On the street I found what I always wanted but was unavailable in the world I had come from. I found people. All along when I searched for my birth mother I was looking for people who were looking for me. No one was looking for me. In downtown Honolulu men got in their cars and actually travelled, looking for me. No one ever did that when I was in foster care. And that’s why, when I saw a car slow down and I watched the driver gesture with a nod that he would meet me 50 meters ahead, I got addicted. I had never been wanted. Sure it was only for 15 minutes or so, as long as no one would know. But that little bit of acceptance beat nothing by a country mile. I had made the mistake of thinking Harvard would give me what I wanted. Again I would make the mistake of thinking a partial reward, temporary acceptance, would ease the loneliness of my soul. Hey, you’ve got to hand it to me, I didn’t sit around, depressed because I was alone. I actively took steps to fix it. Crazy steps into a crazy world, but I tried.
Sex worker motives outside of drugs can be very surprising—yet understandable
Caroleena, explaining the role of isolation in her choices.