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.

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.

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.

MOTIVATION. CONTROL. FOUND.

triangulatic.


Control. Something I never thought very hard about before joining Peace Corps. Probably because I had it. I lived where I wanted to live, I ate what I wanted to eat, I did what I wanted to do with very little struggle.

PCVs give up a lot to serve. We leave our friends and family back at home. Some of us leave our "cushy" American jobs with clear assignments and parameters. We leave acceptable health care and our own generally good health behind. We leave pizza delivery. We leave what is known and comfortable. We almost literally get thrown to the wolves (I'm sure some PCVs are placed near wolf dens. I wish I were....) CONTROL. We've lost control.

I have had trillions upon trillions (exaggeration) of conversations with fellow PCV friends about our disappointments and our frustrations with our service as Peace Corps Volunteers. It tends to be an ongoing conversation for many of us. Is Peace Corps what we expected it to be? What did we expect it to be even? Sometimes it's easy to lose sight of what MOTIVATED us to SERVE.

I think I found it again.

We K6s just completed our Mid-Service-Training which I now realize is a big accomplishment. Our Country Director told us (paraphrasing) that the volunteers that went home early will never know what we now know and what we gained from sticking it out. The most impactful session during our training for me was appropriately titled "Motivations of Service." It was a candid conversation with all the Community Health volunteers and our Deputy of training. We listed out our original motivations of serving in Peace Corps which segued into our frustrations once in Peace Corps. It was a much needed therapeutic conversation.

The most harmonious take away from the conversation was that "the impact of volunteers is NOT quantitative." We can go ahead and collect our data on how many moms were educated on the importance of exclusive breastfeeding or how many kids were taught how to properly wash their hands but what about the interactions that can't necessarily be tallied in a small composition book?

this is how I track how many babies i weigh. And how many mangoes i eat. equally important.


Just a few months ago, I started helping a lovely young lady named Tum Srey Lish. Srey Lish is a bubbly, friendly, funny, and kind girl. She instantly became my friend. Her name was pulled up on the US Embassy lottery to be awarded an American visa. Srey Lish wanted to improve her English and we found each other through another volunteer. When I first started meeting with her she was not sure when or even IF she would go to America. She was waiting on a phone call from the Embassy to call her in for an interview. She ended up waiting several months for that phone call.

My friend Srey Lish


In the meantime, I met with Srey Lish two times a week for 2-3 hours. Sometimes I prepared information about America like common idioms and popular sayings, she filled out a job application, we talked about interview skills, and read from the book "Half the Sky." But mostly we just talked about life.

While I was in Phnom Penh, Srey Lish called me to inform me that the Embassy finally called her and was giving her the long-awaited visa! I was, of course, extremely happy for her. But sad for me. I finally made a great friend...but she will soon be leaving me. She is actually leaving this coming Thursday. Look out America! That girl is going to do big things. Regardless of how I feel now that she's leaving, I am so grateful for the time I had with her. I think she helped me more than I helped her. I am so proud of her and excited for this big step in her life. And we WILL reunite in America.

Srey Lish & I sporting our high-fash sunglasses (mine are chanel...)


What I'm realizing now is that the personal relationships that I'm creating while here are far more meaningful than weighing babies. While I do want to SAVE ALL THE BABIES, I am hilariously far from doing that and I can't beat myself up about not doing enough baby saving. Finally accepting this, the fact that my impact - my work - won't be AS big as I originally imagined it being has given me peace of mind. I don't have that much control here but I can control the way I feel about my service. I can control my day to day actions and interactions to make small-scale changes and/or differences. And I feel good about this.

Also, regular exercise does wonders! -> I'd like to give a shout out to Jillian Michaels for shredding me. Her bad jokes really keep me going. What's one thing I have complete control over? EXERCISE. Get off your ass and bike-run-jump-dance!!!

I made a card for my host mama - this photo is pixelated!!!!noooo!!!!!


I wrote it in Khmer!!!!! (Thanks tutor!!!)



I love you all my friends!

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.

Too Young

This morning I was running late (AKA - reading in bed and didn't want to stop and go out into the real world) and walked to my normal coffee place to get a bag of ice coffee. Literally, it's served in a plastic bag with a straw. Especially shameful of me since I'm giving a presentation on "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" for Team Takeo's Camp GLOW this weekend.

While making my way through motos and watermelons in the already scorching 8AM heat, one of my friends from the market stopped me and said that the little boy with the sores on his head died last night. Sadly, with her description, I knew exactly who she was talking about.

My immediate response was shock since just yesterday I witnessed him laughing and playing with his older sister at the market as they do everyday. I didn't believe it, as this is one of the first stages of loss and grief proposed by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross; DENIAL. At the market, waiting for my coffee, I looked at the empty stall where the little boy's grandparents are usually set up everyday. His grandpa repairs watches and glasses and has a steady flow of customers throughout the day. Seeing the empty stall made the denial fade into some inkling of belief but I asked my coffee lady in order to hear it from another source. It was true, she said.

