fifteen: wonder.

i wish i could show you pictures and describe to you in perfect little words and phrases what i had seen and heard and felt today. i wish i took a video that spoke directly to all of the people's hearts in the world. i wish i had captured fantastic photographs and wrote incredible poetry on my little trip today--but no, some impacts cannot be made unless you are there on the spot. in the field. you must see with your own eyes, listen close with your ears, touch with your hands, speak with your mouth and stand with your own two feet on the ground where it is considered sin, where lust runs wild and greed creeps in every corner of the street. you must stand there, and walk the soil beneath your feet, march a confident march, and know that you are His. and that all of these people, they are His as well.

my trip tonight to Geylang was good.

good is the only word i have to describe it. because i think i've lost the ability to describe the whole thing in exact words. there are no exact words to tell you what i saw and how i had felt. there are none. the closest, however, is that while i was walking through the alleys with my friends for a prayer patrol, i thought a lot. i thought about these girls and wondered if they were afraid, sad, or happy. i thought of the pimps' everyday lives--lives during the day and not in the darkest night. i thought of their living conditions, and the girls' working environments: was it clean? was it safe? how were their clients treating them? were they willing or not? is this rape with consent? and i imagined. 

after the whole walk (or during, i can't remember the precise moment), i knew i wanted to write about a pimp's daily life. so here we go. 

THIS IS COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.

i rub my eyes. the sunlight is hot and bright. these curtains are useless. i add 'curtains' to the mental list of things i should buy when i have enough money. i never have enough money. because of these goddamn smokes and my goddamn bad luck streak in freaking gambling. i never have enough money. but that's alright. i like to work. i work only when the sun goes down. when the lights come on and when i bring the girls out. they like me. they like men. they're good girls, them. i protect them. i give them good portions of money from work. enough to get by, just like me. people are yelling outside my tiny room. goddamn people. shut up. it's noon and i need sleep, you idiots. i add 'new house' to the same list. maybe that was already in the list. i dunno, i have lots of things i want to buy when i have enough money. 

maybe i'll quit the smokes one day. maybe i won't. 

i'll never stop working though. i like work. i don't have to work in the day like most boring people do. i love my work. they're still yelling. what the heck are they arguing about? i stand up and reach for my pack of smokes. i light one up and breathe in black. the smoke fills my room. it's hazy and i almost choke. i had forgotten to open the windows. the air seems mustier than ever today, but the skies are a pretty shade of blue today as well. birds flying, cats mewing. it's hot, but it's a beautiful day.

bright and beautiful.