Stigma

My journey to Cambodia was a painful one and I'm not talking about the 25 hour flight, the layovers, or the fear of checked baggage being lost. I'm talking about the painstakingly long application process I underwent to become a volunteer.

My first attempt at the Peace Corps application was the summer of 2008 after I graduated from St Olaf, because isn't Peace Corps the obvious next step in life? That's at least what I initially had my heart set on. I didn't get very far in the application; I encountered a page that I was not expecting - The Student Loan page. It was at that moment that I knew I wasn't ready yet. I didn't quite have a grasp on the depth of my loan debt yet and I wanted to push that as far back into my head as possible. The amount of student loan debt that I racked up over just four years was just like the "Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come" from A Christmas Carol. I imagine a dark, caped figure with scary long and wrinkly fingers pointing into a grave...and the grave represents said debt.

And so my summer following the grandeur of graduation was not turning out as awesome as I'd hoped. My new job as a hostess at the Green Mill for a measly 10 hours a week was no match for the debt mess I got myself into. If I was lucky, I was called out to the farm (Nistler Farms, that is. Like it on Facebook) to hoe, water melons (huh, I was literally watering millions of melons), and transplant. You know, the usual farm-type stuff. The little work I had would not sustain me once the loans kicked in.

OASIS IN A DRY SEASON


Along with financial woes, I was having difficulties adjusting to other post-college related issues - i.e. moving back in with the parents and working at a cheesy restaurant (don't get me wrong, I love me some Green Mill now but at the time...it was difficult.) This was not ideal for me. I was in a pretty low place. I cried constantly, fought with my mom a lot, and felt slightly hopeless about my future.

It was at this point that I decided to try anti-depressants. And please pay attention to the fact that I decided to try anti-depressants. I was not diagnosed with anything and I was not told by any medical professionals that I needed to be on any sort of medication. It was my choice. 100% voluntary. And I must say that taking a 5 question survey about very generic feelings with a "never - rarely - occasionally - always" scale is not a good determinant of any mental illness.

Having struggled with bouts of depression, or what I'd like to call "situational depression", many times throughout my life, I thought it was time to try a medical remedy. My usual remedy in the past was to just deal with it and thought it was a fine solution. I've never been very keen on taking medicine because I like to be tough and I dislike the unknown world of potential side effects. And as it turned out, the side effects of the anti-depressants definitely outweighed the benefits. After about a 5 month trial of Citalopram, I decided it wasn't the right remedy for me. And maybe actually the drugs did work their magic because I was reminded that simply taking care of myself might do the trick. I got back into running after an unusually long hiatus and I started eating better.

Not much longer after my change in lifestyle, I got a real adult job! Full time with health insurance, vacation days, and other cool adult things! It's amazing what patience and persistence can bring. As painful as that time was for me, it's now just a distant memory and I'm proud of myself for getting through it without too much drama.

Fast forward about a year later, I was feeling real crappy about myself and couldn't figure out why. I decided to utilize my adulty benefits by trying out free counseling sessions with a licensed psychologist. I had one session with a nice lady that wrote out her notes on flip chart paper (foreshadowing into Pre-service training? I think so.) She helped me realize one thing that I will never forget - for one, I am smart. For most of my life I was convinced that being "smart" meant you were good at math, science, and analyzing feminist theory texts (I can/want to do none of those things.) She pointed out that I am smart particularly in the realm of art, creativity, etc, which a lot of people can't comprehend. I can see and create what others cannot. Just like others can solve difficult equations or understand organic chemistry and I really care not to go there. Hurt me brain don't want to.

PAIN?


During the next session with the nice lady, I was in a completely different mindset - happy and clear headed. Why? Because the day after our first session, the toxic relationship that I was in at the time - ended! So, I told the nice lady that a third session would not be necessary because I figured out the root of my problem and was feeling light again.

And so, the summer of 2010, two years after my first attempt at the Peace Corps application, I gave another stab at it and finished it. The initial application included a quick health history questionnaire in which I figured it would be best to be as honest as possible. So sue me for trying to do the right thing! Little did I know that this would bite me in the ass later.

