A normal gathering in a closed area; a group of friends, a bunch of memories and the ceremony which is about to begin. There is no music to perk up, no drink to cheer up and we serve each other only with memories.The recipe serves four people and the stories are all about yesterday.Sitting in the corner, listing to the others, I drew slowly into a trap of time. I seethe lips spoke, but I can’t hear what they are saying. Then, the faces start to becovered with cropped photos from the same stories on the table. No matter ifthey are trying to hide something or prevent from being seen, the message is sofamiliar and clear for me; To be seen in the public opened field of presence isforbidden for the girls in my society.
