what time is it?

It wasn't a normal fitful night of sleep. Surprisingly, my body wasn't hot enough to induce an infernal rage, a sleepy-heavy-eyed infernal lazy rage. (I like this term “Lazy Rage.” I will now use it on the regular.) It wasn't the heat that kept me awake. And thankfully, it wasn't seasonal allergies encasing my entire throat with the most irritating itch, so itchy it wakes me up from deep sleep, and a lazy rage comes over me and I take a pink pill with a few gulps of water and pass out again. It wasn't the awful seasonal allergies that kept me awake. It was seasonal diarrhea.

I was up, like clockwork, once every hour through the night hustling back and forth from my room to the toilet. I am currently cursed with a long-lasting bout of diarrhea. (Oh, did I mention this blog post is packed full of too much information? Oh, yeah, it is. Sorry I didn't warn you earlier.) On the bright side, this is a fairly tolerable case of diarrhea to stomach (see what I did there?) because in-between the hourly water closet trips, I don't feel like I'm dying inside. I don't feel like my internal organs are slowly melting away....or better yet being eaten alive by a colony of foreign bacteria like termites demolishing your cherished cabin by the lake. It's not like that.

This is what my insides look like


This morning, the alarm clock on my PC issued Samsung cellphone rudely interrupted the last bit of solid sleep I had the fortune of retrieving during my schizo night poop/sleep schedule. I thought my cellphone and I were close enough that he would consider the state I was in and give me that last hour to sleep. You think you know someone....
I played my cards as I'm accustomed to and ignored that alarm until, of course, it was time to poop again. Curiously, it was still pretty dark out at 6AM but my thoughts slowly faded into more sleep; my body behaved until I really had to get out of bed. I startled myself out of that final slumber, read my phone clock with a grumble of disappointment – 7:18AM already? Really? Gosh dangit.

I don't like being behind schedule regardless of how my insides are feeling. I like relaxing mornings where I can take my time. Rushing is the worst. But I accepted my reality and finally left my house at 7:35AM. But hey, it appears that everyone else is running a little behind schedule and I take comfort in this. “You're okay, Laura” I told myself, “your coffee lady isn't even set up yet...now that is weird.” Eh, maybe everyone was up late (late as in 9PM) drinking last night just like me? Is it another holiday? I can never keep track/don't bother keeping track. My favorite breakfast lady was setting up very slowly so I settled for the lesser noodles. I smiled at all the old people eating noodles along with me. “I love old Khmer people” I thought to myself.

Noodles were successfully slurped into my precarious belly and I momentarily feared that the diarrhea I battled all night long would hit me again and I'd risk pooping my pants while walking to the health center. ON-WARD-LAURA!!! I stopped at my coffee spot and looked at my clock again – 7:55AM, no time to sit and enjoy the mediocre ice coffee. I told my coffee lady I'd take my coffee in a bag because it was almost 8AM. And this surprised her “Whoa! Leuun! (fast)”

My ever loyal and lovely coffee lady


But some guy quietly sipping his coffee at the coffee spot claimed that it was only 7:09AM. His fancy smartphone said so. Outright, I told him his phone was wrong. My coffee lady loyally took my side. Smartphone man asked a gentleman eating Khmer noodles in the stall next door what time his watch said and HIS clock was wrong too!

. . .

“What the eff is going on here? Is it Cambodian daylight savings day or some shit? A weird Khmer holiday where time makes no sense? It's possible with so many holidays in such a small country... Either way, I took my bag of coffee and went along my merry way. I ran into one of my friends that I drank Ganzberg German premium beer(please click on that link to experience the greatness of Ganzberg Beer) with last night. He said “sabaii! (happy!)” we shared a laugh and carried on in opposite directions. Hey! No hints of pants-pooping yet! Everything's coming up Laurax!

The kids at the primary school were collecting water from the pond with small bottles. A gaggle of girls followed the leader out onto a log to fetch their water. I never have my camera when I really need it.

I turned into the driveway of the health center and found it all locked up still. What the....? Oh well. I'ma do my thang anyway and I go about my morning routine of preparing the cooler with vaccinations and settle into my book. ...Curiosity peaked again and I decided to text my friend Margaret:

I flirted with Margaret AFTER this first text message, duh.



[What time is it?
It seems as though
everyone was up late
drinking last night.
This one guys phone
said it was only 710...]


Margaret responds:

[My phone says 718]


I looked at my phone and it read 8:09AM...uuhhhhhh wut?


FLASH!


