No Matter Where We Are

By Alisha Saulnier

Mia and Araya are twin sisters living an ordinary life. Then tragedy strikes one on top of another. Their big break comes, but it's not what they think it's going to be. Sex trafficking is an unfortunate reality in the world today. It's hard to look at and even harder to live through. Deciding who we are and how we respond to what life throws at us is a lesson we can all learn. Will they remember the good they have chosen in their younger years? Will it be enough to get them through when they can see no good around them? As they walk through these complex situations and meet so many others, will they know when to be kind and when to fight? Follow the sisters through their journey in and out of this nightmare.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647014704

Book preview

Chapter One

W hy couldn’t she just give them good Filipino names?

She isn’t really Filipina. Her father raised her like an American!

It’s a shame her mother died when she was so young.

Yes, we can’t blame her. We shouldn’t really.

Well, why not! She’s had time to learn but hasn’t! Everyone fell silent as Ms. Batac began. She should just go to her beloved America that she goes on and on about! If she loves it so much, she should just go! Like we are not good enough! She is always talking about its freedoms and education. We are smart. We are happy.

Ms. Moirrah Batac had lived long enough to say what she wanted and expected the younger women to listen to her as she had when she was their age. Our mother had never been one to tolerate unkindness in her own life or around her, even if by tradition they had earned the right to humiliate others by living through humiliation. This had created a rift between the two women that our mother regretted. She did her best to live at peace with her but would not let this cycle of abuse continue.

There were gasps and whispers. The gaggle of gossiping women parted as our mother walked toward this honored woman and spoke carefully.

I have named my children as I have and would only ask that you respect them and that you are kind to them whatever their names are, just as I will teach them to be kind and respectful to you, Ms. Batac. And then our mother walked past, not listening as the women shouted insults at her. It wouldn’t take long before they would turn in and start yelling at one another. We were just two weeks old and would not remember that, but it continued for years before they found new things to pick on.

We were born in the spring of 1977 to a Filipino man and his half Filipino wife, but our story starts long before our birth, because that half of our mother that was not Filipino was the bigger half, according to our small town. Her father had come over during World War II and fell in love with Lola during the short time he was stationed here. She was young and kind. Kindness in the middle of a war was not something a soldier would forget. Like so many soldiers, he promised to come back after the war, but unlike most of them, our grandfather actually came back. They both loved Lola’s village, so Grandfather stayed here with her.

There are many stories about how exactly he lost his American citizenship, but one thing was the same in all of them: in the end, he chose to let go and work toward getting his Filipino citizenship instead of fighting to stay an American. He still loved America and all it stood for, but he loved Lola more, and given the choice, he stood with her.

Grandfather and Lola had three children (two boys and a girl) when the volcano came to life and took so many lives with it. They lost all three of their children in that volcanic eruption, all but one. Lola was pregnant with our mother at the time, and she was their new life.

Grandfather moved them to a new island, away from all the memories, to start again with this new child. When Mother was born, everyone was happy, but even after the fires died and time and distance separated them, the volcano eventually took Lola too. She wasn’t the only one to get lung infection from the ash nor the only one to die from it. Grandfather had lost so much, but many others had lost as much as him and more. So in all this, he helped those around him and respected everyone. He raised Mother this way too; he taught her to be kind and respectful.

Years passed, and the nation healed. A wealthy owner of four rice farms fell in love with our mother. It was her kindness that attracted him to her. Well, the fact that she was the prettiest girl in his class didn’t hurt, but he said that would not have mattered if she were unkind. A few years after, they got married, and we came. Our mother was so happy to be adding to the legacy.

Araya Sunshine, because she will be a light in dark places.

And then the midwife announced that there would be twins.

My love! We are having twins! Mother called to Father.

He replied, Then name this one Mia Love!

And so there we were, Araya Sunshine and Mia Love—sisters, twins, Filipinos that were one very large quarter American.

Life was good growing up. We were always together. Father sent us to the best school money could buy, and Mother always had a story to tell that would fill us with wonder and wisdom. We had many guests in our home. Mother and Father served everyone as kings and queens. So if anyone needed a place to stay, they were brought to us. With open doors, we were never bored but not ever really stressed either. Mother made sure of that. Most of the people in the community loved us and helped us whenever there was a need or just because they could. Ms. Batac and some of the other elders had reservations or just avoided us, but that didn’t bother Mother or Father, and so we didn’t let it bother us either. They had learned to distrust change. We were different, but we would organize help for them if they needed it and then left them their space. We were a kind and respectful home, for anyone and everyone. Every morning, we would open our eyes to see the portrait of our family and remember that it was a good way to start the day and our lives.