The Grandpa at work


Moving on with my unusually busy day ahead of me, I walked to the health center with my coffee bag in hand and thoughts of the little boy's too short life. He was maybe three years old. My next thoughts went to his older sister who is one of my favorite little girls; we often sit together at the coffee spot and draw water creatures from the condensation of my coffee onto the table. Imagining that little girl enduring any kind of suffering or pain made my heart ache.

The big sister


This reaction to death is something I've felt before. When my Grandpa Olson died, it took so long to sink in, and my tipping point was when I thought about how my brother would recover from the loss of our grandpa. My brother spent a great deal of time at my grandpa's house *cough* skipping class *cough* and I don't blame him. Our grandpa's house is full of fantastic blanket-fort-TGIF-McDonald's-eating-porch-memories. Thinking about how my brother would be affected by losing such an amazing person as Grandpa Walter Olson was scary to me. I wanted to make sure my brother would be okay. This kind of reaction makes sense to who I am, though. I would much rather everyone around me be happy first, and then maybe eventually I'd figure out what's going on with me. And really, it makes sense to focus on those closest to the recently deceased person. They are the ones that need the most support and love.

How I best remember Grandpa Olson - photo courtesy of Aunt Barb


Today, I bypassed the third stage of grieving, Anger, and jumped straight to Bargaining. As a Community Health Volunteer in my little community, it came as a stabbing blow to hear of this little boy's untimely death. In turn, I began to rattle up potential warning signs of his impending death that I overlooked. These warning signs were present but I was too distracted by my own selfish thoughts to recognize and bring attention to them. I won't go on to blame myself for what happened but I can't help to think that maybe if I had looked more closely, actually asserted myself, and told his family my worries, maybe things would have gone differently.

Yesterday, while dazing in and out of the scurrying market scene, I watched the little boy and his sister play together. Watching this brother and sister pair play together always brightened my days. The little boy was laying on the table top and his sister was wrapping him up in a Kromah (which is a traditional Khmer multi-purpose scarf.) My first thought went to "oh, he's a mummy" which wasn't such an unexpected comparison for me to make at the time since I had just finished the book "STIFF: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers" by Mary Roach. Now in hindsight, I feel uneasy that I made such a comparison.

brother and sister love


As the little boy and his sister played with the kromah on the tabletop, I watched the little boy's chest move up and down in what seemed to be weary breathing. But when I looked at his face, he was smiling and giggling at this sister, as per usual. Because he wasn't showing any immediate signs of distress, I didn't think about his heaving breath beyond that.

For at least a month leading to his death, the little boy had many infected sores covering his head. At one point, the sores were so bad that half of his face was completely swollen. The sores came and went. One day I asked the grandma if they went to the health center to get the sores checked out and she said they had medicine, a cream, that they used already. My friend at the market often scoffed at the little boy and his sister and said "aut ana-mai" or not clean, not sanitary. I sympathized with the little boy and his family because they were poor. Their mother recently took a job at a garment factory and was in another town to be closer to work. The grandma and grandpa were left to care for their grandchildren 24/7. I wanted them to put more attention on the little boy and his health but it wasn't my place to tell them what to do.

The little boy and his grandma


When the sores continued to show up on his face and head, I should have asked again about going to the health center, been persistent, but I didn't want to act like a know-it-all, or anything close to a doctor. I also didn't want to insult the family or overstep my boundaries, which is very possible being in the foreigner position that I am in.

Now I wish, with great regret, that I had overstepped my boundaries. I wish I hadn't doubted my instincts; he really was having trouble breathing and that was a definite danger sign that he was not well and needed immediate medical attention.

I ask myself "What can I do now?"

Recently, I've finally had the great opportunity to do village outreach with my health center; giving out Vitamin A vaccinations in more rural areas, and also with one of the village health volunteers to educate about family planning. While out in the villages, I saw so many children covered in dirt, with greasy hair, rotten teeth, and open sores on their legs. The children that looked the most malnourished were the ones most resistant to taking the Vitamin A vaccination which is a harmless, capsule of sweet liquid that we squeeze into children's mouths.

From what I've recently experienced and observed, my goal is to create educational materials that are simple and clear and focused directly on keeping children healthy. Preventative health education. Families that live in more rural areas, and are often farmers, have little time to give direct care to their children but I want to make this one of their priorities. I want to provide basic advice and steps that they can take that can save their children's lives. A lot of it may be common sense, no-brainers, but sometimes it needs to be said out loud by people in their villages that they trust and admire. I will provide the material but the village chiefs and village health volunteers will convey the messages. That is exactly what my job is here.

too beautiful not to share


At this point, I'm not completely sure what stage of the grieving process I am in because I'm grieving for more than just the little boy. I experience something so close to physical pain and certain remorse for children I see living and playing amid heaps of burning trash. Their faces reflect worry and their bodies are feeble and worn. Sometimes I think I'm too sensitive and empathetic to be in this position; that my emotions will cripple me from actually taking action. But then I think "THAT'S BULLSHIT!" I need to take my empathy and work with it because it's what got me here in the first place. I have to keep telling myself "Not all is lost, Laura." And I can't beat myself up for things that have already happened. I know I can't save them all, but I hope to at least plant the seed and bring more light and life to an arid landscape.

The Little boy


Much love,

Laurax