Screaming Silence

Option four: Child Abuse. 1

Disclaimer: This story is based upon the real life events of my best friend's mother, a Chinese woman raised in China and forced into prostitution in Thailand. 2

Names have been changed to protect privacy.* 3

Thank you for reading, your comments will be valued. 4

'If we don't stand up for children, then we don't stand for much.' --
Marian Wright Edelman 5

I watched the rain fall, every raindrop falling after the other, like pearls falling from the sky. The cold, harsh wind blew against my face, sending shivers down my spine. My naked body lay helplessly under a man, a man I had never seen before. Little by little, I died inside, only to be revived the next night, and killed again. 6

As a child, I grew up in Shanghai. I used to run through the fields of wheat, laughing mischievously as the sound of the farmers’ bellowing reached my ears, which was then accompanied by small piece of grain which they pelted me with in the hope that that would teach me to stay away from their fields. But being the impish little girl I was, I continued to pester them until they gave up and waved the white flag in defeat. I feel sorry now to have caused them the trouble I did, though I must admit, it used to be the most fun thing I ever did. 7

I used to live in a small cottage near the yellow fields. There was very little or often absolutely nothing to do except to run around in the fields, sit under the large maple tree and enjoy some delectable fruit while watching the clouds roll overhead in the azure sky. Everything in Shanghai moved at a snail's pace. In fact, the old men made snails look like cheetahs. I always used to snatch away apples from Old Granny's orchard, only to make her run a mile after me, then return them later at night. I realize now that it was a cruel thing to do, but you can't blame me for living in a place like Shanghai with nothing but human antiques for company. 8

Every day, I would go with my grandparents to watch the sunrise, and return home at sunset. I knew nothing of my parents or why they did not live with me. I did not even know if they were alive or not. But I never complained. I found happiness living with my grandparents until one tragic day, when they left me behind and went to live in the sky, forever. Whenever I missed them, which I still do, I used to look at the stars at night and the two stars that shone brightest above my head were most definitely them, I am sure of it. I had nothing, but I was content with my life. We humans never find happiness. We choose to spend our entire lives trying to,but we never do. Our happiness is always short term; it lasts for a little while before it is replaced by another feeling. We never try to find contentment, the only thing which keeps us going. It has nothing to do with mediocrity. Contentment means being happy with what little you have, and not whining about it all the time. It also means working hard for the better, but not pushing yourself too hard or forgetting those whom you care about when ambition takes over. 9

I was lonely, but I was content. All was well until my uncle moved into the house. He lived with me for quite some time, beating me occasionally as he came home drunk. The elderly people of the village used to hate him for this, and I often stayed outside the house to escape abuse. One day, he took away my innocence. He took away what made me a child. He took away the only thing I tried to preserve, my modesty. He came home late that night, by which time I was already asleep. He knocked on my door like thunder, and I woke up abruptly, quickly rubbing the sand from my eyes and preparing myself for the beating that was due. ‘I am hungry,’ he said. I looked at him and spoke in a tiny voice, ‘There is no food.’ I said. He had spent all the money we had. After this, he looked at me for a while and then smiled wickedly. That was the first time he had smiled at me, so I was a bit blank. Not knowing how to react, I asked him if I could go back to bed. However, before I could even reply, he started undressing. I covered my eyes, horrified as to why he was doing this. He came close to me and undressed me, throwing me onto the floor. It was then and there that he raped me. 10

The very next morning, I was sent to Thailand with some strange, shady characters. They gave me clothes and food, and treated me with kindness. I was taken to a place with lots of women, which I realized later, was a brothel. Later I was told by one of the women there, that Thailand was one of the world’s major women trafficking countries. At the time I was taken to that brothel, I was 10 years of age. Night after night, I was raped and beaten, until my will died completely. The women were kind to me, and they let me cry in front of them sometimes, when the pain felt too much to be controlled. I had accepted the fact that I could never get out of the hell I lived in, so I quietly embraced my fate. 11

I was no better than a corpse by the time I was fourteen. However one morning, it all changed. I found out that I was pregnant. I was told to abort the child, but I refused to do so. The master of the brothel had some mercy on me, and told me I could keep the baby. After nine months of agonizing pain, God sent a present to me in the form of a little boy, Iris* who filled me up with life. I held him up in my arms, and held him tight against my chest. My foster sister breast-fed him, as I myself was incapable of doing so, still being a teenager. By far, Iris was the best thing that happened to me. I slept with more and more men, until I became the most well known prostitute in all of Nonthaburi. With the money I earned, I educated Iris in the British ‘O’ & ‘A’ level system. Soon he received a scholarship, at the university of Hong Kong, and he now studies there as a sophomore student. 12

I tried my best to save my child from the life I had. I asked for no sympathy, nor did I hesitate in telling my story, for I was forced into a crime, a life, that I had not chosen for myself. Do not let another child suffer what I did. Do not take away their innocence from them. Do not kill them, like you killed me. 13

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Every day, millions of children are abused. I wrote this story for Iris’s mother, purely out of respect for her. I believe that I have contributed somehow, by spreading her word. Children are angels. They are pure. We must stand firm against those who harm them. Being a victim of child abuse, I can say that it is a horrible experience to have lived through. We must act now. The eyes of the world are upon us. 15