me, and offered me a job which I hastily accepted.
My aching fingers twirled around the silk and cotton, spinning the loom continuously. The
vision of my grandmother gave me hope. Suddenly my fingers slipped, and the delicate fabric
tore. The head weaver ran towards me beating his stick and shouting. “Get out! Get out!” I walked
away from his workshop discouraged, feeling alone and rejected. How would I break it to my
grandmother?
That night, as I walked through the desert to our yurt, I felt its vastness. As I approached the
yurt, darkness was all around me, but the familiar sounds and smells filled me with longing. I
could feel the stars peeping through, and I remembered mother telling me about how father used
to point to his father in the night sky. Maybe I was not so alone after all.
Index
Tögrög: The official currency of Mongolia.
Khor: A cylindrical prayer wheel (Tibetan:
འཁོར་
, Wylie: ‘khor) on a spindle made from metal,
wood, stone, leather or coarse cotton.
