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.

EXPECTING

SURPRISE!!

By this time, I would have already birthed my secret Cambodia baby. Fortunately (unfortunately?) nothing THAT life changing - Facebook life event creating - has happened since my return to the Land of the Free. It has not been easy. But not in the way many people assume it to be uneasy.
Culture shock?
Psshhhhhhaaaah.
Culture is easy now that internet rules the world. And let us not forget that I lived in America for almost 27 years before I left it for a mere 2 years to live in a hut*.

*I did not live in a hut.

But one thing that I thought I would regain somewhat quickly upon my return to America; Freedom, was not as clear cut and far from easy to obtain. (Note: I have yet to gain entrance into the Freedom Level) When I think of Freedom, I picture a caps lock “INDEPENDENCE” and when I picture “INDEPENDENCE” I also picture a “job” and a “not living with parents” tagging along with it.


My role model: George Costanza


Guess what? I am not FREE. As far as #firstworldproblems and #whitepeopleproblems go, I gots them and they are convoluted and obtuse. But all I wanted while I sat and daydreamed in my dimly lit room in Cambodia was to have my OWN life. I have spent most of my life trying to please others and trying to not “let people down” rather than focusing on WHAT I WANTED or NEEDED. So, once I realized I wasn't going to achieve the kind of greatness I anticipated (or the greatness that others anticipated) while in Cambodia, I turned into myself and became a hermit.
It was a hard shot to swallow.

I always imagined myself being THE IDEAL PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEER. But I wasn't and it's over and thank goodness and I'm home; let's get on with the show, okay? Ehhhh, or let's just fail and fail and keeping failing and feeling like a failure and failing at the failing and fail again. Okay?

Most of the time, when I think about my life in Cambodia, it feels unreal. Was I really there? Where did it all go? How come I can't FEEL it anymore? Am I a terrible person because I feel so detached from an experience that should be so-called “Life Changing” or “the hardest job you'll ever love”?

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER. I FINISHED PEACE CORPS.


There is so much pressure put on a Peace Corps Volunteer, and maybe even more pressure for a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. We should all be going back to America and CONTINUE MAKING THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE. Right?
Or...OR STAY IN THAT THIRD WORLD COUNTRY AND CONTINUE TO DO AMAZING SELFLESS THINGS THAT PEOPLE WILL ADORE YOU FOR AND CONTINUALLY SING YOUR PRAISES TO RELATIVES IN THE STATES. YAH. Sorry I didn't do that, folks.

PUG LIFE.


Am I the only RPCV that isn't doing this?
NO.

And am I the only RPCV that didn't make glacier-sized changes in their villages?
HELL – TO - THE - NO.

Clearly, I am still trying to make sense of all that happened to me in the past 2+ years, but also I haven't done enough of that kind of “figuring out.” The world around me has not allowed for me to really analyze (if I was an analytical person, I mean) what happened to me physically and emotionally while I excreted my soul out of every possible orifice found on my body.

Throw back drawing from a year ago #lauraxdoodles


Side note:
According to StrengthsFinder 2.0, I am not necessarily an ACHIEVER. But I really wish I was. How can I achieve “ACHIEVER” status? How many episodes of X Files do I have to watch on Netflix to achieve the “ACHIEVER” status?

Oh, what's that you say? That's not “necessarily” a “characteristic” of a “person” “usually” “considered” “an” “ACHIEVER”? Well, that's dumb. I'm going to write my own book called StrongestWeaknessFinder 4000 and I will become an overnight sensation amongst gamers and gift shop workers*.

*I love gamers (COUGH, my brother) and I pretty much work at an extraordinary gift shop.


MOTIVATION.


and just because:

It's true.



But let me turn this lazy Susan around and tell you that this hasn't ALL been just a big super let down for me.

