Nights

Heads-Up:  The following is a more mature post about prostitution in SE Asia, potentially inappropriate for younger readers. The girl in the story moved to the city to work in the bars, of her own accord {not being forcibly trafficked}.  She was born into a world of poverty, little education, and a culture that in many ways readily accepts prostitution as a lucrative means of income.  In some ways, you could ask if she had much of a choice, after all.

We both get ready for a night on the town.

I lean over the dresser and brush on mascara, while telling my kids to clean their rooms before the sitter comes.  I straighten my hair for the first time in a week, and I squeeze into that cute strappy-top and those jeans that are just a tish too small but do wonders for my back end– at least that’s what he jokingly tells me.

She peers into the mirror and swipes on lipstick–bright red because it makes her look older, at least the 18 she claims.  The girls crowd for mirror-space and chatter about makeup and last nights and family, back in the villages.  She curls her hair, like every night since she came to the city, and zips up that tight dress, which makes her look sexier– at least that what he’s told her before.

I kiss kids and then ride in the front seat beside a husband that’s put on cologne for me.  We linger over candles at dinner and treat ourselves to coffees afterwards.  We hold hands beside the plates, and brush feet under the table, and think of the Romance to come.

She dances on stage and scans the evening crowd–trying to catch an approving eye, an interested gentleman. She locks eyes with a European, 50′s she thinks, dressed in baggy shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt stretched over a beer-belly.  She watches as he motions for her to be brought to the table.  She’s number 14, the card pinned to her chest.  She sits beside him and rubs his leg and thinks of the night to come.

And I walk through my night as one born into wealth and education and opportunity.  I enjoy my date night as a woman whose husband fights for her happiness.

And she walks through hers born into poverty and survival and the pressure to provide.  She lives her nights as a woman whose parents expect money at the end of the month.

And my people look at her and say, “She always has a choice.  How could she choose that?”

And her people look at me and say, “I can not imagine that life.  How could she ever complain?”

And the night ends.

And I curl up beside a husband that protects me, thankful for my tomorrow with happy kids and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, again.

And she slips away from the sleeping stranger, glad she made quota for the night, thankful for the food that will be on her family’s table, back home.

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The above was inspired by a precious young prostitute we recently met.  Her name is Ariel*.  She says she’s 18, and she works to provide for her family in a remote village in SE Asia.  She is one of over 2 million men, women and children in the sex industry in SE Asia. Pray for them, would you?

*name and some details changed to protect privacy, reposted from the archives

Tagged as: grace, prostitution, sex industry, social justice, thailand