i always write later. rather than disclose what's on my mind and heart soon after i've thought and felt them, i always sit on it...for a long time usually...and write later. it feels a little "safer" that way.
right now however, i'm writing just after finishing an article on the sex trade in cambodia. i've figured out that there are two things in this world that i know little about, yet feel very strongly about...adoption and forced prostitution. the first can be a positive thing, depending on the angle. the second is lurid, sordid, and cruel...from every angle. words seem inept at describing what one feels after reading stories of girls...some as young as six...forced to endure being raped as much as 30 times a day. and no matter what whirlwind of emotions it evokes in the reader, you know it's nothing compared to the whirlwind of emotions, questions and muted cries of the girls featured in these stories.
it's easy for me to feel a sense of compassion...after all, i'm not there. i'm far away from that mess...i'm safe in my upscale american apt. but yet, it is not easy to sit here, the article on the desk beside me, the photo of a 17 year old prostitute gazing back at me. i am all too comfortable...am accustomed to all too many of life's finer things. the pictures of the girls in this article...their sunken faces, the hopelessness in their eyes...makes me wonder how it's possible for such crimes to go forgotten. [i know i know...there are MANY crimes that go forgotten or dismissed.] it seems too far-fetched...these girls...their lives...it can't actually be some teenager's reality, can it? but it is. what can i do? there must be something i can do. my donations seem trite and useless. i can't send my heart with my money. i can't send my eyes, my ears, my arms. and i so desperately want to send my arms. i want so desperately to embrace them.
what can i do? what can i do?
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