I turned in my initial application, along with my awesome recommendations, and received an official nomination in November 2010. It was a nice Birthday present. But this was not the end. No-siree-bob. It. was. not. The. End. My. Friend.

Along with the 500 pages (I'm exaggerating only a little) worth of medical evaluation forms, I was expected to dig up additional information regarding my mental health status. I totally understand why. Peace Corps is not a small deal. It's a big deal. It's a two+ year commitment in a foreign country with crazy circumstances and very little resources, and most likely very few or zero mental health resources. Peace Corps needs to assure that a volunteer will be in their most healthy state of mind before accepting them. Peace Corps wants their volunteers to succeed and serve their full two+ years of service. Of course, duh!

just a nice view from my home in cambodia


I jumped through so many hoops that my brain was like over-sauteed vegetables (mmmm...over-sauteed vegetables...) I passed my dental evaluation with flying colors. That gave me false hope. Finally, my medical forms were all turned in around April 2011. I was getting antsy. It can take 3 or more months to go through a single applicants medical forms. Summer hit again and I was still waiting until I received a letter in the mail from PC. It was a request for MORE medical information. Are you kidding me? I can't handle this. Is there no end to this? No. There is not. I acted...probably not as quickly as I should have but this is because I did not want to go to the doctor again. Seriously, before my PC application, I hardly ever went to the doctor. Then all of a sudden it was almost every three months. Not fun and very expensive, even with adulty health insurance.

I finally had everything in by July and was able to enjoy the rest of my summer training for my very first triathlon. I was in the best shape I'd ever been in. I was also high on life (me? impossible.) I was happier than I had even been. Now, if I could just get that damn invitation from Peace Corps. This was becoming an intense waiting game and all of my friends and family were getting anxious with me. This was especially stressful because I received an e-mail from PC stating that there was IMPORTANT MAIL sent to me. WHY ON EARTH DIDN'T YOU JUST TELL ME THIS IMPORTANT INFORMATION IN THIS E-MAIL?!?!?! So I went back in forth in my head "It's a good letter"...."no......it's a bad letter..." "No...it's a good letter." Good. Bad. Good. Bad. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

Then one sunny September day, as my mom and I were shopping in Target (oh, how I miss thee - sweet Target) I received a text from one of my roomies, Sean, saying that I had something in the mail from PC. HOLY SHIT! This is it. My mom was NOT driving fast enough to get home. I felt almost sick to my stomach. Maybe someone else should open the letter. I ran into my house and with three of the sweetest roommates (Sean, Ben, and Krish) and my mom waiting in anticipation I opened...a bad letter.

I was medically deferred to ensure my mental stability for 6 more months.

My spirit was crushed. For the longest time, I feared that other red flags within my health forms would be an issue but I didn't expect my mental health to be the issue because I was happy! Don't they see that? Okay, no they don't. BUT THEY SHOULD!

Six months. Six months. Six. Months. I kept counting the number of months left out on my hands. Those six months felt like an eternity. Especially when I kept focusing on how long it felt.

SERENIY WHEN?


At some point in my waiting, something clicked in my head. In order to really prove to Peace Corps that I am "mentally stable" I need to be active, to be productive with this time that they gave me. I contacted the volunteer coordinator at St Joseph's Home for Children which was only about 6 blocks from my house. I wanted to volunteer there for forever and this was probably the best time to get my butt over there. I was approved as a volunteer in the Emergency shelter which was a revolving door of kids ranging in age from 0-18. Volunteering here was one of the most challenging experiences I'd ever had but it was also the most eye-opening. So much so that I am considering social services/child services as a potential future career.

Soon, I took the deferment period as a gift. It was my chance to work with the amazing children and staff at St Joe's. It gave me time to think about what I really wanted with my Peace Corps experience and in my life. Granted, I was still very frustrated with the additional paperwork I had to complete in order to appease the Peace Corps medical staff. In order to fulfill the expectations of the deferment, I was to meet with a licensed psychologist for 2-3 sessions and have this medical professional that did not now me at all fill out paperwork about me. Even the psychologist I met with thought it was a ridiculous situation. Nonetheless, it was filled out and turned in a month before the end of my deferment period.

