feel an irrepressible

affection toward all children； including myself。 I wanted to