So Many Motions

Getting ahead of myself


Today, while taking my beloved dog-brother Beau for a walk, I finally had what I can honestly say is my first and truest feelings of loss and longing for Cambodia.

It started out as any typical walk with dog-brother Beau. It was dusk, and to me, it felt cool, almost chilly. And I thought to myself "Gee, I wonder if it still feels hot as balls to the other Minnesotans around here because I could sure use a sweater right now." I still have Cambodia in my blood because this "heat" everyone is experiencing is only the tip of the iceberg as far as Cambodian standards for heat go.
But back to my story.

Beau and I walked toward the Minnehaha Falls. I usually let him lead the way. I think he enjoys people making comments about how cute he is (or am I projecting here? Yeah, I love it when people tell him how cute he is.) We wandered toward the park, he did his business, and I dutifully picked up his business like any good older sister would do. On the way, I noticed a cardinal perched atop a tree along the creek. The sun-setting light glowed against the feathers of the cardinal making it shine such a brilliant red, so much so that I convinced myself for a second that maybe someone lost their brightly colored pet parrot. But no, it was only a cardinal but it sang its song sweetly and made me happy.

Then suddenly, with the falls misting in the background, I saw a familiar image across the chest of someone's t-shirt. To any other person, the simple graphic design might have looked like a few vertical squiggles on a shirt. But, I saw the elephants. Immediately, I stammered, and nearly tripped over my feet, to this woman that I am sorry for interrupting her, her friend, and her baby and asked her if she'd been to Cambodia. She said "yes, about a year and a half ago" and I continued to stammer to her that I served in Peace Corps there and got back about a year ago. She thanked me for my service and she said that she didn't think Peace Corps Volunteers received enough (or any...(well deserved)) recognition for their service. I said that I couldn't agree more. We serve our country as warriors of peace. We don't carry guns while walking through foreign lands.

I thanked her and we all carried on our separate and merry ways. Unfortunately, my initial feeling of happiness from the interaction was quickly overcome by sadness. And I couldn't pinpoint exactly why or where it was coming from at first. It took me a little bit of time...and a little bit of quiet crying while walking through happy picnicking groups of friends and families. Me, lowering my head so my hair partially covered my face so no one would accidentally see my tears or hear my soft sobs...

It's not weird for anyone to see a grown woman crying while walking her dog, is it?

Why so sad?


And then I understood what it was. I have subtly, or maybe not so subtly, been doing it for a little while now. It was that brief connection to the place I called home, be it bitterly or affectionately, for two years. For the most part nowadays, I am repressing my Cambodian life. The reason for this repression is because I lack an appropriate avenue to channel my Cambodian Life; the stories, the feelings, the frustrations, the suffering, and the love that all went along with living there. Sure, I can text or message my other Peace Corps friends but it's not always enough. Exactly how it was never enough to Skype or e-mail friends and family back home while I was in Cambodia. There needs to be a direct connection or it sometimes ends up falling kind of flat. Am I making sense?

It doesn't really matter if I am not making sense to anyone else. I get what I'm trying to say and I hope that maybe someone else out there can concur. Because I feel it all and I want other people to feel it all, too. You feelin' what I'm feelin'?

Either way, my not-so-subtle attempts to connect to Cambodia while being in America are weird and maybe even slightly offensive if I were a little bit more obvious about my mini-missions. I know, you're all like "What the hell are you talking about, Laura?"

Weeeeellll, let me tell you. I have, on more than one occasion, hovered around groups of people and families that have characteristics similar to those with Khmer ancestry in order to eavesdrop and find out whether they are truly Khmer......I always hope that someone will blurt out a couple of Khmer words. So then! Me! The awkward white girl standing nearby can awkwardly chime in? I don't really know how this would all pan out if it actually happened. In Cambodia, the novelty of the awkward white girl speaking Khmer kind of lost its allure after a while...when I could no longer understand the questions or possibly answered a question completely wrong and likely and unknowingly offended someone. So who knows how it would conclude if I intruded on a family outing of some unwitting strangers! Knowing me, and I know me pretty well, I will probably still try to attempt these mini-missions of mine. And why? Because I lack what most people would call "tact."

