W is for Wittaya
"Looking back, it was
clear that his father had used him. If he needed somewhere to sleep he would
plead on Wittaya’s behalf, tapping into the sympathy generated by the sight of
a helpless baby, or a young child. The
women especially were horrified at the idea that Wittaya’s father should be
dragging him all over the city from place to place. They would keep him and try
to persuade his father that Wittaya was better off with them, but he always
refused. There were even women who offered themselves to him, and volunteered
to care for both Wittaya and his father. These acts of kindness were politely
refused. His father also used him to stay out of jail.
No doubt he loved
Wittaya in his own way, but in later years, as Wittaya grew up alone in various
orphanages and foster homes, he realized his father had not really known how to
love him any differently. If nothing else, at least he had delivered him safely
to Australia. He died three months after they arrived from tuberculosis."
From chapter 4, Ashmore Grief
What about those who don’t? What about those who are trapped
in miserable cycles of depression, violence, addiction and self destruction?
What’s the difference? Is it the person? Other people in their lives? Other
external circumstances? Why do some people do well in life and others don’t? If
life seems harsh and unjust, it’s because sometimes it is. Sometimes, I just
want to go home to Heaven.