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.

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.

p. diddy

Public Service Announcement:

I am a card carrying fan of the squattie pottie. Are you familiar with this primarily Eastern world essential piece of water closet equipment? I am pretty sure the last time we met, [put link to blog post here] I was discussing a problem of mine that I had in the bathroom so maybe I already explained the squattie pottie beyond the reaches of whatever you ever really needed to know?

I disagree. I don't think you know enough about the squattie pottie. Until you try the squattie pottie yourself and then install your own squattie pottie in your personal water closet in your American abode do you really know enough about the squattie pottie. Ya hear? And let me emphasize the importance of a butt sprayer. BUTT SPRAYER. You need it in your life. You will not realize how disgusting the idea of toilet paper, alone in sticky bathroom situations, truly is until you ditch the T.P. for 2 years and indulge in a handheld shower for your bunghole.

The butt sprayer is something that can be a tricky tool or perhaps, in some instances, a weapon to your very own derrière. You must test the intensity of a butt sprayer before you put it into action. If you don't test it out, you could end up giving yourself a personal enema and you don't want that, now do you?

But I'm not really here to warn you about these potential squattie pottie scenarios. I'm not really good at advice. I am good at making mistakes that I hope no one ever replicates in human history. And if history repeats itself, I have proof here on this blog that I did indeed warn the public, at least the "Laurax doodles in Khmer" blog reading public. Liability expunged?

Very much in the same way my previous blog post began, I was enjoying a few brewskis with my friends in the comfort of my home. (And now the people are wondering "Does Laura just drink beer in Cambodia?" It's debatable. But in my defense, this was the beginning of Khmer New Year which is an endless celebration for some.) I also had my good friend Stacy there as a wing woman/buffer/BAMF/etc. So we are being over fed an array of beer drinking foods, something Khmer people like to call "clime" (these are my best phonetics.) In America I think good "clime" would be potato chips, cheetos...uuhhhhh....pizza? It's been a while. What do Americans eat while drinking beer nowadays? I have no idea. "Clime" in Cambodia usually includes an array of meats and sauces to dip the meats in. And the ultimate Khmer snack: Pongtia Goan (some people think it should be spelled like this: pong tia koon ពងទាកូន <- Khmer all the way, baby.) You can click on that link to find the all knowing wikipedia page about it. I was turned on to pongtia goan, or partially developed duck embryo (uh, yeah I know...) somewhere around November 2013. I was a late bloomer but have not looked back since then. The main draw for me are the garnishes that accompany the egg - a chili garlic sauce, a pepper-salt-MSG-lime sauce, and little green leaves. "Eat, don't look" is my strategy. Also, "don't knock it till you try it."


Partially developed duck embryo. Try it, you'll like it!


And the night is full of cheers, laughter, and eating until it's time to break the seal. We reteach our friends what "break the seal" means and that that is what I am about to embark on. I walk around a couple of construction trucks to one of my family's 9 toilets. The squattie pottie awaits me, but has an unidentifiable object floating in it which I try to flush down with buckets of water. It doesn't go down so I decide to pee anyway. I complete my mission and try to flush the unidentifiable object down again. A couple of buckets poured down but the unidentifiable object is standing its ground. I stop and finally take a hard look at the unidentifiable object (did I mention it's dark in the stall? for some reason there's only a light outside of the toilet and not actually in the toilet.) The unidentifiable object is breathing? I get down and analyze the object and it is, indeed, a baby chick. A baby chicken is submerged in the squattie pottie toilet water. Gasping for air after I water boarded it a couple of times. OH. MY. GOD.

And what is the most logical thing to do? Reach into the squattie pottie water and scoop up the baby chick. I carry my now identifiable little winged friend and present him to my friends. In a somewhat squealing voice I say "Look at what I just peed on!" I think I said this in both English and attempted to explain what I did in Khmer. Once everyone completely understood the situation (in which I reacted to with great exaggerating hysterics) everyone laughed at me. My host mom told me to put the chick down and covered it with a food cover so the dogs wouldn't try to eat it after its already near death experience.

I went back to the water cisterns and quietly giggled to myself at the ridiculousness of what I just did. I felt like I had done something that changed my life for eternity. I could never turn back or fully recover from this incident. My life changed forever the moment I peed on a baby chick.

The excitement dulled down and we continued our small celebration. But my thoughts still strayed back to my baby chick. And that was when I decided to name it P. Diddy.

The lesson I learned in all of this was that squattie potties, as perfect as they are for doing your business, have dangers that are not always visible to the naked eye. And in conclusion, please PLEASE install a squattie pottie but please PLEASE, make sure you baby chick proof it immediately after installation.


Grown up P.Diddy.

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.

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.

Time Slip

Last week, I was sitting around with the nurses at the health center and my favorite nurse, Chinda, asked me how much longer till I go back to America. This is a question I get asked, without fail, EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. And I think to myself "Geez, do ya'll want me get outta your country or what?!" Hopefully that is NOT the case. Most likely it is not. It's actually a pretty obvious question to ask an extremely out-of-place foreigner, especially when they've already been living in your village for over a year.

