I was awoken by a Texas thunderstorm. The room filled with light, then the sky broke in half with thunder. It’s 4:03 AM, and I am finally home, my first night back in Texas, and I miss Bangkok as I try to leave her ridiculous time zone behind.

Everything feels different stateside. A bedroom that’s been slightly rustled. Was this book always on the top shelf? Did I leave the blinds open when I left? It’s all the same, except that it’s not. I am different and I have changed it all.

I hope to unpack my experiences soon.

We were changing out the last of the light bulbs and saying goodbye when the girls of Home of New Beginnings came to say thank you. Nate and I were covered in paint and dripping with sweat while speaking with Ann, the strong and benevolent Thai den-mother who lives in the house.

The girls were eating lunch in the other room, but as Ann spoke to us in the doorway, they began to quietly spill into the room from behind her. They were almost all children – late teens early twenties – and it was my first time to really see the girls. During our days painting, they were off at school, or church, or learning English and we never really crossed paths. But now, collected in one room, I was able to see who I was working for these last 5 days. I began to tear up.

When Nate and I finally waved, said goodbye, and bowed with our praying hands (a wai), the girls sang with a chorus of “Khop Khun Mak Ka” (feminine Thank you very much) and wais.

I don’t know how to describe the moment except to say that it was such a gentle, respectful, kind, loving, and emotional goodbye. My stomach seized up and I bowed again. I was so thankful for the opportunity to paint their home and do anything I could to say that not everything is evil. The girls were so hopeful and sweet, and it put so much of my own pain into perspective. These girls have known nothing but abuse, rape and injustice, yet their eyes were bright and their smiles so healing.

I know God has brought me here more to heal me rather than to serve others, but this moment, was so much more wonderful than anything I could have imagined he could do. I’m here to help, but I’m here because I need healing. God is so good to me.

We were caught in the BKK rain yesterday. I loved every minute of the experience. I’m bringing my rain jacket today. Just in case.

We’re going to be painting The Home of New Beginnings today, perhaps all day, and to be honest, that sounds very nice. At least the boys will be painting. The girls will be going to the bars and clubs and building relationships with the Thai prostitutes. Everyone else on this trip has had weeks if not months of experience dealing with the issue of child/teen prostitution, but I have not, and I am finding it difficult to stay engaged for long periods of time. Manual labor will be a reprieve.

I met Bonita and Roy, the couple who started Beginnings about a year ago. Two Americans from Oregon & Texas respectively who love these young women and have provided a safe place for those who choose to leave prostitution and get an education. They are such a benevolent couple with terrifying wisdom. I look forward to knowing them more.

Also, I’m feeling tired and lonely already.

Also also, I’m ready for my skin to not be so sticky. The humidity is unbelievable. My crotch hates me.

Her dress was bright and vivid in the otherwise pallid squalor. The contrast seemed traumatic. Especially that early in the morning. Goo mornee, she said as she bent at the waist, leaning off the wall, and walked across my path. Her friend did the same. Her smile was inviting, but because of the severe language barrier and my fear of her, I avoided eye contact and held my palm towards her. No thank you, I mumbled and smiled as compassionately as I knew how. Peeg! she spat at me as I passed. It sounded like a sneeze. Peeg!

It was 6:45am, and I was walking Sukhumvit Road looking for a local cup of coffee – something not inside a wealthy westerner hotel. I walked a mile and a half on both sides of the street but couldn’t find a cafe open that early. As I walked amidst crowded people and cart vendors, cloudy stagnant water filled the uneven walkway and the smell of sewage mixed with the smell of wonderful Thai food. It was when I was tiptoeing through that I noticed long legs in high heels crossing my path.

She was probably several years younger than me, but she certainly didn’t look it, and I’ve learned that if she’s walking the street, she’s probably not useful in the brothels anymore. Her age and experience probably means she’s not desirable enough to draw men in. She now has to come to us. And I wanted her to come to me. I didn’t want to raise my hand and walk away. Maybe I am a pig, a man wandering in brokenness and disrepair.

But I did want her to know that I cared about her, that I couldn’t sleep last night because of her. I wanted to hug her and let her know that love is more than what these men pay for. And though it looks similar, it is much much different. Same Same but different, a boy said yesterday. It’s an english phrase the Thai use to explain that something is similar, but it is not the same.

I walked on as she and her friend spit insults at me, and prayed that though love is patient, its power could be conveyed in the split moment it took her to communicate her pain. Same same but different, I prayed. You can know love again.

Being brave on morning one has proven to be difficult. I thought I ordered pork. I really did. She smiled and nodded and left and it all felt a little incomplete. I rubbed my head and fought back fits of nausea. I need more water. My head feels like a drum. It’s all a little strange.

I am really in Bangkok. I am a foreigner. This is epiphany number three.

In Dallas, I didn’t think much of the trip. It’s hard to picture a foreign culture you’ve never seen. But now here by way of L.A. and Taipei, I can see.

The flight was arduous of course, and I decided that I can do nothing but be present in the moment. In life in general, but especially on a plane. Reading is difficult. Writing is difficult. Listening to music is difficult. Sitting is difficult. Sleeping… let’s just stop there.

I don’t like long flights. This is epiphany number two.

A young married couple picked me up at the airport. We hugged. I’m Michael, I said. Nice to meet you. A rather tall Thai man took my bag, sat behind the wheel on the wrong side of his car, and violently drove us to the hotel. A sign composed in english was bigger than the name of the hotel sign and hung next to the door of The Atlanta – our 50’s style hotel at the end of Sukhumvit Soi 2. No SEX-TOURISM, the sign read. Another sign by the front desk read, With prices like ours, NO COMPLAINTS.

There was also rice at breakfast. And a Thai Omelette and a Thai Salt Egg. The rice was sticky. The fans spun wildly. I sweat like the 1.5 litres of water on the table. I needed something in my stomach. I tasted the Pork first. It was seafood. Nausea. But I’m brave. I’m a lone tourist in a new world who refuses to order the Western Breakfast. So, I picked through my Sea Pork like the 7-year-old Austrian boy sitting next to me with his family, and I began to wonder.

Here, just 100 yards away, there is suffering of an alien kind. The Nana Red Light District. A place where children, mostly girls, are trapped in a life of prostitution that many of them never chose. I could have sex with them for the cost of my breakfast. 90 Baht. That’s about $3.

Nauseous, I paid for my meal and left. I think I’m here to try and help. This is epiphany number one.