Hello Everyone!

I am still writing the second part of my memoir. It has been a long, long journey and writing with my full concentration has been hard at times, being a mother of four and a busy one at that, leaves me exhausted but somehow I am still finding the time to write down my words.
With much to do, I believe the book will be complete and ready for publication by October/November of this year. I hope you will all bare with me and keep your emails coming. Your love and support has been so appreciated and valued. Thank you all for your encouraging words of comfort, it gives me the inspiration and drive to write more and more.
Thank you again,

Love always

Vilai*

I am born of Thai parentage. My parents were both from small rural villages of the farming provinces of North-East Thailand, just an hour's drive from Buriram, through the dusty dirt tracks and countless rice fields. Both wanted more than the rice fields and wooden huts could offer and separately pursued their own quests for a better life. My Por, father choose to rob, cheat and kill in the nearby towns, he became a notorious gangster, whilst my mother choose to find her dreams in Bangkok. After I was born, my father sat in jail some 40kms away from my birthplace and my mother became a labourer on a building site in the city. My Da, grandfather looked after me with every baht he was sent and smothered me with love. These early memories of 'home' gave me a solid and loving foundation and have stayed with me till now. It was a blissfully rich and beautiful beginning, one filled with vibrancy and belonging. Even though we come from one of the poorest provinces in Thailand, I did not understand wealth and monetary gain, all I knew was love and true happiness.

Eventually my mother’s hardships were heard and she started work as a seamstress in a prosperous part of Bangkok. She soon divorced my father. My mother did not go unnoticed and within months, married a ‘Farang’, in the hope that he would take her away from poverty and shame. My mother returned for me at the age of four after her second wedding. This came as a thunder bolt to me. My Da and I were torn apart and the beautiful relationship between my Por and I was severed forever. Heart broken and tearful, I left ungraciously and suddenly. It was the last time I saw my Por alive.

My Por was devasted, the thought of never seeing me again left him grieving but that grief soon turned to anger. In one night, my Por killed five men leaving a death sentence on his own head. He loved my mother so much that he married her youngest sister and they both lived on the run for nine years.

Alone and living in Singapore, my mother was unable to communicate, unknowingly she had signed our lives away. My life had drastically changed and I soon became homesick and withdrawn. When I started my life with my mother we moved to Malaysia and Libya then settled in England. We lived in luxury, her husband’s status allowed for private helicopters, chauffeur driven cars and private schools. But the novelty as expatriates soon wore off. She became a slave to her new husband whilst I endured years of physical, mental and sexual abuse at the hands of her new husband. All the while as I spent my childhood in fear, I kept my dream alive by clinging on to the memories of my Da and Por.

Too scared and uneducated, she did not have the strength to leave and my mother continued with her abusive husband for another eleven years, thus allowing me to be beaten at every given opportunity. Behind closed doors, my life was far from perfect. I truly believed that I was an unwanted 'imbecile,' a 'vile creature' from the poor paddy fields of Thailand. These were the words that were beaten into my head for many years and still today, they have never left me. During the day, I held my breath as my step-father served out my punishment, thrashing me from room to room with a hatred that I have never understood. At night, I suffered in silence as he crept his way into my bedroom and 'rewarded' me. This man stole my childhood, he stole my worth and my smile. Somewhere, somehow, in my young mind, I knew that being 'punished' and 'rewarded' were not something all little girls went through but I continued every day with 'our' secret.

My mother was forced to fend for herself and me. Her husband simply did not want to take care of his 'vile creature' any longer. Because my mother had no further education and her English speaking skills were poor; she had no option but to clean homes smaller than our own. During this time, my mother survived on tiny amounts of money to feed herself and me. I was fed on soup and bread for nearly a year. As my stomach arched with pain each night, I prayed for the strength to live.

Within a year or so, she had saved enough for the both of us to return to Thailand. I was just thirteen years of age. The thought of being in the arms of my Por once more was a dream come true. For the first time in nine years, I returned with her to my homeland and my eyes suddenly opened up. I started to see life in a new light, a beautiful light. What I saw and learnt in my country was far more inspiring and beautiful then anything I had imagined. I had been brainwashed to believe my step-father's cruel words; the Thai people all around me were not ugly, primitive and uncivilized. They are wonderfully warm and loving, intelligent and far more civilised and developed than he could have surmised. I instantly fell in love with my country. It was then that I realised that I was not unwanted, but cherished and truly loved; everything a child should rightfully be. Reunited with my Da once more, I became stronger and more determined, refusing to let my step-father win. For just two weeks, I lived in perfect safety, no one harmed me, and no one forced me to do the things I had learnt to do each night. But as I turned to face the wind, my Por did not come. He could not come. In hiding but desperate to hold me, he sat and cried for me and I left Thailand brokenhearted and lost.