Anyway, I informed Chinda and the nurses that I have about 9 to 10 months left in Cambodia. And when I said this to Chinda in particular, I felt a pinch of sadness. When randoms ask me that question (EVERY day, remember) I just brush it off. But surprisingly, I have really come to love the staff at the health center. There are days, yesterday for example, when they push ALL of my buttons; when they'd rather sit and "nyay layng"(loosely: chit-chat) rather than take care of the patients that are patiently (ha...) waiting to get helped. Or when they can't give me a straight answer; "Do we have this vaccination or not? This woman has been waiting a while to get it..." The question is received with blank stares...And I am the one who has to inform the woman that we don't have the vaccination and I have NO idea when we're going to get it.

So, there are days when I feel like no progress is being made and I'm just banging my head on the freshly painted wall (thanks to me!!) of the health center. But then there are good days. Days when I walk around with a smile on my face and babies to squeeze. On those happy days, I think about how soon I will be leaving Cambodia. And how it feels maybe a little too soon.

But I'm not going to lie, I can't wait to go home. Home - America - feels like a far off distant land of wonder to me now. It feels so far away and so obscure. A nurse trainee asked me last week to compare Cambodia and America and I was at a complete loss of words. One reason is because I can only speak so much awesome Khmer. The other reason was because I almost couldn't remember what is so different about America compared to Cambodia. It was a strange moment for me.

One good day can make up for a month of bad days in Cambodia. October was a very long month for me...it went by as slow as molasses. And the good day didn't come until October 31st when I got to help with Measles vaccinations at a primary school in my community. I woke up that morning in a bad mood because none of the staff informed me of a plan the day before so I assumed I wouldn't be helping with vaccinations. Nonetheless, I put on my shiny new blue polo with the vaccination logo and went about my morning routine. I arrived at the health center early and several nurses from neighboring health centers were putting together the vaccination kits. They all stared at me with wonder, of course, and didn't ask me if I wanted to help (of course.) I could have put myself out there and asked them if they needed help but my mood was getting in my way.

Vaccination doctor, Loak Gru Koy, on the left. He's awesome.


Our vaccination doctor arrived late, typical, picked up his kit, and just as he was about to zoom away I said I wanted to go. And off we went. Thank goodness I stopped being such a crabby-patty because I had such a great time helping. We vaccinated 170 little kids. My job was to keep count (which I'm not sure I did such a thorough job...) And after we finished up we went to M'layk (a lake surrounded by mountains) sat in hammocks, ate a roasted chicken and felt happy about life. The mountains, trees, and sky shined a little brighter after all of that.

Little ones reaching out to their friend that is crying after her shot


Now, I am trying to remind myself that I don't have much time left here so I have to appreciate everything...or most things.

after each child received their shot, they dipped their finger in ink to prove they got their vaccination already.


I love that all I have to do is walk across the street to the market to eat my favorite breakfast every morning. And that it only cost me about 40 cents! I love drinking ice coffee with the moto and taxi drivers. I like to think I've become sort of an honorary member of their crew when we sit together every morning.

M'layk at its best.


I love that I walk in-between grazing cows to get to work everyday. I love having afternoons to myself - I have possibly watched more TV here than I have in my whole life! I love running through rice paddies and watching the sun set behind the mountains every night. I love that when I'm running, people ask me if I'm tired and my go-to response is always "Aut jeh hot dtay!" which means that I don't know how to be tired. I say this even when I am truly tired but I guess I'm trying to convince myself otherwise. I love that after I eat dinner with my family, all four of our cats jump on the dinner table and have a fancy feast of our leftovers. Is this something that ever happened to me in America? No way jose!

STOP! Hammock time!!!!


So what I'm really trying to say, I guess, is that I appreciate you, Cambodia. You piss me off sometimes but I don't know what I'd do without you. You will forever have a special place in my heart.

And here's a shout out to Team Takeo!!!

The Aphasic Hermit

During most of my adolescence, I was convinced that I was a full-on extrovert. There was no question in my mind about this. I liked being the loud and weird one. I was the loud and weird one. But once I hit college, I started to feel more out of place, like the loud and weird Laura was just a façade. At times I felt energized when I was around people like my Cross Country team. I felt like I could be my loud and weird self without any contest. But at other times I wanted to hide; be silent. I began to face my own personal battles, like "what am I doing here with all of these put together people? Why am I at this outrageously expensive private college when I have no idea what I want to do with my life?" Those were a few of a number of battles I had knocking around in my head. When I attempted to fight off these thoughts, I found myself hiding out more and sticking with the friends that I knew loved me no matter which Laura I chose to be - the loud and weird Laura or the quieter and perhaps more thoughtful Laura.

Me: In my loud and weird adolescent phase


I spent so much time convincing myself that I was an extrovert that when I was quiet and not outgoing, I thought something was wrong with me. Time has taught me differently.

