Dear Little One,
I pray you’re as innocent as your sweet face indicates you must be. I hope you’re as full of joy as your beautiful smile and bright eyes tell me you are. I long to believe your spirit is as covered in beautiful color the way your traditional outfit covers your little limbs. I hope, but I fear the sobering reality of your world – a world in which women are honored for bringing money to their families, no matter the cost to their souls; one in which there is nothing more dishonoring than dishonoring parents’ requests and demands, giving you no choice but to obey, even if it’s the last thing you want for yourself.
Sweet one, I took your picture, and part of me hurts that I did. I did not ask, and I did not pay as the others do. Perhaps your mother saw and perhaps I upset her because of that. I took it to pray for you, not to pay for you. You’ve already been paid for, by the life of the only perfect one to walk this earth and by the agony of all the darkness of the world being thrust upon one man, no less. But that’s a story for another time.
I took the photo to remind me to pray, because I’ve seen that sometimes what looks innocent at first leads to ruin and destruction and pain too weighty to bear. Maybe you know that because maybe you’ve seen it – with older sisters, cousins, neighbors. Asking money from Farangs touring your homeland in exchange for a picture with a dressed up, dolled up little one becomes more when the opportunity to make more money and gain more honor comes, or when you’ve grown too old – too far out of your baby-faced adorability – for this role.
I’ve seen the ones who could be your older sister – too young to be in a bar for their entertainment, but there in order to entertain; negotiated for as if her worth had a namable nightly price or was even determinable by another human. I’ve seen them dressed in heels and made up in order to appear older, but I recognize the way they move as young and uncomfortable and lacking confidence in their young and changing bodies. Their smiles come on when the Farangs come out as they trick the customers into thinking they want to be there.
I’ve talked with the one who could be your mom – a mother of two herself, living fifteen hours away from her own little ones in order to make a living off of her own feigned affections. She looks more tired than the others, tired in her spirit; more tired, less hopeful.
Beautiful girl, you’re worth so much more than this. You’re worth more than the “likes” the Farang girl who took a selfie with you gets. You’re worth more than fleeting satisfaction the empty man who paid for the one who could be your sister gets. You’re worth infinitely more than anything your body or your appearance can give. And dare I say it – you’re worth more than the honor you bring your family.
You’re worth more, you’re worth more, you’re worth more.
You are worth more than I can say, because honestly, I’m still trying to figure out the depths of that, too.
You are worthy of being known. You are worthy of being loved. You are worth a radical freedom that sets others free.
With a heart full of love and aching for your everlasting freedom,
McCrea
