Lien-Hua
The blog you are about to read is true; only the names have been changed to protect the identity of the individuals. The majority of this post is based upon my imagination and how I have interpreted distinctive anecdotes.
Lien-Hua 2012
My name is Lien-Hua and this is my story...
I will never forget that moment; it continues to haunt me every time I
wake up in the morning. Each time I fall asleep, I look around my room,
memorising my belongings, my mirror, my bedside lamp, my purple curtains, my
tartan coat – my only coat. These are my trophies now, I gaze at them with love
and hope, knowing that they are mine and this is my life now; it brings me the
greatest sense of security and peace. These are my possessions, in this undersized
room, in this peaceful house, on a strange street, in an unfamiliar city.
My life in China seems like it was never a life of my own, could I have
imagined it? My beautiful baby daughter. Her sweet scent, her silky raven hair dancing
in the sunlight, her favorite cotton pajamas embracing her petite frame. Or was
that all a chapter of a book that I am yet to finish reading, in this lost
world?
I opened my eyes, my heart racing, my throat dry, my hands and feet clamped together. I do not recall where I was. As I observed my surroundings, I had no awareness of how I had got there. All I knew was that the bitter cold possessed that room and the sparkle of the moon never dared to enter.
Men off all kind visited my room, took what they want from me and left. I was abused, raped, controlled, punished and threatened for two years of my life. I was not paid for my ‘work’ I was a puppet in their show, forced to accept my fate and told I should be grateful for all THEY had given me. I bled most nights, I cried myself to sleep every night. I did not care if they heard me weep, it was uncontrollable anyhow. There were no luxuries in my life, not one single moment of happiness. Except for one.
I opened my eyes, my heart racing, my throat dry, my hands and feet clamped together. I do not recall where I was. As I observed my surroundings, I had no awareness of how I had got there. All I knew was that the bitter cold possessed that room and the sparkle of the moon never dared to enter.
Men off all kind visited my room, took what they want from me and left. I was abused, raped, controlled, punished and threatened for two years of my life. I was not paid for my ‘work’ I was a puppet in their show, forced to accept my fate and told I should be grateful for all THEY had given me. I bled most nights, I cried myself to sleep every night. I did not care if they heard me weep, it was uncontrollable anyhow. There were no luxuries in my life, not one single moment of happiness. Except for one.
He knocked before he entered, walked in and gracefully bowed before me.
He stood there in the middle of the room and waited. I never looked at Them,
not properly. I never stared into their eyes; I pictured them as a blur, a dark
figure that haunted the room. I hesitated, could this be a test?
Unlike the Others who had come before him; pushed me towards the bed
and forced themselves painfully inside me. Instead, he extended his arms; hesitantly I
leaned towards him, stepping closer until my head settled on his warm chest. He
smelt of rich cinnamon, and his warmth was captivating. There we stood, perfectly
locked together. He held me like I had never been held before, a simple
pleasure. Pure bliss.
These treasured twenty minutes are all I have with me and the only belonging I have.
These treasured twenty minutes are all I have with me and the only belonging I have.
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