My post-college life has done wonders for my psyche. Very seriously. Whoever said "college years are the best years of your life" WAS CRAZY. I think that is one of the most depressing statements anyone could ever have fall out of their mouth. So my question is, do some people just give up after college? Just throw in the towel and say "Welp, I'm adult now. The fun is over." How could anyone end it right there when they're not even a quarter century into their life? For me, I actually started to live after college. Every year is better, not without new and often bigger challenges, but more rewarding and interesting. I feel much more capable now than I ever did as a lost sophomore in college.

I still experience great joy from being around people but realize how important it is for me to have time to recuperate. Back at TBI Metro Services, I was around people - usually 30 very demanding people - 8 hours a day. When I got home, I often spent the next 6 hours to myself unless I had to work at one of my other 50 jobs. (Just kidding, I only had 2½ jobs.) I like being alone but I didn't believe it at first. I used to feel bad for myself when I was alone on a weekend night. In Peace Corps it's almost written in the job application - "Volunteer should expect to spend most weekend nights alone, watching TV, and imagining pizza." (This is not entirely true but I'm sure I could get a couple "Amens" from some other PCVs holding it down in the village.)

It was an exciting day when the cat came into my room.


I thought working with brain injured adults was one of the most mentally draining work experiences ever. But I've never worked in corporate, or in a hospital, or as an ice road trucker, so I bet there are more mentally challenging jobs but that's beside the point. Before I came to Cambodia, I underestimated how much every daily encounter and exchange would take out of me in a different country. The simpleness of buying a cold beverage or buying breakfast in America is now gone. That comfort and ease of life in America was poured over by a foreign language, different social cues and norms, and so many cultural nuances that I still don't understand.

That baby's all like "wut are you doin' gurl!?!"


Simple statements like "The lightbulb burned out" are no longer simple and the words I need are missing. (That lightbulb has been out for a week now...) Complex conversations are never had. And strong, meaningful friendships are not as possible without the bond of a common language. I'm sure anyone could see this coming before moving to a foreign country but you'll never know how isolating it can be till you're steeped in it. Lacking sufficient language to have what is considered everyday conversation is like getting a glimpse into the life of a person suffering with aphasia. I know what to say but don't have the right words to make other people understand what I need or want. Or I try to say what I need but when other people listen all they hear is blubbery gobbledygook. I had a shocking experience like this just last week when I asked my friend "tgnai na?" (which means "what day?") I repeated it about 5 times and received only blank stares. After a year of saying this word - REALLY!? Does no one understand what I'm saying EVER?! Are they just smiling and nodding to me all the time?! OH DEAR GOD!!

But then the conversation got back on track and my blood pressure returned to it's resting state.

At times, I isolate myself more than I should. "Hermitting", as I call it, in my room with the fan blowing in my face and a book keeping me company. I'm learning that hermitting days are necessary for my sustained sanity but I can't help but feel guilty about it. (And can someone please tell me how I developed such a guilty conscience for everything and anything??) And when I finally come out of my cave, I find many friendly, smiling faces and kick myself for being such a hermitty hermit. I'm still trying to find a balance while reminding myself that what works for other people, won't always work for me. Especially compared to most Khmer people I know. They thrive off of other people, just sitting together (Ongoii-layng-ing = sit-play) and joking around together (nyay-layng-ing.) I can only do that for so long before I need to swim to the surface and catch my breath...

An island is a good place to catch your breath...


The past month or so was especially hermitty for me so I hope for my last year in Cambodia, I can find a happy medium between extroversion and introversion. A balance where I no longer have to feel guilty for my sometimes hermitty lifestyle. And I'm dropping this whole idea that I have to be either extroverted or introverted. Why are we always putting ourselves into boxes? Boxes are so constricting and claustrophobic. I'd prefer to be as limitless and undefined as a rice paddy field.

Rice paddy fields for days


Sometimes I'm loud and weird. Sometimes I'm quiet and weird. I guess one could say I've matured...but maybe that's going to far?

Alone and Weird.

I like me.

Muy Ch'nam, howee. Muy Ch'nam, tdee'ut.

1 year, already. 1 year, more.

Yay selling amazing little things she made out of probably banana leaves.


This year flew by but if you asked the past-Laura, Laura in January for example, she would say that time was CRAWLING by. It's odd how time in this country creeps along. It was really difficult to get this particular blog post started because I was, first of all, worried that I don't have a lot to show for after a whole year in Peace Corps. And second of all, where do I even begin? There is actually a lot to say but how does one sum up a year of being pulled up from the roots and dropped into an unknown land?

little girl strolling in Kampot town


BOOKS. I read a personal record number of books this past year....Approximately 25 books so far. That's an average of about 2 books per month. Way better than my reading average in USA of about 2 books every 4 months or so. Reading now takes precedent over movie and TV show watching for me. I consider this great progress toward improved brain nourishment. I'm trying to read all the books I should have read during middle school, high school, and college. I am not well-read and am severely lacking the the Classics department. So PLEASE! If you have any recommendations, please send them my way. Must feed brain.

