With the rancid smell of smoke in the air, gaudy streetlights, throngs of foreign workers, angry traffic and the blaring noise in the background, it just didn't feel like Singapore.
There were a entire line of them standing by the roadside, each one so different and yet, so similar.
They were different: Some were tall, slender and willowy, others shorter, plumper. They were the same: Each of them had their own bewitching charm.
They were the same: Their porcelain, painted faces were perfect, framed within straightened or permed locks. They were different: Some painted their beestung lips as their highlight, while others chose to use mascara and fake eyelashes which went on forever to their advantage.
They were different: Some were laughing, some were teasing, while others stood aside, frowning and guarded. They were the same: All of them stood at precisely-measured intervals along the road, not unlike lamp-posts or bazaar-stalls, and were all waiting, waiting, waiting for the same thing.
They were different: Some wore micro-skirts; some wore lingerie; some wore translucent clothes which teased your imagination. They were the same: All the clothing was skin-tight, minimal, -just- enough. They all wore dangerously high heels. They all bared maximal cleavage, just stopping short of crime.
This was pornography in its full glory come to life. They were sex sirens, and they knew it.
The back alleys of our red-light district.
This Chinese New Year, as I joined HighPoint again for their community outreach programme to bless the marginalised of our society, I saw a side of society, humanity, and God which shall forever change my life.
HighPoint is a community social enterprise aimed to serve the fringe community such as migrants, sex workers and drug offenders through rehabilitation, medical and education services. Healthserve, the medical clinic which serves the needy, is part of this wider umbrella, through which I came to know about HighPoint.
It was nothing much really. We were just walking the back alleys of Geylang, giving out mandarin oranges (as part of tradition for the Lunar New Year) and blessing the people in the area, inviting migrants for the free reunion dinner held at the social enterprise hub and showing care for the sex workers. HighPoint, like a city on a hill, aims to shine its light and be a beacon of hope for the many lonely souls living in the trodden places of our society by spreading the enterprise of kindness, even in little ways.Migrants. Sex workers. Drug addicts. People whom we hate to associate with, because of the way they spit, live and go to waste. Or so we think.
The poor. Prostitutes. The broken-hearted. People whom God came especially to love.
I don't know why I felt such a great burden for these precious people. For a long time I had considered being part of this ministry, and this year, I determined to make the effort to be involved. A profound grief swept over me as I gave out the customary mandarin oranges to the gorgeous girls lingering at the basement of the fluorescent hotel signs. I looked away as a man made fun of a woman's football-sized breasts, scantily covered. It was as if, though we were worlds apart, I understood some of that emptiness inside.
In a line such as this, where lusty men grin and chide mockingly as they pass you, how hard it must be to believe one is worthy of love. Competition is intense, and your value is priced on the size of your tits. Did they believe they were beautiful, that God loved them too? Did clinching a deal mean victory over your comptetitors, a boost of your self-esteem, or loss- if the client turned out to be a brute?
For a large part of my life, I think I too, like many women, never knew what it meant to be beautiful. When Anorexia arrived and Ed entered my life, my body too, was abused, used and pricetagged base on what Ed thought of me. I remember telling Miss B (the ED therapist) I could not sleep because I felt him touching me all over. It was a psychological nightmare, and the tired mornings brought little respite- one felt compelled to be purged from the uncleansable filthiness. The more Ed penetrated me, the emptier, more cheapened I felt. But the sick pride from the attention he gave me fed me the way drugs feed an addict, and the victories were pyrrhic, at most- like the victory from a clinched deal, perhaps.
They were so beautiful. Precious. But they never knew, still don't know.
Do you know how loved you are today?
As we walked out of the last lane of the streets of darkness, my heart heavy, I gave out my last set of oranges at a traffic junction to a lovely girl with straightened hair, clad in a mini-skirt and leather boots.
"Where're you from?" I asked. She was the only one I engaged in conversation, for the rest, though by the roads too, were on the job.
"Sichuan."
" Ah, I just went there last year!"
Touched by our gesture of love, she was clearly grateful and delighted with the unexpected gift and words of warmth. She was so young, perhaps younger than myself. She was so precious. But after a few minutes, she left me as she scurried off into the darkness of the back alleys. I looked back at her scurrying shadow, and as if surprised by our love and hungering for more, she turned back to smile and wave at me, not once, not twice, but three times.
I waved and smiled back. How her smile still lingers.
My heart sunk lower still as I trudged back home, away from the likes of sleazy karaoke lounges and Happy Hotel. It was as if, though we were worlds apart, some part of me understood that language of shame, humiliation and abuse. And I nearly wept as the extent of God's love suddenly wrapped around me, hugged me, and held me close. I had no right to judge them- these people with families, lives, souls. And an unthinkable love for them came over me, as I too, felt the extent of God's love over the wretchedness of man, the sinfulness of humanity. I wanted to cry. As I felt God's longing for the lost, I too, felt His heartcry for my soul during all that time I abused myself. My body is redeemed and saved by God from Ed's abuse. When I sleep and awaken, I feel His body next to me, and His wing of protection covers me in safety.
I can sleep in peace now.
Oh, how His love never stops calling after us.
Can we love the sinner, the way God loves them. Can we humble ourselves to see that it is by God's grace that we are saved from such circumstance? That put under the same situations, forced by the same hard circumstance, perhaps we would have turned out no differently?
My life will forever be changed by that one night. In one night, I saw the curse and destruction of man's lust, the trap of poverty and the debauchery of mankind, screaming out for salvation and repentence. I determined to open my eyes to see them for who they were inside. I also determined never to let myself be found by a man who did not respect and love me through and through for who I was inside.
There is so little and yet, so much to do. Loving unjudgementally, respecting the downtrodden, serving the marginalised- the way God did for us. There is so much to do, and perhaps, that would be a good place to start.
" Jesus said to them,
'I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.
For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness,
and you did not believe him,
but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did.
And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.' "
-Matthew 21:31
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