Born in the depths of Northern Thailand. A tiny village resembling that of the jungle book. A bamboo hut with dirt floors and a rice pot as interior design. This is the luxuries of the third world. Trees and vines stretch hundreds of miles into exposed forest having no contact but a single lane dirt road that makes nature paths look like highways. The jungle grows around and through the road acting a wall, protecting these true people from the modern world. In this world lives a girl, a daughter, a sister, a future wife beyond freewill.
She is beyond beauty. Beauty western girls long for, and never reach. A beauty that no tank top or low cut jeans can add to, she looks best in rags. But she is cursed, and her looks are her disease. Wishing only that beauty could instead be strength. Maybe then she could stay with her family that abandoned her. But she has not choice, no choice but to leave. She is on a leash made of money that will feed the people she loves. When she leaves it is no trip. She might not ever be able to return and stare into the eyes of her former family. And as I, sit on my padded seat watching movies on giant airplanes I only complain, because you see, I wanted first class. That is my starvation that cannot be satisfied. As I sit in a vehicle she does not know exist, I give not the slightest thought or care for her. I travel thousands of miles to visit her home, and she is traveling as well. In overcrowded pick-up truck rattling over societies annually crossed Bataan death march.
The truck is filled with young girls, my age, younger: from neighboring villages, and all have the same purpose. Working in the City of Bangkok. Innocent and terrified high school girls must comfort innocent and petrified middle school girls, who have never once opened a textbook. As the pick-up hits paved road she feels it. Rich sweet air of third world pollution. The dense smog kisses the tops of skyscrapers that have demolished eyesight of her beautiful home. And she knows she is no tourist. No, not like me. She has come to work, and once darkness hits the city, she is driven to bar after bar. A piece of meat which is scanned like a bar code by countless eyes, all who cannot pay for her beauty. A job fair, the less attractive girls are picked up in these neighborhoods and once stationed here they are given very little chance to leave. For now her looks keep her innocent. They travel upscale leaving brothels and traveling to massage parlors. Still too expensive, but now only 3 out of the 20 girls are in the truck.
As massage parlors vanish, foreign bars enter view. The driver pulls up to an American bar where an older Thai woman flags them down. The older woman approaches and eyes the girls. Examining their bodies it is a bargain hunt. The older woman smiles, and hands the pick-up driver a bag of money. He drives away with the two other girls and the girl's fate has been decided. She enters the bar and knows no English as men swarm over her, but she is rushed to the back. For at this kind of bar, virginity is too a commodity, something no drunk businessman can afford before he catches his 7am flight . My planes lands in the city of Bangkok. A garden of skyscrapers and run-down buildings. Glass-broken windows, caused not by restless teenagers but the rocks of time and empty wallets. The city inhales and exhales smoke of factory shaped cigarettes, and the air quickly surrounds my body with third world breath. Beautiful to me. My eyes turn to mirrors as I look up dodging through grey clouds trying to catch a glimpse of the sun, which returns the favor by sending triple digit heat directly to me. During the days I feel like a tourist.
Sightseeing makes me lose sight with the people around me. And the heat brings out my inner American. As though the sweat beads sliding down my face like an Asian made slip and slid are persuading me to buy a Pepsi. I give in and approach a local woman with a cooler around her neck. I take a sip and cannot finish I offer my drink to a Thai boy and he takes a sip and smiles. And as the clock pushes its way in to the fading sun, I feel more at home. When darkness hits, we embark onto the nightlife. A city inside itself. Hitting bar after bar opening a new beer at each, the dizziness of the alcohol and combination of lights resembling a third world Vegas take over to create a new euphoria. But we have no intentions of being frat party wasted, but each unpronounceable bar name, makes the walk to the next a little harder. My friends keep going, but I have to stop. I tell them to meet me back here and they push on. I sit down at the bar and have my ritual beer. As they walk past I notice the magnitude of women around me. A bar with alternative services I quickly notice. I sit there and occasionally ward off sexual gestures. Through my half empty beer bottle I spot a man sitting alone.
An older man about 65, I can tell he’s American; by the way he sits and drinks, slumping into his seat with an unearned ego, taking pride in watching Thai girls lifetimes younger dancing on a pole for him. He calls over the older Thai lady and whispers something in her ear. The older woman runs to the back brushing my shoulder on the way back asking if I need another beer or girl, I shake my head no. I continue to eye this man, and we eventually make eye-contact. He gives me a passive nod as though his head can somehow regain the respect I have lost for him.
But who am I to judge? Because I am the other pair of eyes in this sexual temple. The older lady comes back in the room with a much younger girl following her. She keeps her head down and is dragged forward, not physically but emotionally pulled to her new life. I look at her and spill my beer on my lap. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. The old man’s eyes widen in excitement.
She looks about 17, takes a quick look at this man and gives a fake smile, and resentment hits her so deep, she uses all her strength to ward off tears. I cannot take my eyes off this girl, and I find myself starring. She is yanked to this man, as she reaches him he grabs her, pulls her in and she doesn't resist. She can’t. He touched her thighs solely moving up, she squirms but, he won't stop. She acts like she likes it. I tell myself “this girl is not ready”. But I stay seated I cannot do anything it is their culture, not mine. I think that's just an excuse. I contemplate “buying her” to save her, maybe she can keep her innocence one night longer.
We could run away, back to the jungles of Thailand, meet her family, never return, but instead I stay seated. I watch her as she is stolen from the bar, she turns her head and looks at me as she walks out. As the door closes I feel terrible, as dirty as this old man. Because I failed to act. I had the choice to save her and I didn’t. My anxiety builds with every second they’re gone. 15 painful minutes later they return. I look at her face and she is on the verge of tears, but she doesn’t dream of crying. She quickly walks away from him and he is too used up to follow. On her near run to the back room she looks at me again. I smile, but not a sexual smile. A forced smile, as my mouth barely opens I look down. She does the same.
She slowly begins walking towards. She sits next to me, not as a prostitute but as a very shy 17 year old girl. She lifts her eyes to meet mine and lifts her lips asking me if I would like anything, but before she asks I shake my head, as I couldn't ask anything from someone so broken. And we both just sit, in a bar in Thailand, both far from home.
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