LANGUAGE! Huh, I guess that could be considered somewhat significant. A little over a year ago, I had trouble saying "hello" in Khmer. Now, I can make my way through a day in a village; eat breakfast at the market, chat with folks at the coffee shop, and awkwardly try to explain student loans to the health center staff IN KHMER! Luckily, I continue to learn more each day. I have a long way to go but I am happy with my language skills at this point. There are more than 12 million people that speak Khmer in the world. Out of a population of over 7 billion people, I'd say it's something to be proud of to speak such an antiquated language. Soksabaii. Happy healthy.

Khmer Family. Living with a Khmer family was one of my biggest challenges and stressors this year. It was most difficult because I went from living somewhat on my own for practically 7 years, to living within a household in a completely different cultural context than my own. I lost control of when and what I ate on a daily basis. I no longer had free reign over my own room - decorating, nesting, etc. I was also moved around from room to room within the house and that was stressful and confusing to me.

My Lovely Host Parents: Sok Sovanara & Srey Kompeak


After all the stress and confusion settled at home, I was able to realize that I could not/would not trade my adoptive Khmer family for another one. My host mom and I have a special connection and she was the first one to ever mention this. I do things that I usually would not do for her, because I want to make her happy. It's the least I can do since she welcomed me into her home, feeds me more than enough food, and is always making sure I am happy. And she continues to remind me "Kom kut ch'raan" or "don't think too much." These words have now become a personal mantra that I think to myself when I am indeed "thinking too much."

Speaking of feeding me: My host mom just gave me some bananas...


This past year, I watched my little host brother Theva grow up right before my eyes. He was a shy, chubby, silly 13 year old boy when I first met him. He is slowly growing into a young man; growing taller and stretching the chubbiness out, his voice is lower, and he's more confident with each day. I watched my host sister Srey Neang's pregnant belly grow and felt helpless when she suffered with unending nausea and morning (or evening) sickness. She gave birth in May to a sweet little girl that they call Lita. I get to watch her and her husband raise the little one and I am impressed with their parenting skills. I'm happy to report that she is already a smart, happy, and healthy baby.

Travel. I never imagined I would be serving the Peace Corps in South East Asia but I must say, I am lucky. This side of the world is incredible. So much history and such a different cultural setting than I've ever experienced. I am also so close to places I only dreamed of visiting. India for one, I previously treated as a travel "hoop-dream". I didn't think I'd get a chance to travel to India until much later in my life but lo! and behold! I made my way through southern India earlier this year and plan on returning to explore the northern parts of India in the future.

Bike adventures are endless.


Something even more surprising to me, is all the wonders that Cambodia contains in such a small and somewhat modest country. Most of us are aware of Angkor Wat which I not only had the privilege to see but I also ran my first half marathon all around the fallen Empire. Not many people can say that. Beyond the deep-seated history that I'm fortunate to be surrounded by, I also have access to rivers, the Gulf of Thailand, the ocean (well, South China Sea...) and ISLANDS! I'm practically in paradise.

Cans on Cans on Cans - life on the island is tough.


Food. For the most part, I have not been disappointed by food in this country. EXCEPT FOR THE EXCESS OF RICE but that's a rant for another day. My host mom is an excellent cook and I am very seriously excited every night for our meals together. This is also when I finally get to spend quality time with my host family since everyone is busy throughout the day. The most unexpected foods that I LOVE and never thought I'd be eating are as follows (in order of most favorite):

1. Frogs. Especially when they are in this soup that includes lemon grass, chili peppers, basil, and other things unknown to me.
2. Baan Chaiov (especially with fried quivtio noodles(thick white noodles)) I've talked about this one before - it's like a Khmer crepe and so so good.) I can get this number for about 37 cents at my market. Mmmmmm Khmer breakfast......
3. Fish. Some fish, particularly when it comes from either the sea, the Mekong, or Tonle Sap. These fish are big, with beautiful white flesh, and fewer choking-hazard-bones. We eat this fish with SPICY tuk trai (fish sauce) and fresh veggies. My mouth is watering just thinking about this meal.
4. Sautéed pumpkin vine.
5. Sautéed Trakuon (morning glory but not the morning glory you're thinking of.)
6. And watermelon still surprises me. I never thought I would get over the texture of this fruit but now I can eat an entire watermelon in one sitting (they're a little smaller here...)

And then there are the foods that I've tried because I pretty much try anything within reason, but for whatever reason, just don't know how to eat. "Aut je nyam" is a wonderful phrase that Khmer people use when they are not particularly fond of a certain food. It means I don't know how to eat that. It's a great tool here except it doesn't always work on my host mom. Sometimes, regardless of whether I say "aut je nyam" or not, she might just pile something on my plate and say "nyam baan tic, nyam baan tic!" or "just eat a little." Well....if you insist.

