parties.
And at the parties there was alcohol although—strictly speaking—it was illegal in Brunei. There was music. There was dancing. And above all there were women—beautiful women from all over the world. There were women from Thailand, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Indonesia, Hong Kong, a handful of us from the US, and
all of us
were vying for the attention of the prince. It was like the original
Bachelor
.
We would go to these parties every night, and then we would stumble home drunkenly at five in the morning, and we’d sleep all day. And the days tumbled into nights, tumbled into days, tumbled into nights.
After two weeks there, contrary to all my big plans, I had not made a prince fall in love with me. Rather, I had sat there and watched from across the room as all the other women flirted with him, and he ignored me. I wondered what they had that I didn’t. I figured I just didn’t know how to play that game. I didn’t rate. And I thought that was gonna be it; I was going to be going home just like that.
But one morning I was spirited away from the palace, and I was taken to an office building in the capital city. I was locked in an office there, and it was freezing cold, and it was stuffed with all this tacky furniture and what seemed like a hundred pictures of the prince’s three wives. I tried one door, and it waslocked. I tried the other door; it was locked. There was no bathroom.
I waited there for four hours, until I was trembling from hunger, from cold, from nerves. I considered peeing in a trash can.
I hoped that I was waiting there for the prince, and not for some other mysterious, unthinkable fate, because they had taken my passport. And these were people who were way more powerful than me. Very few people even knew where I really was. I could vanish at that moment and there would be no culpability. And there was nothing I could do about it. So I closed my eyes, and I tried to imagine I was somewhere warm, and I fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was to the sound of the door opening. Standing in front of me was the prince. Until that moment, I had only seen him in casual clothes, but he looked—that day—like a prince. He was dressed in this snazzy uniform, and he had medals on his chest. I sat up way too quickly.
I wouldn’t say what I felt for him at that minute was love, exactly, but I felt this very deep sense of gratitude for the fact that he had rescued me from this freezing cold, locked room. I also felt a profound desire to be valued by this person.
And I think in extreme circumstances, the combination of these two things can look very much like love. The prince kissed me, and that was how our romance started. I got to know him a little bit, and as I did, I found out that the prince was not only handsome, he was also bright, educated, and, yes, charming. In spite of the totally bizarre circumstances, I liked him. And for whatever reason, he liked me too.
I rose very quickly through the ranks of the women, and I became his second favorite girlfriend. I know. You’re probably thinking,
His second favorite girlfriend, is that good?
It was. In the context, under the circumstances, it was good enough. And the prince at this time was looking for a fourth wife.
Now, for a fourth wife, it would not be inconceivable for him to choose from amongst the women at the parties. And honestly, I thought about it. I did. I imagined what it would be like to marry him. What Disney-brainwashed American girl would
not
think about it?
But I really tried not to add self-delusion to my growing list of character flaws at this point, because I realized that we were prostitutes. I mean, if you go to the same party every night, wind up making out with the guy throwing the parties, and walk home with a handful of cash, you are a hooker. And at first this didn’t really bother me. But eventually all of the locked doors and the constant surveillance we were under started to wear on my nerves.
So one
And at the parties there was alcohol although—strictly speaking—it was illegal in Brunei. There was music. There was dancing. And above all there were women—beautiful women from all over the world. There were women from Thailand, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Indonesia, Hong Kong, a handful of us from the US, and
all of us
were vying for the attention of the prince. It was like the original
Bachelor
.
We would go to these parties every night, and then we would stumble home drunkenly at five in the morning, and we’d sleep all day. And the days tumbled into nights, tumbled into days, tumbled into nights.
After two weeks there, contrary to all my big plans, I had not made a prince fall in love with me. Rather, I had sat there and watched from across the room as all the other women flirted with him, and he ignored me. I wondered what they had that I didn’t. I figured I just didn’t know how to play that game. I didn’t rate. And I thought that was gonna be it; I was going to be going home just like that.
But one morning I was spirited away from the palace, and I was taken to an office building in the capital city. I was locked in an office there, and it was freezing cold, and it was stuffed with all this tacky furniture and what seemed like a hundred pictures of the prince’s three wives. I tried one door, and it waslocked. I tried the other door; it was locked. There was no bathroom.
I waited there for four hours, until I was trembling from hunger, from cold, from nerves. I considered peeing in a trash can.
I hoped that I was waiting there for the prince, and not for some other mysterious, unthinkable fate, because they had taken my passport. And these were people who were way more powerful than me. Very few people even knew where I really was. I could vanish at that moment and there would be no culpability. And there was nothing I could do about it. So I closed my eyes, and I tried to imagine I was somewhere warm, and I fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was to the sound of the door opening. Standing in front of me was the prince. Until that moment, I had only seen him in casual clothes, but he looked—that day—like a prince. He was dressed in this snazzy uniform, and he had medals on his chest. I sat up way too quickly.
I wouldn’t say what I felt for him at that minute was love, exactly, but I felt this very deep sense of gratitude for the fact that he had rescued me from this freezing cold, locked room. I also felt a profound desire to be valued by this person.
And I think in extreme circumstances, the combination of these two things can look very much like love. The prince kissed me, and that was how our romance started. I got to know him a little bit, and as I did, I found out that the prince was not only handsome, he was also bright, educated, and, yes, charming. In spite of the totally bizarre circumstances, I liked him. And for whatever reason, he liked me too.
I rose very quickly through the ranks of the women, and I became his second favorite girlfriend. I know. You’re probably thinking,
His second favorite girlfriend, is that good?
It was. In the context, under the circumstances, it was good enough. And the prince at this time was looking for a fourth wife.
Now, for a fourth wife, it would not be inconceivable for him to choose from amongst the women at the parties. And honestly, I thought about it. I did. I imagined what it would be like to marry him. What Disney-brainwashed American girl would
not
think about it?
But I really tried not to add self-delusion to my growing list of character flaws at this point, because I realized that we were prostitutes. I mean, if you go to the same party every night, wind up making out with the guy throwing the parties, and walk home with a handful of cash, you are a hooker. And at first this didn’t really bother me. But eventually all of the locked doors and the constant surveillance we were under started to wear on my nerves.
So one
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