So...yeeeeahhhh, I know. Is that terrible? It's terrible. But I don't really care because a significant part of my life experience is being repressed and I'm finally starting to come to terms with this reality of mine. I have identified several ways that I can nourish this part of myself but as per my usual "style," I am procrastinating. The first step is acceptance. And I have accepted! And the proof is right here in this very blog post that I wrote after my walk with Beau. But not until after I ate straight from the carton of rocky road ice cream which is in my triathlon training plan. It says that "at least once a week, eat straight from the ice cream carton." And so, as I am training very seriously, and am obviously a staunch rule follower, I abide.
But really, I feel a lot better after writing this than I did once I put the ice cream away.

I miss Cambodia.

THERE!! I said it!!! Are you happy now?!

Yes, I am Laura. Thank you.
You're welcome, Laura.

Here! Have a baby! Be happy!
PHEW! That felt good to get off my chest.

So this is goodbye?

Classic Cambodia


I just collected my first ever stool sample. And it was awkward. A little bit embarrassing even though I was alone in the bathroom. I felt like a scientist. But it was also gross. I mean, we're talking POOP here, people. Fortunately, I get to repeat the process two more times before I leave Cambodia so I can work on mastering the art of stool sample collection. (10,000 hours away from becoming a stool sampling master!!!! JAZZ HANDS!!!)

Another thing I am attempting to master is the art of saying goodbye. My other PCV friends keep saying that they're “so bad at goodbyes” and they're not sure if they're doing it right but then I ask them “who is really good at saying goodbyes anyway?” Is that a thing? Something you'd put in an OKCupid profile?

Somethings you're good at:

Drinking a gallon of water in 2 minutes
Playing sitar
Saying “Goodbyes”

Maybe some people are more skilled at knowing the right things to say at the very last goodbye. Maybe some people just let their tears do the talking. Maybe some people just sneak away in the dark of night, avoiding the goodbyes all together. Or maybe some of us lack the right words → but are plentiful with awkward half sentences and have the intense urge to cry but stifle our own emotions because crying in public is something we've been told is just weird in Khmer culture (or maybe even in American culture a little bit?)

Either way, I fall into the latter category.

Biking By Grandpa Goodbye


I've been counting down to this moment for a long time now and because of this, I have built up my “goodbye to the village” moment in my head a lot. I have also built up my “Hello America!” moment in my head way too much. And now that I'm actually leaving, I think I will be disappointed in the lack of fanfare and parades I was expecting my friends in the village to organize for me. And so this last week in the village has left me feeling kind of empty. It's a hard emotion to pinpoint. People aren't reacting the way I expected them to react when I tell them I'm leaving but how should they react? Should they be bawling their eyes out, pulling out their hair, falling to their knees, hanging onto my leg begging me not to leave as I drag them along the dirt road? YES. Absolutely, yes.

And to my surprise, this is not happening. As my friend and fellow PCV Maria said it “Everyone in the village is business as usual.” Because everyone here is still working, doing their thing to make it another day, and making sure to eat enough rice to maintain their power. But me? I've finished my two year stint as a Peace Corps Volunteer so it's time to go home. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am? Not quite. After two years of struggling and not feeling accomplished, I finally feel like I am equipped to actually start doing my job well. My language skills are....ehhh, so-so. But I finally feel like I have a good rhythm and rapport with the health center staff, enough so that I could feel comfortable asking (forcing?) certain staff members to help me work on projects. And it pains me to think that I'm leaving now, when I now have the confidence to really do something meaningful and sustainable. Two years is not enough time to make any kind of significant developmental progress. Two years is especially not long enough for one lone PCV in one small village that doesn't really know what to do with a PCV. But, on the other hand, TWO YEARS is long time to be away from home. Sure sure, in the large scope of things, if you're looking at an entire lifetime, 2 years isn't really that much but ask any PCV while in the nitty gritty middle parts of their Peace Corps service, TWO YEARS is so so so so so so long. It can feel like an eternity.