I do not know how to eat:
1. ANTS! I hate ants. SO MUCH! They are likely to take over this country any time now. Unless Khmer people continue to eat them...but I will not eat them...so I will just encourage others to eat them for me. But Khmer people LOVE ants. And these ants are gigantic! About the size of a baby hippopotamus. They especially love them in a sour ant soup. This is the best way to eat ants because sometimes when I am humoring my host mom by eating a spoonful, the ant's claws will hook onto my lips and hang there. In complete disgust and fear, I TEAR the ant off of my lip and throw it on the ground, all the while maintaining a presence of complete calm and composure in front of my host family. Ahhh...they didn't even notice me freak out...

2. Other bugs; crickets (because they resemble cockroaches way too much) and cockroaches, I don't eat them. I do want to try a fried tarantula though. Soon.
3. Prahok. Some forms of this are tolerable but not beyond 2-4 bites.
4. Creatures with shells or protective homes surrounding their bodies. I will eat them but not always with delight. Snails - least like. Shellfish - not bad.
5. Raw-ish shrimp. I did this once because my host dad was doing it. It was not pleasant and I was slightly unhappy when I realized everyone else in my host family thought it was weird and gross.

And last but not least...

WORK. This was what I was loathing to summarize when I started this blog post. I had some failed attempts at work this year. I am most disappointed in my lack of follow through with teaching at the primary school. I was really looking forward to this before I actually got into the school and started "teaching." The first couple of weeks was fulfilling enough, especially compared to what I wasn't doing at the health center. My favorite part about teaching was leaving the school at the end of my lesson...because I had 6 million children trying to hold my hand as I walked to my house. But there were so many factors that led me to believe that teaching is NOT my forte. This was hard for me to accept. I was a teacher for all of my stuffed animals sitting in their makeshift desks made from drawers of my old creaky dresser when I was six years old. I never failed my stuffed animals; how could I fail my real-live-breathing-children that consider me a celebrity?

Like I said, teaching is not my forte as far as I know and without proper training on HOW to teach I won't really know. I am not interested in preparing lessons; I prefer to "wing-it." And very seriously: how does one ACTUALLY TEACH? It's simply beyond me at this point. I applaud those that know the secret. Besides that, the "classes" I was teaching were not organized in any way, shape, or form. Kids of all ages continued to pile into the library and most of them were not paying attention to me. The teachers in the back of the room wanted me to teach them English but for some reason they could not fathom having a separate lesson from the kids at a different time. In the end, I was fed up and stopped showing up. I'm not proud of this but on the other hand, I started to find a place in the health center and finally felt good about it.

Sit! Good baby.


It's not a lot to brag about but I really LOVE weighing babies. I now feel confident enough to approach mothers coming to the health center and I ask them what they are there for. Most of the mothers are there for vaccinations for their babes. So I bring the moms and babes to the vaccination room, weigh the babes, and mark their weight on the growth monitoring chart. I mention whether or not the child is at a healthy weight for their age and try to give advice if the baby is under weight. My main goal in doing this is to show the health center staff that I do this EVERY TIME A BABY COMES IN TO GET A VACCINATION. Not once in a while (yu yu m'dong.) Every damn dong! (Every damn time!) Consistency. I hope that the health center staff will take note of what I'm doing and eventually start doing it themselves and do it even better because they speak Khmer quite better than me. And hopefully they will be able to encourage mothers to pay more attention to what their babes are eating or not eating.
I heart you.


My time at the health center everyday is short. There is just not enough for me to do. Luckily I've supplemented my work load by taking on illustration jobs. I have been drawing some of the most dull, and strange, and repetitive drawings that will be used in training manuals for present and future Peace Corps Cambodia volunteers. I really like doing this. Sometimes I feel like my eyes are bleeding by the time I'm finished with a handful of organs or proper first aid drawings but it's worth it. It's going to be nice to see all of my drawings nicely placed within the pages of manuals that will make the lives of Health Education volunteers much easier. (Hopefully.)

This babies name is "Laura (Lo-rah in Khmer)"


I helped a neighboring health center get a new latrine built - the conclusion to this project can be found HERE.

My health center will be getting a make-over in September thanks to the US Navy. A couple Navy engineers and US Embassy employees visited the Tramkok health center earlier this month and made an assessment on what could be repaired based on a $200K grant for humanitarian assistance construction within Takeo province. My health center director was hoping for a lot of new things, including a new roof for our secondary building. When the engineers looked at the 35 year old building, they all cringed a little. If the roof was torn off to build a new one, it would not happen because the building itself is too dangerous. The building is falling apart. So I wrote up a proposal to get the old building demolished and replaced! If this proposal gets approved, the building should be completed in two years. I might not be here by the time the grand opening happens, but I am so happy to even have a chance of this happening for the Tramkok health center. We hope.

Howee. I think I am done summarizing my year. It was so hard to start this summary but it was almost harder to stop once I got started.

My neighbors dog (my best friend): he's deaf and a cartoon. I love him.


Peace.
Love.
Dove.

CP. My introduction to Khmer culture

You can get any entry-level job with a Bachelor's degree; even if your BA is a BA in Women's Studies and Studio Art. Or so they say. And my very own BA lead to me an unusual and unexpected post-college job adventure: A Pirate Hospital. Just kidding, that's an inside joke only a few special people will understand. Sorry.