And then it all came back to me. I was drinking with my friends last night (employees of my host family...friends by association) and during my second trip to the bathroom, pre-diarrhea escapades, I accidentally dropped my phone in the “bawee” (k'bawee? I've never really bothered to figure out how to say the word correctly) which is the bucket we use to awkwardly wash our bums while using the squattie potty. Immediately I snatched my fully-immersed phone, miraculously still working, from the water. I opened it up to check its insides and told my friends what I did. One of the guys took it and quickly dried if off with the air pump thingy. When we put the phone back together, I remember thinking to my self “Self, remember to set the clock correctly later.” And in the meantime I made an extremely rough estimate on the time and punched it in.

However, in my hazy Ganzberg state of mind, I did not remember to remember. And in turn, I basically called other people liars for having the wrong time. It couldn't possibly be MY phone that was the issue. But you know what? The night of diarrhea and my bizaaro morning of confusion was all worth it for the fun night I had that caused the problem (and my denseness) in the first place.

Yesterday my host mom was worried about me and my ongoing bathroom problem. She heard rumors that some random person went to a wedding, ate wedding food, then later had a stomach ache, followed by a head ache which was then followed by death. Since my host mom didn't want me to die, God bless her, she had me stay home to eat partially developed duck fetuses, various fried meats, and drink beer with 4 of her employees rather than go with the family to grandma's house to eat. I thought this was an interesting decision on her part but I allowed it.

Ganzberg, the more I drink the better I feel. Another amazing Ganzberg beer commercial to watch!


Her employees (friends by association) followed her strict orders that I eat all 4 duck fetuses and the various fried meats. I refused to eat all of it and asked them to help me. I ate only 2 duck fetuses. And we drank an unquantifiable (unquantifiable by me) number of Ganzberg German Premium beers. We told jokes, sang to each other (I dazzled them with Shakira and Beyonce hits), and I taught them American drinking phrases like “break the seal.” I also translated Khmer drinking phrases into English for them. “DRINK ALL!” It was this night of debauchery that I learned that I am older than every one of my drinking buddies, one of which I have historically called “boo” meaning uncle.

We ended the night with arm wrestling. I did not win.

According to German beer expert Bernd Kirsch, Ganzberg exacerbates diarrhea.

Laurax's 10 commandments of Life & Lurve*

*Love

Today I'm taking this blog to a whole 'nother level and it may seem weird and maybe not something other people want to read but I felt impelled to write it. I've divulged enough dirt about myself on this bloggy-thing so why not talk about relationships? But please, don't anyone go and have an anxiety attack now. I'm just going to talk about what I've learned about myself and relationships so far.

I have made major mistakes when it comes to relationships in my life (ummm, who hasn't?) Your 20s are meant to be a relationship trial phase, right? (...for some, at least.) You have to make mistakes and hopefully learn from them in order to know what's right for yourself and what you want with a partner. I've found that the plus side of being isolated in a village is I have hours upon hours of time to think about all those mistakes and analyze them down to the last embarrassingly idiotic detail. Things be gettin' beat like a dead horse over here. That poor dead horse.

Anyway, it hit me! Like a dead cat slapped across my face. (That poor dead cat.) While taking my post Insanity-workout-shower (Everyone! Be proud of me for actually showering after working out! Yay Laura!) I thought about yet another embarrassing and upsetting relationship mistake amidst scrubbing down with Old Spice body wash (best stuff ever, btw. I'd like to thank my Aunt Barb for sending it to me.) And I thought to myself “Laura, you can't compromise your own values and ideas (or sanity) in a relationship. And you can't ignore those red flags anymore.” Then I thought I'd write my own 10 commandments to keep in mind before I decide to step into uncharted relationship territory ever again. And for the record, I will be sailing no relationships through the sea of love anytime soon. So back off, suitors!

In reality I'm really just holding out on Rob Lowe. I know he's happily married and all but he really doesn't know what he's missing. Seriously. To me, Rob Lowe, you are perfect.



So! With no further ado...here they are!
Laurax's 10 Commandments of Life & Lurve:

1. Thou shall, first and foremost, recognize your own value, intelligence, and beauty. #flawless

2. Thou shall not enter a relationship just because you desire companionship. It especially does not work if the relationship is long-distance to begin with. #thinkwithyourbrain

3. Thou shall embrace being alone and loneliness as a time to find your true self and perhaps a new hobby. #happyalone

4.Thou shall not compromise your beliefs, values, ideas, dreams, or desires in or for a relationship. #dontbeadummy

5. Thou shall listen to your intuition; you are more perceptive than you think. If you think something is not right, take time to find what it is, where it comes from, and how it can be alleviated. #womenbepyschic

6. Thou shall acknowledge and address red flags in a relationship; thou shall not ignore red flags under any circumstance no matter how small they may seem.* #redflagsnonononononono

7. Thou shall consider the feelings and emotions of your other (if you have an “other” that is) before making rash decisions in a relationship. (This can be applied to all relationships in your life - family, friends, co-workers, etc.) #empathyiscool

8. Thou shall accept that happiness in life also comes with sadness; without pain and suffering you cannot experience great joy. #hurtssogood

9. Thou shall accept that every relationship comes with ups and downs and can never be perfect. #whatgoesupmustcomedown

10. Thou shall find what truly makes you happy and pursue that happiness with intention. #eatcookies


No.