And then you get to the point of your Close of Service and you think “Wait! Nononono. I just got started...I...I haven't accomplished what I thought I was originally going to accomplish when I signed up for Peace Corps yet!!!”

Regardless of the struggles I've had here, this place, Cambodia, has become home. And it will be weird going back to America and going back for good. It won't be like my mini-vacations around Cambodia, or Malaysia, or India, where I return after a week or two. It's for good. Yeah sure, I plan on coming back to Cambodia someday in the far off future but the future is so fuzzy and unknown to me that it could be a really really long time till I return.

PP Street madness.


The fact that I don't know when the next time I'll sit at the dinner table with my host family, fighting off hungry cats and dogs, listening to my host mom tell a really funny story that I can't follow; this makes me very sad. I won't have my dirty and dusty market across the street from my house anymore. I won't have my overly sweetened ice coffee for 25 cents anymore. I have actually tolerated a few screaming “hellos” this week because I know I won't get those on a daily basis once I'm back home. And when I'm back, I have to find a REAL JOB that expects me to show up everyday and stay there for 8 HOURS!? That is just madness. What? No nap time? But I just ate lunch!
Adjusting back to the American lifestyle will be harder than it was adjusting to the Cambodian lifestyle. This I know.

All week long, I've felt strange. Drop a cold on top of that strangeness and I am up late at night, restless, tossing and turning, throwing my pillows across the room in a rage, unable to sleep or breathe properly. I want to cry but can't. It feels like something needs to get out...I mean, other than the never-ending snot marathon coming out of my nose. I don't know why I can't cry but I guess the levees just haven't been broken yet (when they do, you might wanna keep your distance.) And maybe I'm subconsciously waiting for the right (or absolutely worst) moment to let it all out.

Just like my feelings before I came to Cambodia; it didn't feel real. The weeks leading up to my journey to Cambodia didn't feel like a reality to me at the time. The moment it finally felt really real, that I was finally in Cambodia as a Peace Corps Volunteer, was when I found a chicken foot in a dish during lunch while still training in Phnom Penh. At that moment, I was not ready to encounter a chicken foot (skin, claws, and all) on my plate. But now, LAY IT ON ME! Yeah, sure, throw that cow brain in the soup! I'm not gonna eat the cow brain but I respect that other people find it delicious brain food. I respect that.

I gave the chicken foot to Neal, now he has chicken legs.


I will be leaving my village tomorrow but I know some parts of me will never leave. As much as I sometimes fight it, I will truly miss Cambodia and all of its wonderful scorching sunshine and flaws.

In closing:

Laurax Before (1st full day in Cambodia):

Who wants short hair again???


Laurax After:


Oh laura, you've aged.

Clouds.

Advice or something like it for the Future Ks of Peace Corps Cambodia or whoever feels like taking some free advice...or something like advice.


CLOUDS!!!!!


You guys,

There were times during my service when I allowed dark clouds to cover moments and interactions that could have been very very meaningful to myself and to others around me. Dark clouds, I know, cheesy and ominous, right? Whatever. Clouds are cool. I have allowed my anxiety (big dark cloud) and fear (another big dark cloud) to get in the way of having many rewarding moments during my service. That's not to say that I haven't had rewarding moments or a rewarding service. Because I have! I am, however, learning this late in the game and finally seeing things more clearly (I can see clearly now, the rain is gone....ehh? Ehh?...yeah. Okay.) I am finally letting go of a lot of my insecurities and frustrations (but don't get me wrong, quite a few insecurities and frustrations still exist. There are still days that I would like to peacefully punch people in the face...) I accumulated a lot of those (insecurities and frustrations) during my two years of service and I feel good finally letting go of some of them. Maybe this is because I know I'm going home really soon and feel happy about that but the fact that I am in Cambodia AND happy is a big deal. Being HAPPY in Cambodia is so much better than a lot of shit I've put myself through in this country. And that's not to say it will be smooth sailing until August 7th, but I think this will be my best months of my service because of my attitude. “Better late than never...” you say? Yes, I guess so. But maybe I can spare a small piece of advice to the future PCVs yet to come to Cambodia, the Kingdom of Wonder.