Facebook, as much as it is an evil insentient being, has helped me. Even though I wasn't really searching for sympathy, I posted status updates about my life as an unemployed loser and friends and family reached out to me in ways I never anticipated. I had many friends sympathizing with me over the ginormous woes of job-searching and the inevitable and endless rejections that follow. However, even more inspiring and energizing was the amount of people encouraging me to finally follow my PASSION. A conversation I had with my friend Adin really did it for me. He said “...now that I'm doing something that i'm really into, it just seems like all that failure and frustration was EXACTLY what i needed to get where I am.” (And I did not get his permission to quote him but this quote was pulled via facebook so I say I own the rights to his words.) We talked about self-sabotage, played the Beastie Boys song, got pumped up, and finally he said:

“just fucking play this track on repeat, make a fucking coffee table book....max out your credit cards to publish it.”


“How can I not do what I love to do?”

- Adin Horovitz

I was putting so much pressure on myself to get a “JOB-JOB” that could keep me comfortable financially while also maintaining my status as a good person by working in the non-profit sector, but clearly that wasn't working out for me because no one wanted to hire me. I was spending a lot of time writing meaningful, well-written cover letters for many different non-profit organizations. But the odds were never ever in my favor. Cover letters are nearly obsolete nowadays if your resume isn't perfectly catered for every job you're applying for.

The work wasn't worth the pain of being ignored or rejected by employers on a daily basis.

So I finally took Adin's and many other supportive friend's words seriously. I grew up wanting to be an artist but was told numerous times, even by teachers I respected, that I would be a starving artist. Well, you know what? I won't be starving if I keep living with my parents!!! HAHAHAH SUCKAS!!!! So I decided to make my dream a reality or at least begin the process. I will become a real artist no matter what it takes.

How terrifying.

JUNKET (One of my amazing places of employment) business card that finally got me thinking.


And slowly things started to happen.

I bought a domain name.

www.lauraxolson.com

My friend Vunley amazingly and effortless helped me create my website. That guy is like Neo from the Matrix but Cambodian Neo.

VUNLEY IN THE MATRIX.



I made sweet business cards.

hand made business cards vs. FANCY REAL!


And I pushed my website out to the facebook world. Thank you, Facebook. It is a network with many flaws but regardless, it has helped me promote my art and I am very much so pleased with this feature.

I have been payed for my art. And that is an incredible feeling. I sold a drawing that I enjoyed making and thought to myself “Wow, that was worth 22 hours of babysitting.” I NEED TO DO MORE OF THIS SELLING MY ART THING. I should be getting paid for my skills.

I am not exactly where I want to be in life yet but I am happy with what I am doing so far and the direction my life is going. It's not easy but I never expected it to be easy and that's why I avoided it for so long. But let's all stop and think about this statement for a second:

YOLO.


Life is too short, my friends.
Do what you love.

Rejection.

AMERICA.



Oh hello.
Have you ever wondered what the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer is like after their Peace Corps Service is over?

No? You haven't?

Me either.

For those of you that do not know, a Peace Corps Volunteer, following the close of their service, graduates to Returned Peace Corps Volunteer status. Better known in the Peace Corps World as an RPCV. So make sure you call me “Laura the RPCV” next time you run into me. You may also call me, if you feel so inclined, Laura the Unemployed RPCV or Laura the best RPCV Babysitter ever in the world (← I really like that one.)

I've heard several of my friends/acquaintances pronounce the words “With Peace Corps Volunteer on your resume you'll get a job, no problem.” Or words similar to that statement. And believe it or not! This is a gigantic misconception.

Guess what!? It is a problem. It's NOT easy to get a job. And I'm talking: it's not easy to get a job that is even a pinch meaningful. A job that won't make you wish you never did Peace Corps in the first place because cleaning up the Starbucks restroom is not the kind of job you saw yourself taking on after representing The United States of America for two years by picking bugs out of your breakfast and interrupting your excruciatingly hot evening run to poop in the rice paddies on a fairly frequent basis. Oh, you don't think those are transferable skills? Pooping in holes is not a transferable skill? Pooping next to the grazing cows? Pooping all night long? Pooping your pants on an 8 hour bus ride? Being pooped on by a one year old? Am I talking about poop too much?


Huh.


I'm sorry. I guess I don't really know what's normal anymore.

Beau Loves Toilets & Toilet Humor.


Being an RPCV, in my experience, has been a lot like the time immediately following college graduation. It was a very difficult and maddening time for me. No job. Living with parents. Feeling useless and hopeless. Directionless.

