Showing posts with label alone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alone. Show all posts
January 8, 2014
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.
December 20, 2013
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!
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!
November 24, 2013
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:
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.
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.
August 19, 2013
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.
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?
I like me.
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