One day, while we were studying at home with a few friends, Mother made us the best yema balls with the fresh eggs one of the girls had brought. It had been a good growing year for everyone, and we all had more than enough. With the introduction of snacks, work quickly turned to chatter and gossip.

Did you hear? That old Batac fell while she was out in her garden! It wasn’t quite delight in her voice, but it was close.

I bet she was chasing a nice little kitten or swatting at a butterfly! That old…ummm…elder?

Mother had walked in and, with her, an air of righteousness that brought life to our guilt. Before anyone else could dig us all deeper, Mother reframed our conversation.

What is this I hear? An elder of our gentle, kind, and caring community has a need? Mother had a way of spinning even our meanest words into what they should have been.

Yes, Mother. Ms. Batac has fallen.

We were all blushing.

Well, I see you are all done studying, and since there is still time left in the day, should we do something to help Ms. Batac?

There was a mix of answers.

Yes! was the enthusiastic answer of all those wanting to alleviate their guilt.

I need to go home. It’s getting late was the skittish answer from those who chose to run from the guilt.

But she doesn’t really need anything, and she wouldn’t take it from us anyway. She is…unhelpable was the reasonable answer from those who denied their guilt altogether.

Well, if you need to go, you are most welcome to and also most welcome to come back anytime was Mother’s most motherly answer.

As Father would say, Never has kindness heaped on so much guilt than when it comes from a righteous woman’s mouth.

Half the girls went home, and then Mother came back to address the guilt deniers. You are right. Ms. Batac doesn’t need anything, and she won’t take it from you, but that doesn’t make her ‘unhelpable,’ as you say. It just means we need to be…inventive. Mother was about to tell us one of her stories again.

"My father came across many people he was not supposed to help. His friends told him that it was too dangerous, that they weren’t worth it, that they didn’t need help, or that they were too far away and he didn’t know them so why help them? They told him that other people who were closer and would get in less trouble could help them if they really needed it. They said that as Americans, they were just unable to help most Filipinos. No one would have blamed my father for just walking away—no one, that is, but my father himself.

"My father wasn’t one to think of anyone as unhelpable or that he was completely unable to help. There were just people we hadn’t found a good way to help yet. As an American, he was limited, but your lola, my mother—although at the time she and my father were not married yet—was not an American; and she would help him. So together they gathered all the children that they could have around without getting too much attention. They called it a study group and gave them textbooks and taught them things, but really, it was a way of giving help.

Each night, they sent out a chain of covert little helpers from the alley behind your lola’s home. Your grandfather would give what food he could gather to your lola, and she would add to it what she had and give it to the children. If they had spare food, they added it, too; and if they needed food, they took what they needed and passed on the rest to the children in the homes around them. After a month, hundreds of ‘unhelpable’ people ate every night. So if they could do that, we can help Ms. Batac. Do you have any ideas of how we can help Ms. Batac?

There was silence in the room, and many of us thought of giving up, but Mother waited so expectantly.

She has food, one girl blurted out, not knowing what to say. It broke the silence and started a conversation, which was a relief. Ideas were easier to find in conversation.

Okay, yes, her basic needs are met. She has food, medical treatment, and a home, but surely there is more to life than that! Mother had an idea. We could see that, but she wanted us to find it or suggest another one of our own, so we waited again.

My mother says we are worth more than life to her, tried another girl.

Yes, and friends add to life, Mother added to bring the comment into the conversation.

But how do we help Ms. Batac with that? There was a murmur of agreement.

We visit one another, but we can’t go see her. She doesn’t want company.

The girl was right. We would get chased away and just upset her if we tried to go see her.

On days when you can’t see one another, how do you stay friends? Mother had the best questions to keep conversations going, which was quite a talent really.

We remember one another and the times we had, a girl near Mother said almost in a whisper.

And the time we were going to have! shouted the girl near the whisperer.

We can write to one another.

Now our ideas were flowing.

Or call one another.

Send one another gifts.

And if we see someone that knows the other one, we can ask about them.

Or ask them to say hi for us!

Do you think we could send Ms. Batac a letter?

We can remind her of good times.

Like the time she held that new baby. I think she almost smiled then!