*Okay. A word on red flags. As a former Sexual Assault Resource Network educator, a red flag is usually considered a warning sign that you are potentially in an unhealthy or abusive relationship. (Click on this link for more info on red flags.) In terms of my 10 commandments, I am referring to red flags as something that may compromise or squelch who I am; my beliefs, values, ideas, desires, etc. But according to my 10 commandments a red flag can, without question, also be a warning sign that my relationship is indeed unhealthy or abusive. But I guess if there are red flags that my personal beliefs or whatever are being compromised then that is a sign of an unhealthy relationship too. So yeah....I feel like I am rambling nonsensically. Aaaaaanyway.

Also, I am trying to make sure I am not being contradictory or confusing with #6 and #9. I think this is the hardest thing to pin down in a relationship: whether or not hard times and/or disagreements and fights are a part of the natural ups and downs versus red flags in a relationship. That, in essence, is why it's important to have that relationship trial phase, right? Learn the ropes, your ropes, a partners ropes. We've all got ropes we're just not always sure which ones are secure enough to hold our weight. And according to Jay-Z in his book “Decoded” contradiction is a part of being human. So whatevs. I'm gonna contradict myself all over this blog.

Do you completely disagree with or have anything to add to my 10 commandments? Enlighten me, please. Let's talk about this. I've got loads of free time. In the meantime, I will be eating oreos.
Oh, and obviously, these are my 10 commandments on life & lurve. Maybe you should write your own that fit to your life. I think it's important.

Oh my gawd, you're killing me. Rob Lowe.

Hello Contagion

The Culprits?



There is a short-lived feeling of celebrity that courses through the veins of many Peace Corps trainees the first time they hear the screaming “Hellos” of their adoring fans when they settle into their training villages. “They love us!” some may say as they rocket past a hoard of barefooted children running after the tuk-tuk full of “barangs.” (Barang being the generic term for foreigners here, literally meaning French in Khmer.)

The obsessive adoration from screaming children quickly dies down a week into training. Trainees begin to realize that screaming “Hello” to a barang is like a sixth sense for Khmer children. “Seriously, that kid was a full kilometer away from me and was already screaming “helloooooooooo!!!!” How do they do it?!” What is the goal of screaming “Hello” to the barangs? I can tell you right here – right now, it is not to get the expected response of “Hello” in return because they continue to scream “Hello” many times following the initial response.

Scheming...



Trainees become Volunteers and the word “Hello” becomes slightly...tainted. The first step out the door of your new home for the next 2 years is greeted with “HELLO BARANG!” And the fresh faced PCV thinks to himself “Oh....hi....? Do I know you?”
Walking to breakfast, all eyes are glued to your face. Politeness abides. Peace Corps Professional. You're new to the area, you want to make a good first impression. On your bike rides and morning runs through the village you wave and give an obligatory “hello” back to the screaming children.

Then you have a bad day; need to bike off some steam. You ignore a “hello” here and there. The “hello” is repeated. And repeated. And repeated. AND REPEATED!!! “Maybe the barang didn't hear me” thinks the screaming child. Scream it louder and longer, with more INTENSITY: “HHHHHEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” The child screams himself hoarse. A mystery “hello” coming from the woods. “What the heeelllll...? Where are you?” You think to yourself “If I can't see you, I can't, no, won't say 'hello' back.”

Four months in to your service, the word “Hello” is now a disgusting and offensive word.

Your first year of service comes and goes. That was not easy. But you made it. And you know what is still disgusting and offensive? The word “Hello.” How has this word not died down already? Why are they still screaming “HEEELLLLLLLOOOOOO!!!!”??? And it's not just in the village. It's on the way to your provincial town. It's in that alley in-between Sorya and P'saa Thmey in Phnom Penh. It's sitting next to you on the bus to Battambang.

The one on the right has the 6th sense



The “hello” contagion is set off by one child – the one with the keenest scent for barang – and so begins the domino effect of the melodically chimed, screeched, and blurted out “HELLOS!” It spreads so quickly, you can't pick it out with the naked eye. There's no way to avoid it. The “hello” contagion travels faster than any viral boob-slip-dick-pic-choreographed-wedding-procession-internet post you've ever seen.