When we returned to England, my step-father's tyranny took a turn for the worse and I had had enough. I bravely began to speak out about my life. Esther Ranson’s Childline gave me the confidence and opportunity I needed. His exposure was masked with intelligent denial and monetary manipulation but his fear could not hide, divorcing my mother within months of the revelations.

I waited for years for my Por to rescue me. By the time I reached the age of fifteen, it was too late; my Por lay in a pool of blood, with three bullets embedded in his head; he was dead. My hero was gone. My dreams of being close to him were shattered forever.

With my path now free from danger, my life started to look up but the damage had already been done. Too young and unworldly, I left school for Art College in London. At the age of sixteen, I decided to pursue my own quest for a better life. With dreams of becoming an architect, I thought I had 'the world at my feet' and studied hard to keep the promise I had made to my Da, 'I will come back to you.' Instead, I fell into the path of more abuse, believing this was all there was for me. I continued to live most of my adult life in acceptance of abuse and tolerated what was thrown in my path. A few months after starting college, I fell pregnant through a horrific gang rape, and became imprisoned for three months by one of perpetrators. I lived with a dangerous schizophrenic, surviving everyday on potatoes and tomato ketch-up. I found myself starving and dirty, and my step-fathers words started to haunt me even more. 'You digusting vile creature. You will never be anything but an animal.' So there I was once more, living as an animal, unworthy and discarded. Far from home, I cried each night for my mother's warmth. After giving birth to my daughter, Mia, I ran away but not without the help of the police.

I then entered into a new relationship, believing I was with a good man and living in a safer environment to raise my daughter. Instead it became shrouded with lies, and I found myself being constantly cheated on. I endured more years of mental and violent physical abuse. By the time I had my second child; I found a way out through the easiest of means and became one of London’s highest paid escorts. I became a regular visitor to some of London's top hotels and restaurants, taking care of my own clients from all over the world and for two years, I lived a life of guilt free and therapeutic luxury. Revenge was by way of taking control and in my mind, I had landed. With this new found confidence and worth, came the money, clothes and lifestyle, I had more money than I could fathom. All the while, I was still living with my second child’s father in a run down council flat in South East London. He was a violent, manipulative and greedy man who enjoyed all the rewards of my success.

Eventually the feelings of unworthiness started to affect me and I knew I had to get out of this cycle of easy living and domestic violence. I had to make something of myself but how? Moving from women’s aid refuges and hostels all over London to protect myself and my girls, I returned to the flat to bravely get rid of my partner. The police saw to it that he would leave. Raining down blows onto his body until he was rendered helpless, they dragged him into the police van and continued.

I planned a new start for myself and my girls. We were now safe.

Finding a new and exciting career, I was pursued by the director of a Mercedes Benz franchise and begun a new life. My new partner was also one of the most well connected drug dealers in Kent, he was respected, adored and loved by all those that knew him. His money and lifestyle were far beyond my wildest dreams and we lived our days sweeping through restaurants and winebars, expecting the 'red-carpet' treatment where ever we went. The cars, the designer labels, homes and holidays soon became tiresome. This life became riddled with champagne and cocaine, and I spent many nights reliving my past, desperate for another 'buzz' to numb the pain that haunted me silently. He was a married man, twenty seven years my senior. Again I felt trapped. I pined for a normal life and embarked on an affair that led me to my first marriage.

Being four years my junior, our relationship at first seemed sweet and promising but several months later, I found out that not only him but his whole family too were illegal immigrants. After the wedding, my new husband was hastily detained and remanded in a detention centre at Gatwick airport. Too far gone in pregnancy and hopelessly blinded by love, I did my best to rally round and campaign, involving M.Ps and solicitors but none believed that I was eight months pregnant. Promptly handcuffed and stuck on a plane, he had no right to remain. Legalities and immigration became my forte as I fought for my new husband’s immigration status, traveling to Jamaica and back only to be lied to and used. I did not realise it then but I was the instrument his family used to gain access into the country, and before long, I found myself trapped again. Bringing up my third child and only son, I spent three more years being deceived. I had to break free from the death threats and Jamaican ‘Yardies’ and filed for divorce on the grounds of being cheated into the marriage.

Now married for the second time but extremely happy and settled, I have my fourth child, another son. True happiness and calm have been so hard to find and the road was often lonely and desperate. Finding trust was not easy but there have been so many beautiful people in my life that have made such in an impact on me; it has shown me how good God really is. My husband, Mark, troubled and alone too, he remained my ‘rock.' Now I have everything I wish for. Only now, I can say that I am a 'woman.' No one hurts me the way I've been hurt before, I simply won't let you. I take you through my true journey of thirty four years of hardship and pain, but always at the end of the tunnel, I have found a way out of my struggles and live on with my dreams, hopes and aspirations. I am normal, I am somebody, I am Vilai, a daughter of Thailand and more importantly, I am a child of God.