the world is a broken place. and the lives we live are very padded in comparison to what many people experience everyday all around the world.
we are unaware of the world around us.
right now though i feel acutely aware of how broken the world is. and i honestly wish i could be an arrogant individual, completely unaware of the world and problems people face, living in my comfortable middle class padded American life. but i can't.
what is a harder truth to accept than the fact that we are unaware of how broken the world is, is one i literally met face to face today, the truth of prostitution.
today i sat in a brothel. i sat across from 9 women around my age, who sell their bodies to whoever will pay the fee. i drank cola with them as if i was spending time with anyone. i asked them their name, where they were from and how old they were. i conversed with them as if their occupation is no different mine.
but the truth is that their profession- their way of life. the only way they know how to make money to support their relatives at home. the lies of a "business career" they have- is very different than mine.
today i sat in a brothel. i sat across from 9 women. i drank cola with them. i asked them how long they had been in prostitution. i asked them how many men they have as clients during the day&night. i learned their hours were 11am-1am. i conversed with them as men began to accumulate in the courtyard and look in through the barred window at us as if we were animals on display, picking which "one", girl, he would like.
today i sat on a couch in a brothel with the brothel owner, a woman, sitting on the arm of the couch next to me, patting me on the back, smiling at me. i sat there hating this women, but i found myself praying for compassion for her. i sat there angry at her for allowing this whole production to occur. feeling as if i could throw up over the way she could continue to sell these women as if they are nothing, as she herself is a woman. but even in my absolute disgust i knew this woman needed to be loved as well. that my hatred of her would change nothing.
this is a truth. a hard truth that i faced today, but so many women face this each and every day of their lives. this is their profession. their way of life. the only thing they know. i wish i could express the emotion i feel, but i don't feel anything right now. right now i feel hollow. i feel hopeless, helpless. i don't know what to feel because i do not know what emotion is going to make a difference. Crying wont solve anything. anger and hatred won't matter.
i feel hollow, like the women feel. hollow for the lack of love or joy they experience or receive. they are simply used; not even seen or thought of as people that would deserve such emotions. something that should be special and shared with those you love, something that is cherished by so many is given at such a small price. they are hollow- without even knowing it.
this hollow sickens me.
as i keep repeating my day and every interaction i had with these women i think of the word mukta- the name of the organization we worked with, which works to provide health education and screenings for these women. mukta means freedom. but these women are not free. and the organization is not providing them with freedom. freedom would for these women to feel loved, for them to understand that they deserve to be truly loved, appreciated. for them to experience joy. for them to live a life where their profession did not consist of prostitution. where they are defined by and find worth in something besides their body. these women do not experience any of these things. they are used as if they are objects, not human beings capable of, and deserving of such powerful emotions. and again i feel hollow.
i feel hollow over how as i reflect on my day and mukta, i am brought back to the car ride home. with the window of the car rolled down, the cool, stuffy, dirty indian air hitting my face, and the laughter my team shares over some stupid comment or face one of us makes as we leisurely eat bananas. that is freedom. we have freedom. but what makes my inside hurt as i think of this picture of us in the car is the way all of us were stuffing the truths of what we saw deep down inside us. avoiding the it. avoiding the brokenness of the world that we had seen and experienced...
we have freedom. we have mukta. mukta to feel- to feel happy, sad, joy, pain, love, anger, desire and even hollow. we have mukta to be whoever we want, whatever we want and whenever we want. we have mukta to choose to make a difference or live our padded lives unaware of the brokenness of the world.
the world is a broken place. but there is mukta.
we are unaware of the world around us.
right now though i feel acutely aware of how broken the world is. and i honestly wish i could be an arrogant individual, completely unaware of the world and problems people face, living in my comfortable middle class padded American life. but i can't.
what is a harder truth to accept than the fact that we are unaware of how broken the world is, is one i literally met face to face today, the truth of prostitution.
today i sat in a brothel. i sat across from 9 women around my age, who sell their bodies to whoever will pay the fee. i drank cola with them as if i was spending time with anyone. i asked them their name, where they were from and how old they were. i conversed with them as if their occupation is no different mine.
but the truth is that their profession- their way of life. the only way they know how to make money to support their relatives at home. the lies of a "business career" they have- is very different than mine.
today i sat in a brothel. i sat across from 9 women. i drank cola with them. i asked them how long they had been in prostitution. i asked them how many men they have as clients during the day&night. i learned their hours were 11am-1am. i conversed with them as men began to accumulate in the courtyard and look in through the barred window at us as if we were animals on display, picking which "one", girl, he would like.
today i sat on a couch in a brothel with the brothel owner, a woman, sitting on the arm of the couch next to me, patting me on the back, smiling at me. i sat there hating this women, but i found myself praying for compassion for her. i sat there angry at her for allowing this whole production to occur. feeling as if i could throw up over the way she could continue to sell these women as if they are nothing, as she herself is a woman. but even in my absolute disgust i knew this woman needed to be loved as well. that my hatred of her would change nothing.
this is a truth. a hard truth that i faced today, but so many women face this each and every day of their lives. this is their profession. their way of life. the only thing they know. i wish i could express the emotion i feel, but i don't feel anything right now. right now i feel hollow. i feel hopeless, helpless. i don't know what to feel because i do not know what emotion is going to make a difference. Crying wont solve anything. anger and hatred won't matter.
i feel hollow, like the women feel. hollow for the lack of love or joy they experience or receive. they are simply used; not even seen or thought of as people that would deserve such emotions. something that should be special and shared with those you love, something that is cherished by so many is given at such a small price. they are hollow- without even knowing it.
this hollow sickens me.
as i keep repeating my day and every interaction i had with these women i think of the word mukta- the name of the organization we worked with, which works to provide health education and screenings for these women. mukta means freedom. but these women are not free. and the organization is not providing them with freedom. freedom would for these women to feel loved, for them to understand that they deserve to be truly loved, appreciated. for them to experience joy. for them to live a life where their profession did not consist of prostitution. where they are defined by and find worth in something besides their body. these women do not experience any of these things. they are used as if they are objects, not human beings capable of, and deserving of such powerful emotions. and again i feel hollow.
i feel hollow over how as i reflect on my day and mukta, i am brought back to the car ride home. with the window of the car rolled down, the cool, stuffy, dirty indian air hitting my face, and the laughter my team shares over some stupid comment or face one of us makes as we leisurely eat bananas. that is freedom. we have freedom. but what makes my inside hurt as i think of this picture of us in the car is the way all of us were stuffing the truths of what we saw deep down inside us. avoiding the it. avoiding the brokenness of the world that we had seen and experienced...
we have freedom. we have mukta. mukta to feel- to feel happy, sad, joy, pain, love, anger, desire and even hollow. we have mukta to be whoever we want, whatever we want and whenever we want. we have mukta to choose to make a difference or live our padded lives unaware of the brokenness of the world.
the world is a broken place. but there is mukta.
Ugh, Courtney. Thanks for taking the time to write all of that out. I will be praying for God to show you what He's doing there--and for you to sort out your feelings (or lack of) and what you're learning. Maybe the hollowness is just a hole that's been dug inside you and there's only a tiny seed of something there that will grow into a larger purpose. Just maybe.
ReplyDeleteNow I need to look around and see if you have some other posts because I only knew your blog was here because Autumn posted the link on fb.
--Kelly McCulley
Keep sharing the TRUTH and brokenness, as only then will LIGHT be shed on the ugly, the dark and the lonely...so proud of you sharing this, praying about this and most of all, caring about this instead of forgetting.
ReplyDelete