Some of this, these dark storm-boding clouds (hey it's raining right now!) is inevitable as a Peace Corps Volunteer. It's hard not to act strange and awkward in such a strange and awkward new environment. It's natural. So don't let it get to you; don't beat yourself up about it....to an extent. At some point, you have to just accept the strange and awkward environment. Endure the EXTREME discomfort. Feel misunderstood CONSTANTLY. Feel depressed OFTEN. Feel isolated, alone ALL THE TIME. Just let it happen. It's part of the experience. And if you let that happen, maybe from there, you will eventually let go and let yourself be accepted and loved within your community. It is MORE than possible in Cambodia. It is....INEVITABLE. (I love that word. For better or worse. It's gonna happen so you better be ready. The Khmer people will love you.)


I mean, how could you deny a face like this?


Like any relationship, it can't be completely perfect. And my relationship with Cambodia has been far from perfect. How do you expect to grow as a person if you want or expect things to stay stagnant? And isn't stagnant kinda a nasty word? Do you really want that word describing your relationship with anyone or anything? I don't. Eew. I think of dirty-nearly-dried-up pools of water, filled with pee and garbage juices (sick right?) Stagnant is not pretty in any way, shape, or form so why would you want a relationship of yours to become stagnant? Well I, for one, think that is what I was battling a lot during my service. I couldn't seem to have a solid good day. Or so I thought and dramatized in my mind. It would start out bad and just keep getting worse. Or it would start out great and then just plummet to the ground at 100kph. There were many times when I would ask myself or other volunteers “Why can't there ever be a HAPPY MEDIUM in Cambodia?” It felt impossible to me. You were either not pooping or you were pooping way too much (like seriously WAY too much. Like how is this humanly possible too much.) It was either raining too much or not enough (usually it's not enough.) For some reason, I wanted to live a more stagnant life in Cambodia because that would have been easier to handle, easier to understand, and easier to accept. But something important that I realized was how one good day, out of 30 bad days in Cambodia was SO WORTH IT. The good days in Cambodia are hilarious, awesome, and rewarding. So suck up that stagnant water and just let it happen! Ick! Ish! No spit it out. That's disgusting. Just enjoy the good days and possibly more will follow. Like, for example, you're sitting in your room with your fan blowing in your face and you see a mosquito floating around; the little bastard. And you go for him and BAM!!! You kill that em-effer in the first shot!!! Best day ever had.

And to be completely honest, I became APATHETIC, also a nasty word, during my Peace Corps Service. And I am embarrassed because of it. I let my fear and anxiety get the best of me during a great big chunk of my service and I'm seeing now, with less than 3 months left, how regrettable that decision was. It was not an immediately conscious decision on my part to isolate myself, but either way, it happened and I feel a great amount of regret because of it. But I continue to ask myself, what is the point of the emotion REGRET? Really? I'd like to know. I would like a knowledgeable and respected human being to explain to me a good reason for the emotion “regret” to exist because I can't necessarily think of a good reason off the top of my head. Any biological benefit to it?...But I digress, as usual.


91 year old Yay that doesn't wanna hear you piss and moan.


Along with my new found happiness (on more days than not) in Cambodia, I have also realized that I need to NOT BEAT MYSELF UP about how some of my service went. It happened already so I am learning to let go and focus on the now. Focusing on the NOW is something I've always had a hard time doing. I like to rehash things that have happened in the past but it's not healthy or productive. I need to just see what I did and know that I should act differently in the future. Rehashing shit ain't worth it. Unless it's leftover hashbrowns that you are refrying for lunch or something. I will allow that.