Luckily, almost immediately after I returned to the US, I had a job, a temporary job but an awesome job, nonetheless. I have worked for my dear friend Jeffrey Nistler for 10 years now (I count my 2 years away because I can) and he has always been there for me and allowed me to tag along on jobs that don't really require more than himself because he is just the best. Having my job at Nistler Farms right away allowed me to transition back into my life in America pretty smoothly. It was almost like I had never been gone only somehow I magically acquired a handheld computer that could fit into my pocket and for some odd reason millions of condominiums took root over night and grew to the size of Jack's bean stock throughout all of Minneapolis. So that was weird.

At Nistler Farms.


And then there was the never-ending question “So Laura, what are your plans now? What's the next step?”

“NONE OF YOUR BEES WAX! I HAVE NO PLAN! I AM PLANLESS. I AM A BROKEN WOMAN CHILD!” Is what I wanted to say.


But I held those feelings deep down inside of me, beneath the folds of my small intestines and pretended that I was actually going to really finally finish applying to grad school to get my Master's of Social Work. Because that's what people wanted to hear. People want to hear that I've got my shit together and that I am so well adjusted and I did such a great job being a Peace Corps Volunteer and I am a fully functioning adult now living with my parents in my childhood bedroom not actually feeling excited about the idea of going back to school just yet...or ever?
And I was too afraid to start applying for more permanent jobs because I feared rejection. AND FOR GOOD REASON! The job search is full of rejection. It's even worse than dating. You will send your resume along with a well thought out and beautifully written cover letter into the ether and not much later it gets sucked into that black hole that I've always secretly feared after taking an astronomy class my freshmen year of college that I amazingly didn't fail. But black holes, man. I don't want to get caught near one of those suckers.

I am all about run-on sentences right now. Run-on, my friend. Run-on.

BEAU. Stopping to sniff the flowers.


And this is why I only applied to 1 (read: one) job within the first 2 (read: two) months of being home. And that one job I applied to, I didn't hear back from until a month later when they informed me that the position was filled. I never even bothered calling to see what my status was. I took no initiative because I knew rejection was just around the corner. I avoided confrontation because rejection was inevitable.

And then, sort of out of nowhere, I applied to Target. I thought maybe it was time to “reward” myself. Get paid to do a job. To get paid maybe more than what my work and effort was worth, even. I applied to become an Executive Team Leader (this is a glorified title for an assistant manager, FYI) at a Target store. This position is very well paid. I was shocked. And I heard from Target immediately. As in, I sent in my application and resume on a Thursday afternoon and heard back that evening to schedule my first of what would be 5 (read: FIVE) interviews. I took this as an excellent sign. I'm going to be enjobbed in no time and get paid big big $dollars$ with benefits up the wazoo AND a Target discount, bitches!



FACE PLANT. Not the case at all. Five interviews (three of which were god-awful phone interviews) down the road and I never heard back from Target. I was dragged around like a dead dog on a leash for over a month with the ALMIGHTY TARGET and they never even gave me the courtesy of a computer generated email saying I was not awarded the job of ultimate corporate ass-kisser of the year, or whatever.

Oh, it's okay. It's just my life and livelihood you're kicking around and stringing along for far too long. No worries. I'll be fine.

BEAU. Triumphant in dog life.


In hindsight, thank goodness I'm not working there. I am not Target material. It was clearly not meant to be. I was meant to suffer longer than that. Unemployment loves me and wants me to stay entombed with it for as long as possible. And maybe longer. Unemployment wants me to wallow with it in the darkness to which it sleeps.

Following the rejection from Target, I got my ass into gear. Being removed from Facebook was several blessings built into one. Suddenly I am a productive person. Coffee became my co-pilot. He wore those old school goggles and a scarf; it was really cute. At this point in time, I have applied to an unknown number of jobs. I haven't really kept track. I'm just pooping the applications and cover letters out like an industrial printing machine. One job in particular I believed was a job MADE FOR ME. I had an awesome phone interview with them. I was actually a rock star and not bullshitting them like I did for Target. How could they NOT want me to work for them?





And then....silence.

Silence is cruel cruel company. Silence is a killer.

