Freedom and Fashion

Beautiful and Priceless

During April in Thailand, the whole country celebrates a holiday known as “Songkran”. This is a week filled with super soaker guns, pails of water, water hoses, white baby powder, flower petals, and the sound of partying. Everyone throws water and sometimes powder on random bystanders. While walking to a coffee shop, thinking to do some reading, I was met with friendly strangers who threw pails of water on me. They said a blessing in Thai. I did not feel so blessed as I walked into the coffee shop, drenched.

The redeeming moment came during a ceremony that evening. Nightlight was having some reflective sharing time while were washing each other’s feet. This was to symbolize the love and service for one another. I felt excited as some of these women hugged me and put powder on my face. I knew that in about a month I would have to leave back to the States so I made the most of this event and the weeks ahead. I laughed with them, took several silly pictures, tried to joke with them (failed miserably due to my incompetence in speaking Thai), tried to understand their jokes (successful due to their bits of English, and my effort in putting the syntax together), went to the 7-11 (yes they do have those everywhere) and bought some street pomelos and kaow mun gai (chicken and rice). I went into the packaging rooms and heard the stories of beautiful women who had lived lives once entangled in great pain, and the redemption that Nightlight, effort, and love had provided.

Going out to the market places and feeling harassed by the eyes that probed my body, thinking that I too was part of the red light district affair, a deep discomfort set in. I would argue in my mind, “who am I to intrude upon the social and cultural norms of a country? I am an American and therefore should not place my values upon another.” Yet, somewhere residing in my heart it did not feel right. It was not right to witness a 6 year old girl walking around selling various merchandise in order not to be beaten by her mother. It was not right to see girls younger than myself reluctantly holding the hands of married men who were definitely more than twice my age. It was not right walking into an elevator, seeing a half dressed teenager throwing herself onto an older foreigner with this chest exposed. It was not right that I had to hear over and over how many of the girls wanted out of the sex trade yet could not because of the money factor. Some of their parents do not know their children are servicing men for about $30 US dollars. Other parents force them to participate in that trade (of course, mostly out of desperation). People argue that these girls chose to live that lifestyle. If poverty was the evil that suffocated me enough to do whatever it takes in order to bring food to my family, how could I not consider it? This sounds completely ridiculous, but it is not. I did not grow up in dire poverty. I cannot make an assumption that I would never have “degraded” myself so low if I were in their position. When a person is left with no choices, even the twisted “SEX” signs are lighted pathways to financial relief. Therefore, those of us who have not been lied to, tricked, or even voluntarily placed in the trade, should take what we do have and invest it into the lives of those who would otherwise be willing to go to school, take some music lessons, start a business, become a writer, open up a restaurant, go into politics, teach the next generation… and the list of possibilities continues…

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