Headphones during your run can't even eliminate the screams. The screaming “hellos” penetrate even the thickest of steel walls, the original Beats by Dre, and the most stubborn of Peace Corps Volunteers. Ignoring the “hellos” will makes it worse, much worse.

During your second year of service you begin to do freelance research and a full on investigation to find the origin behind the word “Hello” in the Kingdom of Wonder. You wonder “the chicken or the egg?.....these kids didn't teach themselves the word 'Hello.' Did they?”

AHA!

That yay at the health center forcibly took that newborns hand and made it wave “bye-bye” at you. “Why is that baby waving goodbye to me? He never even said...hello.” OP! There it is, as you exit the health center “Hello barang!” says the newborn swaddled in five towels and one floral polar-fleece blanket.

Hello. Is it me you're looking for?



This isn't as simple as you originally thought. It is not only the uncontrollable children screaming “Hello!” at you. It's the men drinking at the little shack on the corner “Hello!” It's the high-schoolers biking on their way to school “Hello!” It's the fruit ladies at the market “Hello!” It's sneaking up behind you on a moto “Hello!” There is no escaping the “Hello!” There is no stopping the “Hello!” The “Hello” owns you. You are “Hello's” bitch.

Your body now has a physical, involuntary response to the word “Hello.” Your limbs go numb from sitting too long, your eyes glaze over, dry mouth? Those crackers are making you thirsty. You suddenly get much better at surfing the internet. You can't seem to stop yourself from eating spoonfuls of peanut butter while sitting on your bedroom floor in your underwear. You sob uncontrollably when Aladdin finally frees Genie from the eternal shackles of a life of servitude in a bottle, baby.

With all the energy you can muster after your three-hour-post-lunch-nap, you walk to the market and attempt to educate the three year old standing 2 feet away from you, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed as you get your nails painted. “Nyay 'Hello' m'dong kuut.” (“Say 'Hello' one time only.” You're sure the Khmer translation is not very clear but who cares?) Alas, you know your efforts are lost as the child walks away for a brief moment, returns with nom soam jeg in hand and screams “Hello barang!” with a mouthful of sticky rice. “Hello barang!” from around the shelf of beauty products. “Hello barang!” from behind the trash heap. “Hello barang!” from the fruit stand 100 meters away. Your thoughts jump to “This kid can teleport, I swear” as you trip your way out of the market. “Hello barang!” from the moto riding by with 3 adults and 3 babies “Hello barang!”

Hi.



I wish there was a way to somehow follow the “hello” contagion back to its conception and find that all signs point to Gwyneth Paltrow as the blame but real life ain't that easy, kid.

What I do know is that tucked tightly between each shrieked out “Hello” there is a quiet smile of a white-haired Ta riding by slowly on his bicycle. There's a shy little “Hi” of a young girl with a toothy grin watching you pass her by. Regardless of the “hello” contagion's degrading effect on the psyche of volunteers, there is a silver lining. Cambodian people love foreigners. It's an undeniable truth. If you want to travel to a beautiful country and feel welcomed by the locals, come to Cambodia.

Dog says "Hello" too.

The helplessness of caring

Who...let...the...dogs...out?



My whole life I've been caring. I was that little girl chasing after every stray or loose dog in a desperate attempt to find its master. Sometimes I was successful in my dog rescue mission (especially if the dog lived in the house across the street) and other times I was called back into the house by my (smart) parents. I laugh now, picturing my little girl self if she were time-machined to Cambodia today and saw all of the stray dogs playing chicken with speeding cars. (Actually, most likely they are not stray, just loose dogs because dogs are practically nomadic creatures here. They are not man's best friend, they are home alarm systems or...a special meal.) Little girl Laura would instantly be chasing one mangey dog after the next and then quickly be shipped to the nearest hospital to get her rabies shot and a wound stitched up. And then I wonder “ would little girl Laura learn her lesson after that?” I think once a bleeding heart, forever a bleeding heart no matter how many times that heart is broken.

This bleeding heart has cynical streaks, to say the least but I still care. I care a lot. I wouldn't be a Peace Corps volunteer if I didn't care. I wouldn't want to pursue social work as a career if I didn't care. But I have been challenged. People challenge me. Cambodia challenges me. Cambodia breaks my heart.

