YOUNG VOICE
Nocturnal Predators
There are other ways to work and feed families aside from selling sex
IT was 11:00 in the evening. I slipped on a cozy jacket, fixed myself a mug of coffee and digested some few more chapters about Psychiatric Nursing.
It was 11:00 in the evening. She smeared on more lipstick, puffed her cheeks with redder blush and battled her eyelashes at every prospect customer.
It was 12:00 midnight. I dozed off for five minutes and woke up slightly annoyed, one mug of coffee didn’t do. I had to fix myself another mug.
It was 12:00 midnight. She slid the 500 peso bill in her pocket and watched her first customer of the night leave the room, drunk and satisfied. Yet, the 500 peso tip wouldn’t do. She had to serve another customer.
It was 1:00 in the morning. I counted the remaining pages to study, ten pages more. I smiled weakly and in less than an hour I will have give justice to my pajamas.
It was 1:00 in the morning. Her room was locked. There were giggles and unusual sounds. She was serving another customer. In less than an hour, she will have a thousand pesos.
It was 2:00 in the morning. I fixed my bag, set the alarm and whisked myself off to dreamland even just for three hours.
It was 2:00 in the morning. She decided to have a break with a bottle of beer. She stared at the clock. An hour of sleep won’t hurt. She dozed off.
It was 3:00 in the morning. I was asleep.
It was 3:00 in the morning. She was wakened up by the club’s manager. Her third customer was waiting and he is willing to pay big-time. She took the opportunity.
It was 3:30 in the morning. I was still asleep.
It was 3:30 in the morning. She just earned 5,000 from the third customer.
This is my usual routine. This is her usual routine. I am a college student desperate to keep her grades up and her scholarship maintained. She’s a prostitute who wants to earn quick money for whatever reason.
As the night falls darker, the city gets ready to sleep and brings a day’s worth of work to an end. Yet, as the streetlights becomes dimmer, the lights of night clubs and bars flashed like Las Vegas. The commercial sex workers’ day—night—had just began. They are the nocturnal predators, finding survival from the engulfing darkness.
Prostitution continues to be a major contender against the treasured morals of the Filipino society. We are known to be conservative. We are known to preserve the sanctity of sex as a marital privilege. We did not legalize prostitution. But often times I wonder if what were known for are just mere façades, mere masks of what we actually are. When you Google the world Filipino, at least one of the results will lead you to a site selling Filipinas for cyber sex. Gone are the golden years of Maria Clara and Crisostomo Ibarra. Our country is one of those tiny little Asian nations known to cater sexual satisfaction for Westerners. The motherland of martyrs and heroes is now gradually known as a breeding site of immorality. I am strictly against prostitution.
But guilty people will react, “What are going to do about it? They and their families will starve if they don’t sell their flesh.” Great, blame it on poor poverty once more. The ends do not justify the means. Even if how noble your motives are but your ways of achieving them are disregardful of morality, you my friend are still considered immoral. Take Robin Hood for example, he steals from the rich and gives what he stole to the poor. He had a generous heart but still, he remains a thief. There are other ways to work and feed families aside from selling sex.
Last week, I had my duty at the Social Hygiene Clinic. I met masseurs, pick-up girls, call boys and entertainers. There were in for their weekly smearing for sexually transmitted infections. The local government is requiring the pink card or the health certificate for them to continue their work since having the pink card means their free from gonorrhea, syphilis and any STIs. I got to interview one commercial sex worker who was surprisingly my age. She started working as a free-lance prostitute at age 13. She blamed the clichéd poverty for pushing her to do so. She earns from 800-1,600 a night. She was the fourth of five children and she dreams of becoming a nurse.
I appreciate the government’s effort to ensure the health of the commercial sex workers. Engaging in my choice of profession entails me to work for the same objective. But should the efforts stop there? Sure, the rate of sexually transmitted infections is under control, can be prevented; can be managed but how about the increasing rate of distorted lives these workers live and the stigma they painfully bear? I am against prostitution but I don’t hate the prostitute. Yes, they may have made the wrong decision and so people who are in a state much better than they do should help them escape from this quicksand and find decent means of livelihood. I hope one day out government will make drastic efforts to combat prostitution and not simply let it be and blame it on poverty. Give poverty a break, will you?
It was 5:00 in the morning. My alarm clock rang. I was ready for the midterm exam. It was 5:00 in the morning. She had three customers for the shift. She had 6,000 for tonight, thrice more than what she usually earns. She was ready to go home and sleep.
It was 7:00 in the morning. I was taking the exam. It was 7:00 in the morning. She was sleeping with her dark make-up on.
Please stop prostitution.
(Comments and reactions to reylangarcia@gmail.com)