No no no, my BA led me to a job at a Non-profit organization called Opportunity Parters and a peculiar place within the organization called TBI Metro Services. TBI stands for Traumatic Brain Injury and before I had my interview, I honestly thought I would be working in a hospital doing some sort of rehabilitation with people recovering from accidents. Once I pulled up to the HUB strip mall in Richfield I felt even more peculiar because previously I only visited the HUB to shop at Marshall's (cool deals and HOT fashion!) Now I was walking into an office I never knew existed, squished nicely between the Walgreens (get all your post-Holiday candy deals here!) and China Garden (Chinese restaurant. don't go there.)

Co-worker Elliott & I shopping at Marshall's (it's our lunch break, okay?!)


Long story, short: I got the job and was only slightly disappointed that it wasn't a Pirate hospital (or was it...?) I spent three challenging, inspiring, frustrating, and hilarious years there. I made friends with co-workers that I plan on being friends with for FOREVER. I became, to some extent, obsessed with brain injuries. I became obsessed with the possibility of getting one myself, my family and friends getting one, and obsessed with the reality of brain injury.

Demonstrating PROFESSIONALISM with co-workers Elliott & Veronica


But a brain injury isn't necessarily something you "get" like an STD or an A+ on an exam. A brain injury can happen to anyone and it doesn't take much. And that's one of the main reasons I was/am so obsessed with brain injuries. Also I'm a little bit of a worry wart. (What? Me worry?)

Me demonstrating that smoking previously-smoked cigarets from the bottom of the ashtray is a disgusting habit!


What mattered the most to me at TBI Metro Services was not the lesson and eternal fear I gained but the people I worked with. The people that endured extreme emotional and physical pain; a life altering event that brought them back to zero. They had to rebuild their life, limb by limb, and for some, their previous live's were never completely gained back.

Back in 2009, on one of my first days on the job, I met a woman I will call CP. She has a brain injury. She is also from Cambodia. She immediately made an impression on me. She wasn't afraid to talk to me and introduce herself. She made me feel welcome right away. However, the more I got to know her, the more complicated and challenging my job became.

Little did I know how fortuitous our connection would later become.

CP is a lovable woman that loves music, especially loud, heavy-beat music. She loves food. But mostly she LOVES gum. Chewing gum, being one of my most HATED inventions in the entire world, was on the other hand, what kept CP motivated throughout the working day. She had a gum-rationing schedule for her three hour shift. And who else was in charge of portioning out her gum other than ME? Yes. This was truly a test. CP's brain performed like clockwork. If I was a minute late in giving her a stick of gum, I would get a long cold stare and a "HUMPH! Lo-RAH. MY GUM?!" from CP. Upon receiving her gum, CP would let out a cackle of delight, "AH-HA!" and continue with her work. And she was an incredible worker; she worked quickly but created quality work. She wanted to make a lot of money and usually kept great focus on her work in order to make as much money as possible. The work she did was piece-work, meaning she was paid for how much she completed within her three hour shift. It was not much pay but it gave her pride. She knew she was a good worker.

CP kept things interesting for me, in both positive and sometimes negative ways. One day I went to the restroom, and used the accessible stall since the other was occupied. It didn't take me long to realize CP was in the stall next to me when suddenly bouncing off the small restroom walls was "BOOM!!!!!!!!!...shakalaka shakalaka." And then laughter from both stalls. (or was she singing this one??) Other days were more frustrating, like the day CP was sitting across from me while I was probably secretly eating M&Ms from a giant bag hidden in my desk drawer. CP says casually to me "Laura....you got fat." Hmm...not something I ever like to hear, but she was right. I was getting lazy sitting at a desk all day and had way too easy access to candy from Walgreens next door. I needed to get back in shape. And that was enough to get my ass back into gear.

So CP didn't have much of a censor when it came to expressing her personal opinion. She also had trouble controlling the volume of her voice (I too have trouble with this one...) Personal space was a difficult concept for her to wrap her head around. She loved pregnant women and touching their bellies! It was almost as irresistible as stealing other people's food. She wanted to touch everyone, to hug people, to pat them on their backs when she was happy to see them. But her "pats" were more like slaps and often upset other people.

CP's love for music was intriguing. She often listened to gangster rap, but other times she'd listen to classic Khmer music. But no matter what, she was equipped with headphones that nearly swallowed her head whole; they were heavy-duty. On another particularly memorable day with CP, she forgot her MP3 player but had her headphones and requested that I play music for her using my laptop. And by "music" what she really meant was listen to Willow Smith's "Whip My Hair" consecutively for her three hour shift. If I accidentally let the playlist skip to the next non-"Whip-my-hair" song, I received a long cold stare from CP and an obstinate "LAURA! whip. my. hair!!!"

Then April 30th, 2012 came and with it came the long awaited invitation from Peace Corps. Cambodia? Yeah, sure! I gave my employer a month's notice and then I started talking with CP's guardian to see if I could act as a buddy/mentor/volunteer person for her once I stopped working at TBI Metro Services. This was actually something I had in mind to do before I ever knew I'd finally become a Peace Corps volunteer. I knew that I wanted to be a buddy/mentor/person for CP because she was special to me from the start.