The other day, I set off on my regular run through the neighborhood. Running on the shoulder of National Road 3 until I could sneak off to my favorite dirt road where the likelihood of getting pummeled by a motorbike or speeding van filled with 40 passengers was significantly decreased. But not even 1 kilometer into the run I was jolted out of my “running zone” in which I blare my music enough to drown out the screaming “Hellos” and general buzz of village life in rural-ish Cambodia. Across the street, on the opposite shoulder from me was a woman curled up in the fetal position and a bike tossed on its side. Even more jarring was that people were casually biking and driving past this woman without even batting an eye. Schools girls continued giggling and gossiping cheerfully as they rode past her like she was invisible, part of the scenery of any ol' sunsetting day.

take a break and...look at the flowers.



The little girl Laura that wants to save everyone woke up, stopped running, and turned off her music. I don't like disturbances in my workouts but this was not something I could ignore. Why wasn't anyone stopping to help her? I crossed the street and realized who this particular woman was. She had occasionally yelled drunken nonsense at me during previous runs through the village. And not surprisingly, she was drunk again, curled up in a ball on the dirt with eyes wide open but unfocused.

I was slightly wary about approaching her because I don't know what this woman is capable of and had no doubt of her probable impulsivity. Spending three years around people with brain injuries, brain injuries that often led to a lack of impulse control, I've developed a sensitivity to what that looks like. What some people look like when they are on the verge of exploding. I also learned how to remain calm in moments of crisis (or give the impression of calm while inside adrenaline surged through every vein, resulting in what feels like mass destruction in all the important valves of my body.)

Regardless of the potential risk, I approached her, gently spoke to her, asked her if she was okay. She reacted immediately which I took as a good (?) sign. She mumbled some things that I couldn't understand and I asked her where her house was. I said we'd walk to her house together and I helped her up. She could barely stand on her own. She stood up and grabbed me, put her arms around me tightly. Was this a hug? This was the closest a Khmer person had ever been to me, the closest thing to a full on bear hug I'd ever received in this country. And then I thought “wow, this lady is strong.” And then I said it out loud. “Boy, you sure are strong.” Oh god. I'm not panicking at all...

I tried to convince her that we'd walk to her house together. And I thought to myself “Laura, really? You know that if you commit to this, you will be walking or more likely carrying her the 500 meters or so to her house for the next hour. Not to mention her heavy city bike would be carried along with us. This does not seem sensible.” To forfeit my exercise for the day was not something cynical and selfish Laura wanted to do. But a force stronger and more mystifying than cynical and selfish Laura would keep me from acting on my good deed for the day (or let's say good deed of the month.) This woman was unwilling to listen or cooperate with me. After she finished tightly embracing me, she stood back, spat and fell to the ground. Her shoes were off and thrown about so I decided, if anything, we should get her shoes on because being barefooted in Cambodia is frowned upon unless you are a pants-less baby boy.

I helped her up again and placed her shoes in front of her so she could easily slide her feet in. She fell again. She had a thorn in her foot, which she was very upset about but I pulled it out within a second and the shoes were slipped on. Success! We did it! While I struggle to get her up again, one of my favorite taxi drivers rolls by and is telling me to stop what I'm doing. And then I notice the family across the street is watching me with concerned faces and gesturing with their hands (a very Khmer gesture that I've really taken to in which both hands are raised up and twist like they're screwing in two lightbulbs side by side – this gesture magically means “I don't want to have anything to do with it.”) to leave her alone.

The woman, seemingly unwilling and bullheaded, slurred something incoherent to me and I felt helpless. I decided to cross the street again and talk to the concerned family. I've exchanged friendly smiles with each member of this family many times and I have always appreciated their unobtrusiveness, the politeness they've demonstrated to me. The grandfather, sweet man that he is, spoke slowly in English that I should carry on with my run. He grabbed my hands in his and said sincerely “hotpran hotpran hotpran hotpran” (“exercise exercise exercise exercise”) as he mimicked the way arms move when they run, with our hands held tightly together. I told them I was afraid a car would hit her or that she would fall again. I asked if she had family that could take care of her. The grandfather, grandmother, and their grand-daughter collectively told me to just go and run, and that I shouldn't worry about her.

They were more concerned about me than this woman that clearly needed help. And as they were telling me to go and run, my eyes welled up uncontrollably. I turned around at that moment and turned my music back on. Okay. Just keep running. Just keep running. Act like you aren't worried about that woman. She'll be fine. She can barely hold herself up and just tried getting back on her bike and fell again, but she'll be fine. She'll make it home, no problem. Running while on the verge of crying is a strange sensation but I knew it was what I needed to do in order to shake off the shock and cruel feeling I felt all over.

I ran an extra 10 minutes just to get it out of my system. Running gave me time to sort through what had just happened. To understand why it happened. I can only contemplate and hypothesize why from what I know about Cambodia and Khmer culture. One thing I remind myself when I am upset or confused about the way things work here is that Cambodia is still healing from a tumultuous past. Not only that but Cambodia is still experiencing injustices and corruption that render the people powerless.

