I get so tired lately.
Could hardly keep awake at dinner last night, and I totally crashed once I hit the sack. The minute I lay my cheek on the bed, -I’m gone. I could barely balance my feet in the moving train. I got so lightheaded and was close to dozing off at every stop.
Jakarta was eye-opening this time round. I got to meet people from the social departments, stopped by a slum to see a heartwarming bunch of street kids, and visited a children’s home, where we finally met the subject of our interest. Her name is Ismi.
The 11-year old had been abused and tortured for years in a house in West Java. She was the product of a tragic rape attack on her mum in the Middle East, and was sold to that doomed house which dealt in illegal trading of children. They were unable to sell her off, and she ended up being locked up in a toilet on the second floor with a cat for company.
The scalp on her head is damaged from the boiling water she was showered with. Her face is disfigured from the constant beating and bashing over the years. Her eyes are bright blue due to having them bleached with detergent and chilies. She is half blind. Her teeth and gums are destroyed when they strike her with the chili pounder. She ate what the cat ate.
But despite the trauma she had been through and the physical state she is in now, never will you expect the love and affection this child has for everything around her. She hugs and kisses you endlessly to show her gratitude for your visit, she makes sure her guests have enough to eat and drink, she’ll play with you for hours, and she’ll get you into stitches with her amusing antics and comeback lines.
It’s heartbreaking to imagine how life will be like for her when she gets much older.
We bought J.CO donuts and some toys for the street kids before our return flight, and it upsets me to know that the little girls are bound to end up being prostitutes when they reach puberty. It troubled me even more when I found out that it was their parents who sent them to the streets. Come rain or shine, they will be running on the road junctions stopping by the cars, singing a song, knocking on their windows for a few cents. They’ll end their shifts at midnight, and sleep on the streets before going to school in the morning.
I am grateful for what I have.
Just look at what they are going through. Children are survivors, indeed.