With all of my unstructured free time, I find myself over thinking everything, thinking too much, and over analyzing everything I said in the interview and wondering how I turned them off. Maybe my mistake was having the interview on a Friday so they had an entire weekend to forget about me. But how could they forget about me? It's just impossible. How can they not see my value? I HAVE VALUE!!! I am dying. LITERALLY dying. No, not literally. Literarily dying, yes.

With my excess free time, I end up watching a lot of nonsense on the Netflix. I mostly stick with stand-up comedian/comedienne performances because I can pretend that they are speaking directly to me. We are just friends hanging out casually talking about how annoying everyone is. I am best friends with Louis C.K, Patton Oswalt, Mike Birbiglia, and Reggie Watts. Don't be jealous. What we have is special. Another thing that comes from these friendships is inspiration. I started thinking to myself “Self, you could totally do stand-up. Just be your weird self and people will follow what you are and what you are saying and instantaneously love you. One day you too could have a special on the Netflix.”

Late at night, still shaking from caffeine consumed hours earlier, I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and begin performing the genesis of what will be my burgeoning stand-up comedian career. I talk about nose hairs and make-up and pretending to be a girl mostly because that's what I do whenever I'm in the bathroom staring at myself for too long. I'M HILARIOUS! I am literally the funniest human being in the Universe. Hollywood needs me in their already overly concentrated pot of not-actually-funny-people trying to make it big.

BEAU & Laurax. Dynamic Duo.


Unemployment also breeds a lot of selfie photo taking which is mostly despicable. And then, in my own self consciousness and embarrassment, I aim my miniature computer at my dog Beau. I'm hoping to turn him into an Instagram sensation. So far, it's not taking but I will remain patient with my dog's blossoming fame and subsequent fortune. It's quite an injustice that cats seem to get so much more attention and affection in the internet world than dogs and I'm trying to fight back. One dogstagram at a time...

The children I babysit twice a week are also frequent subjects in my Instagram art. It kind of boggles my mind that the 15 month year old kid knows exactly what I'm doing when I point my iPhone toward him. He puts on this cheezy smile face where his eyes become small slits and his mouth takes up the rest of the free space on his face. He has it down to an art and it gets me every time. Serious swooning. And for a split second, I understand why people keep make babies. I just hope his mom doesn't mind me pasting her children's faces all over the interwebs...Maybe they'll become Instagram sensations. You never know.


Babinstagram stardom will be mine.




What was I talking about? Oh yeah, I'm still unemployed.

Baby Mic Drop.

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.

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.

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.

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.

WE ARE INFINITE.

It was an unusual weekend for me in the village. Two volunteers visited me and spent the night; it was a good ol' fashioned sleepover. We stayed up late (extremely late for PCVs – 11PM) and talked about boys, spouted profound affirmations, and giggled with exhaustion. It's incredible how much more enjoyable the village can be with friends.

The next morning we roused early, ate a delicious noodle breakfast and biked to another volunteer's village – the village I hit up quite often to hang out with PCV and my friend Stacy and take advantage of “free” wifi. We spent many hours internetting, finally moving from our uncomfortable seats in order to feed our perpetually hungry bellies. We wandered the market to find an appetizing meal and all agreed that we wanted to eat something and somewhere that would possibly minimize or at least not increase our sweating. It was unseasonably hot this day – “it's supposed to be WINTER in Cambodia, why is it hot as balls?” we cried out. Winter is all relative. After being in Cambodia for this long, I can honestly say that I get legitimately cold in weather below 75º now. This is an embarrassing fact considering my extremely deep Minnesotan roots and high tolerance for cold temperatures. That's besides the point though – we were hot and whiney.

This is what "winter" in Cambodia looks like



We ate more delicious noodles along with unidentifiable dumpling-type-things (I call them this because I always forget what they are called) that were not cooked all the way through. We ate 'em anyway.

We met up with more volunteers from around the area and found more things to eat but specifically REAL CHOCOLATE. And regardless of our fullness, we ate entire bars of chocolate (with almonds!) because we are predisposed to chocolate deficiencies here. It's much safer to induce pain in our fragile bodies by overeating than it is to risk not eating chocolate. The availability of chocolate is just too uncertain in these dark times.