My tutor once told me that if there is a car accident, most people do not want to help because they are afraid of being blamed later. Car accidents, all over the world as far as I know, generate crowds – gawkers, rubberneckers – because everyone has a little bit of darkness and morbidity tucked into the folds of their brain. I think Cambodia invented rubberneckers because watching car accidents is like a watching a sports event. Everyone stops what they're doing to have a look at the mess. “What? A crowd? Let's go and see what happened then stand uselessly until someone else decides to help.”

Scaredy kitten.



But why are so many people afraid to help? Afraid they'll be blamed? That mentality might stem back to when the Khmer Rouge was in control. It was safer to stay silent. Getting involved in any trouble could get you killed. So many people kept their mouths shut and watched others disappear, even their loved ones.

Another factor could be the under analyzed and even ignored presence of mental illness – which is likely another side effect of the damage the Khmer Rouge had on the country. * One of my first days at the health center back in 2012, the health center director went through record books with me and was proud to say no one sought treatment for mental illness at their health center. Which he believed to be because there was NO mental illness present in our commune of over 15,000 people in 16 different villages. This was difficult for me to swallow considering my own history and also, my minimal knowledge about countries recovering from genocide.
(* Disclaimer: I am only postulating here. I don't claim to know the reason for anything that happens in a country I've only lived in for a year and a half. It could simply be that it is a developing country and these things take time.)

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD.) If Cambodia were anything like America – PTSD diagnoses would be handed out like pieces of Pez candy. But depression or even temporary sadnesses are very hush-hush here and usually not confronted directly. (Generally just not discussed.) I've been challenged with this approach (or lack thereof) to emotions because I am very honest about my issues and want people to know about it because it makes me who I am. Unfortunately, because the topic of depression is avoided, I end up putting on fronts and pretending I'm happy when I'm not – very often, and it's mentally exhausting. So when I think about people in my community, people that survived the Khmer Rouge, children that are being raised by survivors of the Khmer Rouge, I get worried. I can't even imagine what kind of baggage is building up in the brains of some people here. The baggage could very well be getting passed on from one generation to the next, like a family heirloom.

Alcoholism. Is there an elephant in the room? To some people, drinking is a game here. A competition. Some people say “If you don't drink to get drunk, why drink at all?” meaning get shit-faced or go home. So when I saw that woman on the side of the road, when I realized who she was, I was pained by the reality of her situation and the people avoiding her. They write her off, saying she is crazy, a drunkard. And that's that. She is a hopeless case so she is not worth your time, Laura. Keep running. And again, it's interesting that the health center director, my sort-of boss, was so proud to claim zero mental illness in our community and yet the community has “crazy” people.

Not crazy, just Kids in the hood.



I can think of four people that are deemed “crazy” and each “crazy” person is treated differently depending on their state of consciousness. My favorite “crazy” person (I know, I know...it's not good to encourage the label of “crazy” and then to have a favorite “crazy” person is even worse. But I am only human. I have my faults) is a gentleman that I've deemed a Cambodian hipster because he usually bikes (very quickly, actually) around town with a beer in hand, yelling judgments at people. My first encounter with him he was wearing army fatigues, gold spray-painted-untied-army boots, held a dead snake in one hand and said to me “Welcome to America!” He and I have become misfit friends because he speaks better English than a majority of any people that attempt to speak English in my village. And they call him the crazy one. He lived in Texas for 20 years and raised a family there only to divorce and move back to Cambodia. He then disappeared to Russia for five years, and rumor has it, returned fluent in Russian and “crazy.” He is honest and that is what I like about him. He came to the health center once and I asked him how he was, he said he was fine and when I said I was also fine (he didn't ask me) he shot back “I don't care!” I had to laugh. He also remarked once that I was not afraid of him which I think he appreciates.

Not crazy, just charring a snake.



What I am most puzzled by is the amount of tolerance people have for him. One reason is possibly because he is related to very important (read: rich) people in the community (possibly even my host dad somehow. It's really hard to tell who's actually blood-related in Cambodia. We're all related when you really think about it, right? We're all related SOMEHOW. Anyway. Tangent.) Another reason he is tolerated is because he is fairly conscious of his “craziness” and is fairly amusing. People give him beers at parties and just let him ramble, transitioning smoothly from Khmer to English and back again, and, what many people probably don't know, criticizes Cambodia frequently in his ramblings.

