Sometimes I feel hardened and softened all at once.

Similar to the feeling of mush - like oatmeal, porridge mush. The mushiest of all mushes, I think that's how I feel right now.

I had an intense two weeks, but like all intensities, my attempts to write about it will only lead to a less articulate description of the events, it wasn't intense when I went through it, only after.

calm hearts will break when given a shake

Like many of my ideas they often go unfinished, because as ideas go, realities like to set in, and unimaginable events will come into play. We often forget to leave space for the unimaginable. We often forget that to imagine is to take a set of our current understandings into an organized set of understandings. Impossible. Unimaginable. How can you dream and imagine about things that you have yet to experience?

How can you know what you want when you've never seen it? You can't.

You only know what you want to know.

You only see what you want to see.

You only understand what you can.

You only believe what you have been exposed to.

I saw her and I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes because I knew it was something that I didn't want to see. I knew this because  I already saw her before I walked in. I had my contacts on so even my blurry 6.00 & 6.50 vision on my left and right respectively could not save me. I saw her. Instead of soft orange, peach and black orbital spheres, she was dead clear. Crystal clear. Clear from the moment I walked in and paid the front desk, clear from the moment when I saw the man and woman who was really in "charge"  wearing different "regular" clothing from the front desk cashier, clear before the moment I walked into the room. The man and woman seemed stressed, that 7 strong women just walked in to get a massage, instead of the usual, men. This wasn't going to be any regular massage from a respectable hotel. That was clear.

She didn't know how to massage. She touched me like she would a person wanting more than a massage. I listened to my staff members next door as they began talking to their own masseuses, their stories spewing from their room into mine.  I was quiet. I didn't want to see. I just wanted it to be over the moment I walked in. Her hands were skinny and cold. Her bright orange dress barely covering, her bra showing. She had the darkest bags under her eyes, the kind that occurs when someone has been crying for some time or hadn't been sleeping. She smiled. I closed my eyes again. 

The stories spewed over. "I don't get paid much." "I'm from so and so province very far away" "I'm 18 years old" "We made a pack not to go overnight with anyone" "My family is very poor" Take it with a grain of salt. I'm used to hearing sob stories in Vietnam. Everyone has one.  You can't want to hear them all, you can't. I can't.

In the last 10 minutes of the massage she didn't know what to do. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" It was as if those last 10 minutes were spent doing something else, and not a massage. I kept my eyes closed. 

The bells ripped through the rooms and talking, signaling that the 45 minutes was over. It seemed like the man and woman wanted us out of there.

Afterwards, I got up and she lingered in the corner of the room. She was waiting for the tip. In a commotion of a mess I didn't understand what was going on. She was talking to me in a low voice, "This is the tip paper, but if you cared for me you can give me the money right here instead" She was peeking out the small window while talking to me. The man and woman were also peeking into the window. And in the midst of the confusion and frustration and me not understanding why this girl had to talk to me in such a low voice while people were watching through the window I opened the door. I opened the door to find the man and woman standing right outside, as if they were listening to my conversation with the girl. I hope she doesn't get in trouble.

I went to find my staff members. Girls who were too young were running about in colorful skimpy dresses, their hair primped and primed too excessively, make up caked to cover their youth or rather, their waning youth. I was horrified. I just wanted to understand the tip situation. The woman claimed that they collected all the tip together and gave 100% back to the young girls. While the young girls told us a different story, they only get 70% from the tip and 30% goes to the owner. The woman said that wasn't true and asked who we heard it from. 

The fee we paid at the front desk goes to the hotel completely, with none going to the young girls. Shady. Shady from the moment I walked in. Afterwards I asked to see the young girl so I could give her tip straight to her, and they wouldn't let me. This time, with my eyes finally open, they wouldn't let me see her. Sadly, I already had.

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I work on anti human trafficking issues in Vietnam at Pacific Links Foundation's ADAPT. Very little people know what I see or do in this kind of work. The types of stories and experiences that stream through me, only a handful actually make it to my blog when I have the courage to write it. I had started this blog unsure of my journey here, but have learned heaps. While I understand that everyone has a different purpose and position in life, this does not excuse shapeless, passionless behavior. But people are complex, so I'm not going to dive into that. 

The story above has left me frozen really for the last few days. That night I slept, but was quiet. I walked home quiet. I have been tired since that moment, and it has been carried on my face since then as if my frustrations had manifested into just plain exhaustion. 

Our organization may have to close its doors in 2012 if we don't gain the funding needed, and it pains me to think that if our organization has to shut down, how many more girls will be trafficked. Recently stories such as this have surfaced, companies called "Babe - 101 Eugenic Surrogate Firm" forcing Vietnamese women to breed for cash. When people claim that "Vietnamese girls and women no longer are trafficked across borders" I wonder how people can make such claims and negate the real stories of the young girls I meet everyday. It won't end anytime soon, nor will it end on its own. 

Will you close your eyes when it's right in front of you? Or will you open them? This question is hard to answer, because when our fears come into play, our courage and bravery as we once imagined it to be is beat and mushed up. 

This month, attending a anti-child trafficking online protection workshop, finished a year end report, prepared a powerpoint for big donors,  helped plan logistics of a big big BIG donor visit (like flying in private jet style!) to our organization, finished my second health workshop for trafficking survivors on Nutrition, flew to con dao an island off of Vietnam, took on a 4 day staff retreat in Vietnamese at the last minute, took an unprepared 6 hour trek through jungle and ocean with thong sandals, swam on rocks, flew back to saigon, met with the U.S. Consulate General, got a haircut all while being on the road between Long Xuyen and Ho Chi Minh City (5 hours apart) a few times.

As one of our largest donors said to me, (one of the largest companies that produces Victoria secret, Express and the Limited), "I'm so emotionally exhausted from today...my job is so much easier than yours, dealing with clothes is so much easier" Tell me about it.

6 hour trek through the JUNGLE! Legit.

Con Dao, Vietnam

Braving vietnamese hairstylists. New haircut =)

During our staff meeting, we did "rocks and gems" of each staff member, sort of the like positives and changes we want to see in the person. The staff said I was a mix of brave, professional, and solid. Very good encouraging words! Even though about 75% of the time I don't really feel this way. But I'm just going along with life folks, just like everyone else, going along, following along. But maybe once and a while, take a step back and realize how beautiful your life is, how beautiful the people around you are, realize how beautiful you are.


Open your eyes and do that for me.