I am finally allowing myself to see the little things that I have contributed to my community. I have always cared much more about relationships in my life than my successes in work or school. When I didn't do well on a test, I would shrug and say “well, I didn't really study for this so I guess that's what I get.” But if I said something to a friend that upset them, I wouldn't be able to let it go. It would sit in my brain and circle around and around and around with worry. Now, I am seeing the relationships I've developed in my community and that is what I think truly matters. And I don't give a rats back-end how anyone else feels about that. My pig ladies, my noodle lady, my coffee lady, my nail and hair lady and her kids, the moto-taxi guys, the staff at the health center, my host family and their employees, the people that wave to me on my runs, the lady across from the high school, the guy that fixed my flat that one time, the bus lady...and I could go on. It is pretty cool to think that a little village in the middle of Cambodia is my second home and that people will remember me and talk about me once I'm good and gone. I hope most of it is good stuff.


And after a hard day, you might see something like this.



There was one day I was on a run and the Beyonce song “I Was Here” came on. It's NOT a good running song AT ALL but she was talking about making her mark on the world and making a difference in at least one person's life and that's all that mattered to her. That would be proof enough that she was here on this Earth. Or at least that's the way I understand the song. Anyway, regardless of the song's lack of runnability, it got me excited and inspired because I think I have accomplished what Beyonce was singing about. Even if I made a difference with only a handful of people or even just one person here, it was totally worth all the ups and downs that I endured during my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I guess I'm a little proud of myself.

In conclusion, let those clouds come and go during your service. Being there is the most important part. And clouds oftentimes bring monsoons in Cambodia and that means it's not going to be hot as balls outside...at least temporarily. Those clouds are gonna come whether you like it or not so you might as well just enjoy some sugary ice coffee at the market and get teased by the moto-taxi guys.


My moto-taxi guy friends drinking coffee.

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.

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.

The Entertainer

I'm not gonna lie; I like attention. (I think I've mentioned this before...)

I have, from time to time throughout my life, enjoyed being the center of attention. (Don't laugh.) But one specification is that I choose when to be the entertainer. In order to be the center of attention, I have to #1. know my audience to a certain degree. And #2. I have to feel a certain amount of comfort with my audience. But the overall most important feature of receiving attention is that I have, in some way, control of this attention and if I get overwhelmed, I have the control to at some point run away and hide because sometimes I also have social anxiety and would rather be alone. (Dear audience: I hope you enjoy reading about how crazy I am. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've got issues. We've all got issues! And shoes!)

The Entertainer: I once figure skated to this song.


Now. Picture this: A moderately small village in the middle of Cambodia all of a sudden receives a ghostly creature that walks around everyday, choppily speaking the local language, and petting the dogs. For a handful of the people in this village, especially the young children, this is the first time they've ever seen a creature of such strange facial features and such a pallid skin tone. I can understand how puzzling such a creature may appear and how difficult it would be NOT to stare. But after a year, you'd think - YOU'D THINK!!! This creature would be old news by now.

The village I live in is a spot on a main highway smack dab in-between Phnom Penh and another popular city, Kampot, in Cambodia. It's INCREDIBLY loud - due to the traffic, especially because of the gigantic semi-trucks tumbling and speeding by every minute. And it is very transient. People from all over Cambodia stop by my village while they are traveling around the country. There's a decent sized market for van loads of people to stop and buy food to snack on during their travels. And when this happens, a van load of fresh eyes get to gaze upon the ghostly creature - ME - creeping around the village.

Find the foreigner! Photo credit: Kate Yoder.


Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is a 24/7 job. The moment I step foot out my room, I am essentially ON-DUTY. I have to churn out Khmer to the first person that I set my eyes on. I have to tell people where I'm going and what I'm doing at all times. I was never really a fan of small talk and, unfortunately, small talk is every conversation of my life, ever in Cambodia. Khmer people are the BEST at small talk! People will be rolling by on their motos and ask me where I'm going and not even wait to listen to my response. And rather than asking how someone is - a more common question is to ask if they've eaten rice yet "Hop bai howee rue nou?" It's just something they do. Small small small talk.