Another “crazy” person is a man that walks up and down the national road, back and forth from his small home to the center of town, sometimes barefooted, sometimes smoking a cigarette, sometimes picking up trash and throwing it down again. He wears the same thing everyday, khakis and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He once stopped in front of the health center, stood tall, saluted us, and continued walking. I once ran past his small house and noticed that the yard was impeccably clean – then I saw him walking with a piece of trash to his fence, he threw the trash on his neighbors side of the fence where there laid a huge pile of trash. I have never witnessed him speak before and this is probably why people don't bother to acknowledge him in anyway.

Not crazy, just napping.



The other two “crazy” people are the woman that crashed her bike and a man that is likely suffering from severe alcoholism and PTSD and other symptoms that often go hand in hand with the diseases. What sets these two apart from the former “crazy” people in my community, is that they are not conscious (or don't seem as conscious) of their “craziness”, they are not “funny” when they drink, they are generally inebriated, angry, drooling, inconsolable, potentially violent, and therefore nuisances. They are nuisances that smear the reputation of such a flawless community. So ignore them, treat them like dogs or worse than dogs.

Regardless of the past, I still can't comprehend how humans can ever treat fellow humans like they are less than human; not worthy of full, happy and healthy lives. But this isn't something exclusive to Cambodia, it happens everywhere.

Sometimes I wonder what the world would look like if it only consisted of people that cared too much. And what is the purpose of having people in the world that don't care? I guess there needs to be a balance of good and evil? We can't all be chasing after stray dogs – nothing would ever get done. And we can't all be cold, selfish individuals because maybe we wouldn't even exist if we were?

the long road ahead of us.



The main takeaway from all this wondering and caring is that we as a worldwide community still have a long way to go. Cambodia has a lot to do before it can be the truly wondrous Kingdom it proudly claims to be. The stigma of mental illness still exists in America today regardless of how far we've come and how much we've learned in over half a century. So...perhaps I must give Cambodia a little grace. I alone can't make big differences without support from the community. Just as I realized I couldn't carry a heavily inebriated woman all by myself. Development takes years, decades, to make a significant dent. More people that care too much will continue to sympathize and fall in love with Cambodia and recognize its potential to be wondrous. But this recognition can't only come from the outside, Cambodia needs to recognize its own potential. As well as its faults. Progress can't be made if problems continue to be ignored. Avoiding a problem won't make it go away. And good old confrontation can sometimes trigger positive change and growth.

DA FUNK.

Something's missing.



I don't know if it's the post-vacation-blues, that time of the month, the change in weather (Cambodia's winter is over already? What about this polar vortex everyone is talking about on the internets???), the reality of a PCVs life and being away from home for so long (or all of the above) but I've been in a funk. And it's funky but not in the groovy kind of way.

Selfie on the island?



And let's be totally honest here, the funk began before my exotic vacation to an island and the Cancun-Style-Spring-Break-New Year's Eve celebration that followed. But a strange and mysterious back injury which occurred possibly during an impromptu acrobatic act during said vacation has only aggravated my funk and led me to vices that are both delicious and shameful. I was in grand shape before Christmas but (I'm sure many volunteers can attest to this) being away from home during the holidays makes me feel inadequate and when I feel inadequate, all I want to do is stuff my face. And drink beer. (And hermit myself, but we'll get to that later.) Bad/good? news: when certain people in your village know that you can drink an occasional beer, they will make you drink many occasional beers at one time and then stuff you full of duck meat (AND DON'T FORGET THE RICE!!!!)

After vacations or any trips away from my village, whether short or long, I allot myself one (or two...) days of sleeping all day or watching movies all day or interneting all day, just to reenergize and get back into the zone. The super-awesome-ambitious-volunteer-zone which I still haven't quite yet fully harnessed or mastered. This I did and following my recuperation day I felt jovial and happy to be back in the village. But the next day that feeling disappeared and was replaced with an increased pain in my back and intense desire to not leave my room. (Which reminds me of a shirt I saw a girl at the market wearing “I have the strong desire to crawl back into the womb” WHO IS MAKING THESE SHIRTS!?!? I must know!)

AND WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO GET INTO THE SUPER-AWESOME-AMBITIONS-VOLUNTEER-ZONE?



A LITTLE BIT OF THIS, A LITTLE BIT OF THAT.



AND I'M IN THE ZONE.



