The market encounter.

I'm reading a book right now of a ladies life as she grew up in Cambodia and in the sex trade. As I read and learn about my own Daughter's of Cambodia, I feel forever affected. I feel a deep sadness straight into my spirit. Like a sword, I feel it rip me in two. I cry for them and I find myself crying for myself. For my past; and for my family.

This Sunday at the market a man followed me. I didn't know he was. There are men constantly staring and talking amongst themselves. It is quite normal. I didn't see that the man was following me until IT happened.

I was purchasing a typical Cambodian tourist shirt; something about Anit-Landmines written across the front (typical Kim Foster purchase choice;)) when I felt a hand smack my bum. I lept with surprise. I was shocked. I turned around to see who it was but found no one that I could possibly pin point amongst the hundreds that apparantly felt the need to do such a thing to me. I told E. what had happened. But we both dismissed it as a Frustratingly Immature Act.

So I continued on. A bit dismayed but a bit more like I was to blame. "My Coral colored skirt (Lulu one) did hug my bum and reveal my shape", I thought to myself. I thought sheepishly that I had attracted the unwanted attraction.

Not more then 5 minutes later the man returned. He must have followed me b/c as I turned myself to face a wall of merchandise I felt a hand grope me (not my bum this time...) I jumped and with tears and a hot face I ran for the exit. Apparantly E. had not heard my words and did not come for me. So I sat outside and waited for her to follow me. All I could see in my mind was his dark face and green shirt.

We later had lunch down the way and talked of other things. But while we walked away memories of other similar instances of older men flooded my memory who had attempted and succeeded to hurt me in similar ways. My stomach was nautious.

All I can think of is how more horrendous the things that my dear sister's here in Cambodia have been through in their struggle to gain their own self respect in a vocation that is primarily targeting their bodies as useless pleasure toys. It saddens me but also enrages me. I feel more a part of these girls now then I ever have before.

Whispers by; K.Foster

I sit and I watch and I listen
and as I sit and I watch and I listen, I remember.
and as I remember, I cry.
I remember my debtors, my shame, my dirty messes. My unclean mouth. My mistakes and my misses.
And as I remember and cry, I begin to believe I am lost.

Softly, a still small voice whispers.
Using the wind and Science and Molecules and Atoms:
it whispers a whisper that enters through my ear and straight to my heart;
"You have remembered wrong.
You have Forgotten of my forgiving Grace.
and My blanket of Love.
You have forgotten Me. And the miracle I have made in you.
Now go and forget no more.
Go and Love."

(I would request no comments on this blog please.)