You don't open them.
As I said, I don't decide.
Precisely... Here's something.
A short poem by Omar Khayam.
I'll read it to you.
The blind considered Khayam
to be wise and intelligent.

"The circle we cross reveals not,
"Neither beginning nor end.
"Nothing pronounces the truth:
"From where we come is where we go!
"The Master created all things,
"But why condemn them
to imperfection?

"If their images prove ugly,
whose fault is it?

"And if beautiful,
why seek their ruin?"

You know, I'm just a whore
from Brazil.

I don't understand all you say.
That's why I mentioned my painting.
One can't be above things
and want to transform them.

Let things be as written.
I was transformed. I didn't choose.
That's different.
But you still made a choice.
I'm not sure.
Do you suffer because of
your physique?

That's unimportant.
Not true. That can't be said.
I'm talking about me.
I was from the favela slums.
I always knew my life
would be different from other boys.

But I didn't choose, not even that.
It was there.
It took a lot of work.
It was my own war.
I became a woman, then a whore.
Little boys who become women...
they become whores.