This back pain was only provoked more by my Jillian Michaels 6-week six-pack Abs Workout and hurts all the time now. It hurts to lay down, it hurts when I run, it even hurts when I clear my throat (what? But why?!) So I've had to lay off on my workout routine which is a really big bummer considering how awesome I was doing just a month ago. I've replaced my previous workout routine with watching episodes of Modern Family (I have to admit, I kinda like it. Can I marry Phil please?) and eating Peanut M&Ms in bed. And as much as I appreciate the kindness of my veteran RPCV friends sending M&Ms in packages (Thank you Stewart, Bret, & Ashley! Me heart you), I must say it's really taking a toll on my hot bod. And there's really no way to stop eating M&Ms. You know you're a goner when you open that giant bag. You know you shouldn't do it. You know there's no way in hell you're just eating one handful and then leaving the bag alone until tomorrow. You're going to keep returning to that giant bag a couple times within one 20 minute episode where Gloria and her big boobs and perfect smile are doing something really sweet and surprisingly perceptive.

(Note to friends and family: When I die, bury me in a bed of M&Ms.)

M&M CRISIS.



M&M MELTDOWN.



I watched several episodes of Modern Family at 6AM (when I normally do Jillian), went to the health center as usual, and then went back home as soon as possible to watch more Modern Family and play on the internet before lunch. An email from a friend made me all weepy and for no explicable reason! So to make myself feel better, I tried to make myself look super busy to other people around me. And that meant washing my clothes. (Some people in my village think that I only run and that's my job. Which I'd like to think it is...)
*CONFESSION: I am a spoiled-jerk-volunteer. My host family, they “nek mien” which means “they have” or they rich. In turn, that means they own luxury items such as two Toyota Camrys, a refrigerator, and a washing machine. I'd bargain to say that many volunteers that know this fact about me, loath me just a little bit because I do not have to wash my clothes by hand. Ever. BUT IT'S NOT MY FAULT! BLAME PEACE CORPS! I did not choose to live in this Cambodian mansion. I am not the enemy!

[Insert photo of washing machine here] CAN'T FIND.

(**Americans: next time you look at your pile of dirty laundry and get annoyed because you have to dump it in a washer, shut the little door, push a button, and forget about them for an hour, think, just for a moment, of all the poor Peace Corps Volunteers all around the world that are getting blisters on their hands from hand washing their red-dirt stained clothes once a week. Appreciate, no, WORSHIP this magical machine because it is probably the most magnificent appliance you will ever own.**)

I quietly weeped behind my Tom & Jerry bed sheets because...I don't know why, I felt sorry for myself? Why so weepy? Oh yeah, was it the post-vacation-blues? No, I think I'm over that. That time of the month? Well, yes but whatever, I can cry when I want damnit! Leave me alone!!! The change in the weather? Nah, but as far as I'm concerned, it's perpetually summer here and that can make anyone go a little nutzo. Legit seasons give you something to look forward to or dread, whatevs. So what is it, Laura? Why do you feel this way? Why the funk?

I can't give you a straight answer because I do believe it was F. All of the above. A composition of too many things, making it difficult to really discern why the funk exists.

But let me tell you about this weird natural occurrence that I believe happens to many volunteers. You can wake up in whatever mood – Happy, sappy, annoyed, whatever – and then have one single encounter that can throw you way off of your center. Today I was thrown into the pool where it was between 5ft and 6ft deep which is a little too deep for comfort for a 5'2” person. But I was able to doggie paddle for a while and finally find a place to step flat-footed. (note: figurative pool)

In a normal world, emotions generally stay fairly steady within one given day. But in the day in the life of a PCV, your emotions are a cascading roller-coaster that is falling apart while still moving forward and upside-down at 60mph. You can be laughing one second and then crying the next minute because your favorite breakfast lady wasn't at the market and your flip-flop fell off when you were trying to get moving on your bike. It doesn't take a lot. But even if you did cry an hour ago, another encounter might flip you right back on track on that rickety old roller-coaster.

For me, it took a moment of cross-cultural sharing with my neighbors. They're daughter is getting married on Saturday which I am both looking forward to but also not looking forward to at all because a wedding next door means no silence for approximately 3 days. They asked me if weddings were the same in America and I did not have the words or the energy to explain in Khmer how they are very different so I grabbed my computer instead. I showed them pictures of my friend Caitlin's wedding because her wedding was classic but also very indicative of America's uniqueness. Many Khmer people have their assumptions of America and I wanted to show them how diverse it is. Sharing the wedding photos turned into an hour long slide show which I really enjoyed. I think my neighbors did too but it's sometimes hard to tell these things.


Caitlin & Hubby Sugi Dancing like champions.




And then I rewarded myself with more episodes of Modern Family and later, a run through the village. Fortunately, my back pain is lessening and during my run positive thoughts flowed through my brain. I was reminded that it doesn't take a lot to connect with people in my village and I have to stop being so afraid to do it. I have to stop watching so much TV (after I finish this last disc) and stop eating so many M&Ms (once I'm done with that last bag...) and go outside and just hang out with people. Don't be such a dope, Laura!

Now get the FUNK outta here! I love you.