Fortunately, I have a pretty normal routine - I eat my breakfast at the same place, I drink my coffee at the same place, and talk to the same people on my way to and from work. Those people involved in my routine everyday respect me and I respect them. However, there is still this spotlight on me where everything and anything I do is somehow different (and spectacularly entertaining!!!) in comparison to everyone else in the village and therefore people must take note of this. People chuckle every time I tell them what I'm eating for breakfast. "Goat jol jet nyam baan chaio neung quitio chaa." ("She likes to eat baan chaio and fried noodles.") They point out that I drink coffee every morning but don't really notice that pretty much everyone else drinks coffee in the morning also. But I guess it's just that much more interesting because I am the foreigner.

When I go running, the same children scream "Hellllllloooooooooooooooo" at me and scream even louder when I don't respond still after running through the village for over a year now. People still offer me a ride on their motos when they pass me while I'm running. You'd think - YOU'D THINK, that after a year, they'd realize that I'm not trying to get somewhere, I'm just exercising. I'm that weird foreigner that exercises and pets dogs.

And I can't help but wonder - is being the foreigner like this in every third world country?

During our pre-service training, Peace Corps staff told us that staring in Cambodia is rude. But somehow this does not appear to apply when the gaze is turned around and pointing like a flesh burning laser on to a foreigner. I still can't quite figure this out. And think that the whole thing about "staring being rude" is a load of crap...

I have never felt so uncomfortable on such a regular basis because of so much unwanted attention. Strangers at the market blatantly taking photos of me with their camera phones. People, young and old, turning 180 degrees around in their seat - rubbernecking - to stare with unblinking eyes at me while I eat my bowl of noodles. I have never appreciated the idea of anonymity so much. The very concept of anonymity seems so foreign to me now that I am the token foreigner.

There are bad days, when I get so fed up with this unwanted attention that I find myself struggling to leave my room. Aren't they bored of me yet? I'm not here for their entertainment and yet, many days I feel like that's all I'm good for. "What's that weird foreigner up to today? Maybe she'll run down the road again." And on the days I don't run down the road - they are sure to make note of it and ask me about it later. "Why didn't you exercise today?" But those are the bad days.

But then there are good days. The days when I choose to be "the center of attention." The days I choose to dance with the neighbor kids in the front yard. The days I humor the random person passing through the village and answer 20 questions for them. My patience for this is growing thin but luckily, it's still present and hopefully enough to last me the next 9 months.

Sometimes I choose to be the center of attention in Cambodia. Photo credit: Hayley Knicely.


And I have to remind myself that I am kind of a novelty to the people in this village. I understand that it is strange seeing someone like me in the middle of nowhere in Cambodia. It just gets old when the 7,000 person is asking me who I am and why I'm here. No matter how much I fight this, it's not going to change. And I need to take this opportunity to teach the people in my village what some Americans are like. This is a goal for all Peace Corps Volunteers serving in all countries throughout the world.

I also have to remind myself that this experience is novel! I forget how unique this experience really is and it's rejuvenating to be reminded of how fascinating my life is right now. The fascination has worn off because of unavoidable monotony but every once in a while something completely bazaar happens and it brings me back to the Kingdom of Wonder - Cambodia. It's not everyday you see an elephant walk passed you during your morning coffee. It's not everyday (in America) you see two grown pigs attached to the back of a moto. It's not everyday the neighbors try to kill the sewer rats with rocks and sticks. There are things that are uniquely Cambodian (as far as I know) that I will miss once I'm back in Cambodia and again, I'm trying to remind myself (look to previous post "TIME SLIP") that my days in Cambodia are numbered. I can't let all this unwanted attention ruin the rest of my time here. It will still aggravate me but I will try to focus on the positive. And won't it be super weird going back to America where no one cares who I am? I will no longer be a celebrity! This is why celebrities go crazy!!! Losing celebrity can't be easy...

Random elephant marching through town. Photo credit: Stacy Biggs

So there was my rant.