This is what PCVs look like when they find delicious food.



And the day went on a lot like this, traveling from one spot to the next finding more food throughout the journey. I grew weary and felt the comfort of my own bedroom beckoning me. It's strange to me how I can spend so much of my time alone and yearning for the company of a friend, especially a friend that speaks clear English, and once I have said company, I still eventually get tired and need to retreat back to my restorative niche. And so I bicycled my way back home, cursing my bike the whole way because it is in serious need of a tune-up and not my half-assed version of a tune-up that entails spraying excessive amounts of lube on the chain...I may enjoy biking but I have never claimed to have any knowledge in the realm of bicycle maintenance. So sue me!

Once I made it home, I sprawled out like a starfish (technically they are now called sea-stars because they are not really fish) on my bedroom floor and let my fan hail down on me at level 3. After about an hour of this, I finally mustered up the motivation to take a shower. Due to excessive sweating and other contributing factors (i.e. stress, hygienic habits, etc) PCVs often acquire a propensity to smell of a rather potent fragrance. Unfortunately, some PCVs resolve to abstain from showering, especially in the “WINTERTIME” due to lack of hot water. I may or may not be one of those volunteers.

Mid-shower, my host brother Theva calls for me. He says we are going to Chhuk, AI-LO-NEE (NOW.) Chhuk is a larger town about 18k from my house and “we” have never gone there before (“we” as in the family.) And of course we are going AI-LO-NEE, it wouldn't be Cambodia if they gave me 30 minutes to dry off, put clothes on, and get somewhat decent before going out in public. Luckily I don't need 30 minutes (but it would be nice to get a little more warning...) I threw on some clothes and awkwardly wandered around the house until my host mom affirmed that we were indeed going AI-LO-NEE. NOW. NOW!

This is how my hair looks EVERYDAY! Without showering!



We all walk across the street together, pile into the back of my host uncle's truck (all 12 of us) and fly off to Chhuk to treat ourselves. This is the third time I have gone to a restaurant with my host family in the 15+ months I have lived with them. This is pretty special. At this point, there are now approximately 20 of us, with 5 tables pushed together to accommodate our rowdy group. They put in 5 orders of “Cow Climbs the Mountain”, which I'd never eaten before. Five individual burners were brought out, then 5 plates of raw beef, then plates of veggies. I tried not to think too much about the plates of raw beef (how long have these plates of raw beef been sitting out? Where was the beef before it was on the plate? Is there a fridge back there? Etc, etc.) I have never been terribly picky about food and I figure most things won't kill me so I just go with the flow. The burners are lit and we start laying down the “cow” on the “mountain.” This is fun! You get to cook your own meat! And they used BUTTER! In America, I avoided butter most of the time but butter is hard to come by in these parts so I was a little excited. My first taste of an adequately cooked piece of beef was incredible. Thanks to the butter it tasted like American. It was a glorious moment for my tongue and brain.

More plates of raw beef were hauled out, more beef was cooked to perfection, or overcooked – whatever! Then plates of cow stomach were brought out. Not for cooking purposes, just to eat as is. (I'm guessing the cow stomach was boiled? I'm still alive so whatever.) Cow stomach is not my thing. The texture of cow stomach is like something you'd pull out of the coral reef. Looks like a flesh colored sea anemone. It's chewy, too chewy. I couldn't NOT think about cow stomach when I was eating it no matter how much sauce I slathered it in. So I ended that adventure promptly.

Oh, did I mention there was beer drinking? Yes, more Angkor beer but this time it was in real BOTTLES. This was truly a novel experience for me. My host mom was endearingly drunk after one glass, as per usual, and did silly things. She started pouring ice water into one of the burners, regardless of her sister-in-law telling her she shouldn't and the burner started smoking. My host mom laughed and said “Oh, khnom pleuch” (I forgot.)

Cambodia when it starts to get quiet....maybe...sometimes.