Or the day she carried all her groceries home by herself for the first time after breaking her arm. She was so proud.

I bet she will do it again. We can tell her that too!

We should each write her a note so she gets lots of mail! I love getting mail!

Just write her notes? But that is boring!

Not if we make it exciting!

And then a plan started coming together. Mother slipped out unnoticed. This was all up to us now.

Mother, we are going out, Mia announced as the last one out the door. Please! she added quickly, but we were all already on our way.

Okay, but be back for dinner! Mother said, smiling at our backs.

We each had an envelope, and once out the door, we spread out over the city. We were to pick someone and give them an envelope.

We found a nice lady with her husband.

Excuse us! we said, running up to them.

Why, hello! Can we help you? said the man in a funny voice.

We hope so. We handed them our envelopes.

These are for Ms. Batac. She has fallen and was injured and needs to remember good times. We’ve put our best memories of her in the envelope, Mia instructed.

I added, And things that we remembered had made her happy. If you add yours and pass them on, we will gather lots of encouragement for her.

Oh dear, this is fun! said the woman.

Her husband was still smiling but, in a more practical voice, asked, How do they get to her?

Oh! The date on the envelope! Whoever has it on that day brings it to her. We pointed to the date at the top.

Wonderful! We are happy to help you, he responded with a smile.

Thank you! we said together, giggling.

As we walked away, we heard the woman calling us cute. Mia didn’t want to just be cute; she wanted to be helpful.

Araya Sunshine?

Yes, Mia Love?

Do you think everyone in the town will help Ms. Batac? Even people that don’t know her?

Yes, helping is contagious, and everyone can think of something nice to say. Even if it’s not about Ms. Batac, finding good things is, well…a good thing to do.

Still, it was torture waiting for that week to end so we could find out if she liked the notes and if she even got them! When the day finally came, we heard nothing. It was so disappointing, and Mother told us that we had done the right thing and that she was proud of us even if it didn’t help Ms. Batac. We were kind and respectful, and even without recognition or seeing the results, being who we were no matter where we were was enough for Mother. She said that sometimes things didn’t work out but we should always try to learn.

It was still disappointing though.

Did you hear? Three days later, a friend of ours came bursting through our door. Did you hear?

Hear what? Are you okay?

Yes, I am fine, she said, brushing away our question. She got them! She got them ALL! She even read them! Our friend took a moment to catch her breath and greet Father, who had come to hear what all the commotion was about, and then she was right back to her news. She got them, all the notes on the date we picked. There were thousands and thousands of them! I heard she cried and ordered everyone out of the room and spent the rest of the day and the next two days just reading each and every one of them! It worked. We helped the unhelpable old…umm…elder! It would be a while before we would all instinctively respect her, but like learning a new language, practice made perfect.

Not unhelpable, just not helped yet! We laughed.

Until now. Now she is just like us! Fully helped, like a friend.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Chapter Two

G ood morning, my girls! It’s your birthday!

Mother’s beaming face was a wonderful thing to wake up to!

Good morning, Mother! Is Mia ten now?

Yes, and so are you, my Sunshine. Gathering us up on her lap, Mother hugged us both and began to tickle us. We tickled her back until we were all just a giggling pile in the middle of the bed. Breathing deep and stretching out in the sun, Mother smiled and asked, Who wants to help make their cake?

Four hands shot up in the air. Mother laughed and told us to get dressed and come down for breakfast.

I was the tallest of the two girls, with stick straight hair and the biggest brown eyes on the island. I liked to wear bright fiery colors, and it fit me perfectly.

If you were American, you’d be a redhead! Mother would tell me when I was being particularly passionate or just plain stubborn.

I liked being the center of attention and speaking about everything I cared about, and I cared about a lot of things! I was the most like Father except that I didn’t always know when to stop or admit I didn’t know something. I was learning and teaching us to love fully and with compassion for those who might go a bit too far.

Mia was my opposite. Mother said she was a good balance for me. Mia looked more American than me but acted more Filipino. Mia’s hair would never go all the way straight, and her eyes were just a little too green to really be brown. She liked how she looked but not the attention it got her, and so she did her best to wear simple clothes in muted or neutral colors. Us girls wished at times to look like the other so that our appearance matched our personalities, but we liked that part of us matched the other, and that bound us together a bit more.

Still, Mia insisted that I was the pretty one and should be a model. "In the United States,