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.

CP. My introduction to Khmer culture

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

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

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


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

Demonstrating PROFESSIONALISM with co-workers Elliott & Veronica


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A preemptive Khmer lesson: Pre-Cambodia


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

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

I love my family. More preemptive Khmer learning


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

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

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

Job well done fellow worker person. Teaching proper handshakes.