Bottles and bottles of Angkor beer were consumed, glasses were clinked numerous times, and the food kept coming. Luckily I was on the end of the table, the perfect place for people watching. I quietly observed everyone's interactions with each other, they laughed at each other, made fun of each other, and were all in all happy together. The more “srah-veung” (drunk) I got the more I just wanted to hug everyone. However, hugging isn't really customary here and it would be especially weird for me to do it in these circumstances. I am a hugger and even more deficient in hugging and affection than I am with chocolate.

And then I hit a point where I became sad and envious of all these people that have their family so close at hand. I'm not sure if they can completely understand what it's like for me to be so far away from all my friends and family. I tried to just be happy for them but I felt very alone even while surrounded by 20 fairly gregarious and smiley people. I let myself sink into thought too much and tears snuck out of my eyes. And the world kind of swirled around me.

Luckily it was time to hit the road again and I was knocked out of my spell.

This time on the way back home, my friend Saa and I got to stand up in the back of the truck with our hands resting on the cab, looking straight out at the road ahead of us. The wind whipped my hair all around me and dried my eyes. I stopped thinking too much and just let myself enjoy the quiet beauty of night in Cambodia. And to think I was ready to hide out in my room all alone just hours before that moment.

This is exactly what I looked like!

BOOK REPORT #2

Dudes,

Do you ever get introduced to a book, read the first page, and thereupon tear through the pages like it's a bar of fancy chocolate? (mmmmmm...fancy chocolate...)

I've been on a nonfiction kick for the last couple of weeks. For some reason, the idea of reading about fictional characters right now is a big turn off for me. I've got enough stuff going on in my life and rattling around in my head right now that's stranger than fiction. Why should I invest more precious brain juices on those characters? Why not suck up some real earth knowledges? Yes.....earthly earth knowledge sounds delicious right about now.

So anyway, back to the books. I had a makeshift two-person book club going for a month or so, which has since dismantled (story of my life right now. Everything's falling apart!!!! Me, dramatic?) For our second book in our book club, I chose the The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. He writes primarily about food (which (reading about food) can be detrimental to the mental health of any Peace Corps Volunteer, by the way.) Another book of his that I read years ago was The Botany of Desire, in which he explores the beneficial relationship (co-dependent?) between humans and four specific plants: apples, tulips, marijuana, and potatoes.

You like food? READ THIS!


What I loved about The Omnivore's Dilemma was Pollan's personal experience throughout his journey into the world of different food industries and food-life philosophies. The first part goes into the dark, dingy depths of the corn industry of America. Man, I love corn. But in a very different way than you'd expect. The only way I really like to eat corn is raw (DON'T KNOCK IT TILL YOU TRY IT!) But what I really REALLY love about corn is it's history in America and how it grows. I had a cornucopia of corn knowledge prior to reading this book due to one of my favorite people in the Universe, Jeffry Nistler.

This is Jeff rocking not one but TWO man-purses (the top one MIGHT be a camera bag...)


Jeff is, among many other talents, a farmer and I was lucky enough to work for him for 8 years (hopefully he'll take me back when I'm an unemployed returned peace corps volunteer.) I was a farm hand; especially skilled at hoeing and transplanting melons. Jeff's specialty is sweet corn in the summertime, pumpkins and squash (among other curious gourds) in the fall-time, trees in the wintertime, and exploring Peru in the dead of wintertime. He also builds bikes!

Not sure who is enlightening who here: Jeff on the left. That other guy with the cane is awesome.


And so it was Jeff who instilled me with a great many nuggets of corn facts. This is why I am now proud to call myself a corn snob. But the corn that Jeff grows is different than the corn Pollan highlights in the first part of his book. He attempts to follow corn from a farm in Iowa to one of the many places it could be taken throughout America - from feedlots (or CAFOs: Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations) in Kansas all the way to a McDonald's in Marin County California. Basically, this corn that Pollan is talking about is feeding most Americans unknowingly. Example: a McDonald's chicken nugget (mmmmmm chicken nuggets) has 38 ingredients, 13 of which are differently processed versions of corn. (mmmmmmmm...?)

