“Oh … well the Kulebyaka is a pie with many layers, the most important one is salmon. It’s a Russian dish and I heard it’s a favorite of Prince Philip. The Sarma is a Balkan dish. I say Balcan of course because it’s unknown in which country it originated and they all call it their own. But it’s meat sometimes mixed with some rice rolled in a sour cabbage and cooked in the shredded leftover cabbage. Zefir is a sweet and I heard it’s a lot like marshmallows. I could also make some tea considering Russians love their tea.”
*“Of Course I can” said the boy. That was the problem. He, like all men, can have his secrets, but me? I keep everything a secret. Especially since what happened to me. Considering the fact I wasn’t concious for most of the time since then the wound is still very fresh to me and I could never trust another person again. I don’t know if I would even trust my mother again if she came back to life and asked me some personal things that I would’ve shared with her in the olden days. However it would be good to say something to him, but I know it would haunt me alive to know that some information about me was out there, espeically if it was put out there by myself. This dillema is killing me, I wish to speak but don’t wish to be heard. And then I remembered. I could say something personal about myself withouth him knowing what it is and thus I could become less quilty and tired of keeping everything a secret for my own protection. “Ni utebbibassu! Sunu Izzakkara Abum Alal! Sunu Izzakkara Ni Kima Abum! Ni Ul Kima Abum, Ni Kima Ummum! Namlugallu Sarru! Ni Gur, Ma Ul Lemnu, Ma Damiq! Namlugallu Ul Arammu Men!” I smugly said “That is why I don’t trust in men.” Knowing full well he caught none of that.