Dear diary,
I need to talk about my work as a child activist. Sometimes the work is so hard
I recently had dinner with a young lady. It was lovely to see her but the meeting was based on my necessity to see for myself that she was okay and to see how I could help her get back to her dreams and aspirations
She remembers I love chocolates and bought me a bar of my one of my favourites. She obviously follows me on Facebook.
So she's reading this.
She's not okay even though her outward appearances belies my observations. She's strong and courageous but bad things have happened.
She's kind and considerate. Not bitter. Which is amazing for such a young person.
She's such a beautiful young lady.
She's still a teen.
While she talks to me, she nervously plays with her fingers, her hair and she cannot look me in the eye when she talks about that man- that Uncle.
I first met her as a child, who then only wanted to study abroad, with grades to match. Her MENSA scores were off the charts; she's articulate, smart and ambitious. She wanted to be a human rights lawyer, to save the world and she had already been accepted to a law school in the UK. At 16.
But because she was told to trust a man she called uncle, her life has changed dramatically.
It was so painful to see her in person now, knowing what had happened to her- she's grown up, barely turned 19. She wears a wig because her hair has fallen out in patches. It first happened on her 17th birthday, a little past the rape incident. The rape/the sexual encounter happened over and over again.
I call it rape because sex with a minor ( under 18) cannot be consensual if it's with an adult. The law in this country says sex is only forced if the girl is under 16. She was 16 when this heinous crime happened.
The first time it happened, he told her to come to the house. Had his driver pick her up at KL Sentral, then bring her over. He told her he wanted to explain what his company does.
She went.
I didn't ask for details; she didn't offer.
Instead, I looked on at her hands as she played with her fingers and wig. I can't look at her in case I cry and I find myself gulping for air, in sheer frustration and sadness. I dare not cry on her behalf.
But I think the part that breaks my heart is when she told me how she woke up on her birthday and found a large patch of her hair had fallen out. How she stayed in her room because she didn't want people to stare at her and because she had not enough money to buy food. How she'd study her class notes and watch her class sessions online and still aced her exams. From her room, without hardly ever leaving. Alone, in another country. At 17.
How everything was so stressful cos school bills were paid late, the harassment, till she finally came home.
How she's lost touch with people who offered to help. How some have stayed by her side over the years. She worries about her family.
It is the matter-of fact in her voice and the resolve to just get on with it, which makes me sad.
She's dropped out of school. She works. But she wants to go back to school.
She doesn't want to be a human rights lawyer anymore but wants to do a Business degree in IT.
What happened to law?
"Nothing,she shrugs. "I've changed my mind"
She's quiet now, aged and more reflectively. Her words are measured carefully. I say she needs to talk to someone. She needs a safe space and someone to listen to her. Not me, but someone professional. She says professionals cost money. That is not a priority in her life. She's fine.
We've promised to stay in touch.
She says she's moved on.
That's life.
A child with such grown up problems.
I am so angry. This man got away with this all.
But I need to focus on the victim, this young girl who wants to claim her dreams and life back
Sincerely,