It was all set up, I finished jobbing all my jobs and had a month until I left the USA for 2+ years. With all my free time, I worked on PC shenanigans (paperwork...and the awful pre-departure materials), ate brunch with friends (finally!) and I hung out with CP. We took my dog on walks all the way around Lake Phalen, went to the Rosedale mall and looked at wigs, and we ate dinner at her mom's house. During this short time with CP I learned a lot about her history. She left Cambodia when she was 5 years old; she and her immediate family were able to escape the horrors of the Khmer Rouge. She has three wonderful children that care for her dearly but also struggle with her, her brain injury, and CP's other health problems. The day I met CP's mother, she just happened to be returning from her yearly trip to Cambodia. Her mom wore comfy pajamas and Khmer-squatted in front of a box full of Khmer goodies that I now know all too well: kilos of smelly dried fish (EEW.), mango fruit leather (OH MY GAWD SO GOOOOD.), and fermented mango...to name a few. And then we ate rice.

This one-on-one time with CP was a small yet meaningful segue into Khmer culture for me. CP helped me and hopefully she got something out of our time together too. I asked CP Khmer words which slipped out of my brain almost instantaneously. She talked about traveling back to Cambodia again someday since the last time she visited was in the 1990s. I hope she gets that chance soon.

While working with CP, I always thought her tendencies were more brain injury specific. But now, I realize that the most distinct characteristics were actually more Khmer than anything. She is Khmer, through and through, regardless of her upbringing being mostly in America. Her very Khmer characteristics are intensified with the presence of the brain injury. And the characteristics of her brain injury are fairly common. Her biggest obstacle is with impulse control which unfortunately makes a big impact on her life every single day. Fortunately CP has amazing support systems in her life - family, friends, behavior services, work, and wonderful group home staff.

A preemptive Khmer lesson: Pre-Cambodia


It didn't take a long time of living in Cambodia for me to learn how Khmer CP actually is. For example, the birth of Gangnam style is now the bane of every PCV living in Cambodia. The song has only lately calmed down in this country. Everyone LOVES the damn song and NO ONE is ashamed to play it consecutively at weddings, birthday parties, or blasting it loudly at 6AM to open up their shop. CP's insistence to listen to "Whip My Hair" nonstop makes a little more sense to me now. (Gangnam style is the worst thing ever but watch this video to the end, it's for a good cause. seriously.)

Marriage proposals and questioning about one's marital status is something I encounter EVERY SINGLE DAY in Cambodia (actually more questioning than proposals.) My friend and co-worker Elliott used to get proposals from CP to marry her cousin in Cambodia. Her cousin was only 16 years old but when she came to America, she could change her age so it wouldn't be illegal (according to CP.) I received a very similar proposal from my neighbor at a party recently. For both Elliott and myself, it was easiest to just nod our heads and go along with such propositions.

I love my family. More preemptive Khmer learning


But hands down, the most honorable Khmer characteristic that CP exhibits is that of great loyalty to family. CP does not make a lot of money, but regardless, she is adamant about sending money to her family members in Cambodia. At times CP struggles to focus on anything more than money and how small her paycheck is at times, but it is all because she wants to have enough to send back home. Many families I talk to in my village have brothers or sisters in America and everyone of them sends money through Money Gram or Western Union on a monthly basis back to their family in Cambodia. What those brothers and sisters earn in America is very small compared to the average salary but in Cambodia it is so much more. It keeps the family connected and supports them beyond what is possible in Cambodia.

The most distinct and lovely characteristics about Khmer culture is the value of family, the generosity of the people and their smiles. And I was so lucky to receive an introductory course on Cambodia from CP. Speaking of which, I need to call her.

Doodle of CP
Looking back, my time at TBI Metro Services was an invaluable learning experience for me. My co-workers, the people, and the daily challenges made me more assertive, mindful, and patient. These have been useful characteristics in my Peace Corps service so far.

Job well done fellow worker person. Teaching proper handshakes.

THE LITTLE BOY AND THE GRANDMA

For many years, I have enjoyed describing myself to other people as "the perfect mixture of a little boy and a grandma." I know it sounds strange but for anyone that knows me pretty well, they'd probably agree (I mean they BETTER agree.) I tend to be interested in things that little boys like. In high school I went through a Spiderman phase and wore Spiderman t-shirts from Target all the time. I still have my Spiderman toothbrush. I had Spiderman toys and actually played with them. Looking back now, I'm not really sure why I loved Spiderman so much, but either way, that was kind of the beginning of my strange obsession with things that little boys often like. (Now it's mostly limited to plastic animal toys...) There are also times that I maybe sorta act like a little boy...maybe perhaps I am loud and overly energetic. But I only act like this because I am TRULY EXTREMELY EXCITED about something that I believe deserves an enormous amount of excitement and energy. Ain't nothin' wrong with that!

