A woman and all the 10,000 women that she is

I have lived for quite a while now, and here is what I have observed under the sun:

Men think offering a woman some options to decide is tantamount to offering freedom, autonomy, and/or power (which are all good, if taken as a form of primacy and privilege). But they are all manly stuff: the exertion of power is inherently manly, the moment to decide is a business often burdened to men, among all other things. What a woman’s desire is a man’s sincerity to understand her seemingly imperceptible mind. Women hate to be torn by a dilemma requiring an important decision. What they simply want is to be understood as if they are a silent painting hung on a wall where men had to stare in awe, understand the little details constituting the whole of the artwork, and wait for it to speak without actually speaking. And in this speaking without actually speaking, the artwork expects itself to be truly subliminally instructive. In the whole of the staring process, women had to reason out to men: “In all of that staring and staring and staring, you should have known by now that my inclinations are this-and-that, because how could you not know such things?”

Ah — women!