inside. I saw an old, ripped leather-bound book that was nearly falling apart. I saw the words ‘My
Diary’ scrawled in messy handwriting. A part of me wanted to put it back in the sand and not look
at such an important and personal thing but a bigger part of me wanted to look inside, maybe just
flick through the pages and have a little peek. I carefully peeled the age-worn tissue back and
opened it. As soon as I had peeked at the first page, I could not take my eyes off the page. My eyes
were glued to the page. This is what it said :
Tonight is the night of my sister’s wedding. She’s only 9 but she has to be married off because
our dad says that we don’t have enough to take care of her and that her new husband will look
after her. The wedding will take place in the middle of the desert. I don’t know which one. She is
being dressed now in a beautiful, red deel with golden patterns of dragons with a matching sash
not only for good looks, but for more comfort for then ride on donkey to the desert.She wore a
large headdress with which was decorated with numerous bits of coral and turquoise. Her hair was
parted with the help of several bamboo pins. Her hairstyle was meant to mimic cow horns. Mama
used to say that to mongols, cows are meant to symbolise a free and nomadic life.
I wonder why they are doing that hairstyle because she is being forced to marry some
unknown person. I don’t even know why they have to force her to marry him. Papa says that it’s
because it’s a mongolian tradition and that they had wanted to join their families. But, personally,
I think they shouldn’t make children marry somebody just because they want their families to be
together Bolormaa , my older sister saw then looks on my face.
Bolormaa sighs as she looks at herself in the mirror. She looks wonderful, unlike me. I have a
red birthmark that covers one half of my face like I was finger painting with blood red paint and
forgot to wash it off and touched the side of my face.
“Papa says that this marriage will be a new beginning for me, but I don’t know. I have heard
of many, many girls burning themselves because of their arranged marriages, Bayarmaa, and I
am unsure of what to think of it. I can imagine how proud mama would be if she were alive but
maybe I’m just not ready.”said Bolormaa, carefully choosing her words.
I nodded. Together, we sit in silence, each of us remembering the beautiful times when mama
was alive.
“Bolormaa, I think you have to put on some more blush “, called the makeup lady, breaking
the peaceful memories of our mama’s enveloping hugs where we would lose all our cares.
I was starting to feel a little tired as everybody prepared Bolormaa for her big day so I took
a nap before the wedding. I awoken to the sound of loud cheering. I found makeup all over my
face, covering my red birthmark that covered on whole side of my face. I felt a stiffness in my
hair and, as I reached up to touch it, I realised that I too had a strange horn hairstyle. But only the
brides wore horn hairstyles. I looked around, taking in my surroundings.The wedding had already
started and I found my father carrying me through the crowd. Like my sister, I too was dressed in
colorful silk. I looked like a mini version of her. People all around us were cheering for my sister
and me. I knew why they were cheering my sister but why me ?
“Bayarmaa, be a joyful mother, just like your mama always was “,whispered my father as
he hoisted me up onto the platform. I saw a young boy, about 8 years old, on the platform with
my sister and her groom. Suddenly, everything made sense. I was the bride and the young boy
was the groom. He didn’t seem to be happy either. My sister looked at me and gave me a look
that told me that she knew how I felt. She had never met her groom before and was looking quite
uncomfortable as he put his arms around her. I just stared at my feet.