After he tears the industrialized food industry a new one, he moves on to the "ORGANIC" food industry. And this part just makes me giddy because organic food truly is an industry which is completely contradictory of what the Organic food people are constantly preaching. I understand what organic food is attempting to say and do but how they end up doing it is not by definition organic. There are just TOO many people in America trying to be organic at the same time. So get off your high horse. You're not better than everyone else if you eat organic sausages or granola cereal. And then there's thing thing called "Beyond Organic" which is really what Organic wishes it could be. Just read the damn book and you'll know what I'm talking about.

The last meal Pollan explores is that of a hunter-gatherer which was by far my favorite of his adventures. He killed a wild boar in California which was one of his first experiences hunting. He went morel mushroom hunting with a bunch of weird dudes in a forest. He usufruct some cherries to make a dessert. Can I go back to America and live as a hunter-gatherer? Do I know anyone that knows how to identify mushrooms? If so, please speak up! Teach me your ways.

If you care at all about what you eat (where it comes from and how it is what it is) you should read The Omnivore's Dilemma. But don't take my word for it!!! #READING RAINBOW.

QUIET: Hard thing to come by in Cambodia.


On to the next one, on the the next one: before I let my mind slip into complete malaise, I zapped my next book into motion on my fancy little nook e-reader thingy (thanks mom and dad.) Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain (my new best friend.) My friend and old co-worker Elliott (Read about him here!) gave me his copy when he finished it last year but I didn't have enough time to read it before flying away on an aeroplane to Cambodia. So I downloaded a copy from the mighty interwebs (completely legally; bought and paid for.)

"Restorative Niche": my bedroom in a South Minneapolis basement.


I couldn't put this book down and the best part was, I didn't want to leave my room or my other secret reading nook while reading it. I needed to be alone! I was learning about myself and needed to pay close attention. If you've been an avid "Laurax Doodles in Khmer" reader then you'd know that I've struggled a bit with the "Who Am I?" question, feel guilt-ridden when I hermit myself too much, and feel too much pressure in the spotlight at times. In certain chapters I felt like I was reading about myself!

The book is about 300 pages and I highlighted it 92 different times (awesome feature of the nook)! Here are some highlighted highlights:

• "cross the street to avoid making aimless chitchat with random acquaintances"
• "many introverts are prone from earliest childhood to strong guilt feelings; we also know that we all tend to project our own reactions on to others" (whoa...)
• "people who tend to [suppress their negative emotions] regularly, might start to see the world in a more negative light." (ruh-roh!)
• "self-monitors are highly skilled at modifying their behavior to the social demands of a situation." (hello, pseudo-extrovert Laurax.)
• "taking shelter in bathrooms is a surprisingly common phenomenon, as you probably know if you're an introvert." (I love bathroom hideaways. Stalls are a great place to cry.)
• "we can stretch our personalities, but only up to a point."
• "introverts often feel as if they express themselves better in writing that in conversation." (blogging!)

This book helped me realize that I am not totally whacked out. That maybe the things I do are more normal than I thought they were. It also made me realize why I oftentimes feel completely overwhelmed in my village. Like I've said before, PCVs are "on duty" the moment they walk out of their bedroom and that can be draining when it's every single day, especially for someone with introverted tendencies. There aren't many "restorative niches" or quiet places to re-energize. I think, with confirmation from this book, there are many people that struggle to understand who they truly are. We try to put ourselves in to boxes; extrovert-introvert, outgoing-reserved, etc etc, but we don't have to be one or the other and we really can't be. It's just not possible. I've spent a lot of my life trying to be what people want me to be. One thing that makes me happier than anything is to make other people happy; but my misstep here was not taking care of myself first. I didn't recognize when I needed to disappear and find my "restorative niche" so I too could be happy.

One of my "Restorative Niches": My desk back home. Cluttered and yet so peaceful. Look! I'm on Facebook. Lolz.


You don't have to be introverted to read Quiet. If anything, it just makes you think about what makes you happiest and how knowing that can lead you to a life where you are truer to yourself. Or as Shakespeare once said (according to the book) "To thine own self be true."

Another "Restorative Niche": solo walks in Minneapolis


My current mission(book): Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void by Mary Roach. This lady is HI-Larious. Laughing out loud over here. I also read Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. I want to be this lady's friend also.

Packing for Mars: puking in zero-gravity and shit. Good stuff.


Read on, friends. READ. To infinity and beyond.