The grandma in me is strong. She is actually suffering quite a bit in Cambodia. I have no estate sales to rummage through here. I have no aged lace adorning my nightstand. And walking through my neighborhood in Cambodia is not as relaxing and calming here as it was back in my quiet neighborhood in Minneapolis. The grandma in me greatly misses peace and quiet.

These may seem like contradicting personality types and I agree, they are quite different. However, I just so happen to be a "perfect mixture" of the two. Like I said, somehow, I can contain the qualities of a little boy and an old lady at the same time. I blame my parents (ain't got nobody else I can blame for this.)

And all of this brings me to a ceremony I attended last week.

I attended a ceremony similar to the one last week and talked about it back in September. Luckily my language has improved and I finally know what the ceremony is about. First of all, a ceremony is called "bon" in Khmer, which can also mean party in some situations. The bon that I attended last week and back in September was a yay ceremony. In Cambodia, they have ceremonies to celebrate their elders. It's really great. They respect their elders a great deal here and put a lot of effort into their ceremonies.

Yay Party.


My host family was running the show so we got there pretty early. It felt a little like I was back in Northern Minnesota at my aunt Marshelle's house. We were out in the boonies but the place was full of giant pick-up trucks and SUVs. A lot like being in Grygla, MN. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I was bombarded by the little boys I entertained during the last yay ceremony. And so we ran around, danced, and play-fought with each other. We made animal shapes with red wax. I tried to teach them stupid human tricks like whistling with your fingers, loon calls with your hands, and magically detaching/reattaching your thumb. Finally! I have someone to hang out with.


cool kid.


Kids have always been my saving grace in situations where I feel out of place here. Kids usually want to hang out with me (unless they are scared of me) and they don't really give a shit if I don't understand every word they're saying.


My friends.


Then my host mom called for me, told me to put my sampot (skirt) on and somphea the loaks (pray to the monks.) Time to say goodbye to my little friends and turn into a yay. Seriously, praying to the monks is a hardcore grandma sport.

When I stepped into the room full of approximately 100 yays, I was once again bombarded. Every yay in the room wanted me to sit next to her. I was a star! I sat by a couple of yays that were indulging in beetle nut and were almost as bad as the men that chew tobacco at baseball games. Each yay with red and rotted teeth had her own plastic bottle in which to spit in. Red spit spilling down the creases of their faces. And they had many questions to ask me.

Before the party, I had just returned from a very frustrating and damaging trip to Phnom Penh. In Phnom Penh, you need not speak much Khmer. You only do so to get a better deal on a tuk-tuk ride or bargain for a shirt at the market. So coming to the party after not speaking much Khmer was exhausting. Regardless of the mild exhaustion, I felt awesome because I could say and understand SO MUCH to the yays. Mostly I talked about my age, where I am from, why I'm not married yet, and the Khmer food that I like to eat. My favorite moment, however, was when I explained American food, i.e. "hamburgers" to the yays. They really liked the way I bit in to my imaginary hamburger and said "ch'nang na" (very delicious) afterwards.


Yays bath time.


Following the first round of praying was yays bath time. This is something I did not witness at the ceremony in September. All of the grandchildren and other relatives bathe the grandmother. Very ceremonial indeed. And after that was bor-bor time. AKA rice porridge lunch time. Good bor-bor usually consists of more than just watery rice. Good bor-bor that is often served at parties has mushrooms, chicken, sometimes pigs ear chunks (which I will only eat in bor-bor) in it. But what really makes good bor-bor is a hefty serving of bean sprouts and green onions, a squeeze of lime, some pepper, and spicy tuk-trai. Yuuuuuum. I had already eaten one serving of bor-bor with my little friends earlier in the day because I was "kleeun bai" or hungry for rice. While eating with the little boys, they were going at the bor-bor like champs. And one of my favorite lads said "nyam ch'ran chop pael tom-tom!" or "eat a lot stop when big-big!"

Yays getting good and ready for bor-bor. Noms (snacks) on the table already.


Round 2 of praying to the monks was truly a challenge and a feat to determine the most devout of yays. These women are out of control devoted when it's time to pray to the monks. There were three monks and each one prayed and gave something that I'd compare to a sermon. The first monk spoke for over an hour, the second for an hour and a half, and thank goodness the last monk only spoke for about 20 minutes tops. Toward the end of all the praying, many of the yays were folded over like fortune cookies, still with their hands together in prayer.

this is the best photo i could get in the dark. praying yay.


After that we ate our final round of bor-bor before it was time to dance. I told many people I would dance earlier in the day but after sitting and praying for so long I wasn't so sure about it. Nevertheless, I did not want to let anyone down so I danced...I was the first one to get get on the dance floor and circle the table, actually. And it was fun.

This ceremony definitely satisfied the little boy Laura. The grandma Laura's knees hurt from praying for so long but she definitely enjoyed the socializing.

and here are some little girls that weren't so sure about me.


Goodnight and Happy Khmer New Year, Cambodia!

Good Morning, America!