And the waiting game continued.

Incidentally, because I was deferred, some of my medical tests were now "out of date" and PC wanted fresh ones. So I peed in a cup again, sacrificed more red blood cells, and faxed more confidential paperwork over to Washington DC. I was chronically checking my application status on the Peace Corps website. And I was doing so secretly at work since only a couple people were aware of my situation.

April was nearly over and my patience was growing thinner and thinner. I got together with my dear friend Nicole Novak (whom I mentioned in a previous post) and we talked about my situation. She made a really good point about mental illness being stigmatized in America. In one way, I was being penalized for seeking help. Instead of going to the doctor and trying anti-depressants, or talking to a counselor, I very well could have just drank myself into oblivion or took up heroin. Those, too, are coping mechanisms but they are not the healthy methods for dealing with any level of depression. Seeking help is not a bad thing. It takes a lot of courage and shows strength.

The next day I was feeling energized and motivated so I called the PC medical office to check my medical status. Coincidentally, the lovely nurse I was talking to said "Laura Olson, yes, I just finished looking through your file and you've been medically cleared." I could've cried right there.

The next day, I was e-mailed from the placement office and everything started falling into place so quickly, it was incredible. After all this waiting, it took a mere 5 days to find out I was going to Cambodia in July.

And now I'm here, 7 months in country and 5 months at site. There are times when I'm sitting in a crowded bus with people yelling into their cellphones in Khmer and babies crying, staring out the window at the rice paddies and I am simply amazed that I'm finally here. That I made it. My dream of being a Peace Corps volunteer that I had since I was a wee little second grader was now reality 20 years later. The reality is, without a doubt, full of obstacles every single day but it was absolutely worth the wait.

COW MOUNTAIN PALMS


I wanted to write this blog post for many reasons. But the number one reason is for all the Peace Corps applicants out there that are encountering the same roadblocks that I received. When I opened the letter about my medical deferment, I wanted nothing more than to find hope that I still had a chance. That it was all just part of the Peace Corps protocol and eventually I would get what I wanted. I googled so many different combinations of "Peace + Corps + medical + deferment + mental + health + invitation" in hopes of finding someone else that went through the same experience and received an invitation in the end. And so, my hope is that this blog post will give other applicants hope and strength. Seriously, do not give up. Everything about the medical paperwork sucks and can be one of the most stressful and tedious things you ever have to do, but your persistence will pull you through. If you are truly committed to serving in the Peace Corps and giving your best effort to help another nation, you can make it through a pile of bureaucratic paperwork.

PEACE CORPS IS CALLING...HOW FAR WILL YOU GO?

Chaos Theory: See Children

I have mentioned in previous posts about my amount of "busy-ness" or lack thereof in Cambodia and very little has changed since then. And because of this lack of "busy-ness" and structure, I've pushed myself out of my comfort zone (AKA sitting in the Health Center and feeling awkward with everyone staring at me) and moved next door - to the primary school.

Throughout most of my life, I've surrounded myself with children. For the first, let's say 10 years of my life, I was a child. So it was super easy then. And from what I remember, I was a pretty awesome child. I ran around barefooted, climbed trees, saved stray dogs, and always washed my dirty feet in the bathroom sink before dinnertime.

I began babysitting in middle school, volunteered at my church's nursery, and mentored kids throughout college. I love me some kids. Kids are generally nonjudgemental, silly, and not as awkward as adults. Kids make my experience worth while so far.

How can anyone say no to a face like this? One of my favorite neighbor kids.


It took me a long time to build up the courage to simply walk to the primary school (which is only about 150 meters from my house) and talk to the teachers there. But once the courage was full strength, I had a really confusing conversation with the teachers in mostly Khmer and a little English and accomplished nothing. This was back in December and I ended the conversation stating that I could start something at the school in January. In the end, no one was really sure what that "something" would be...well, actually, the teachers expected that the "something" would be teaching English and I thought it would be teaching health lessons. I returned a couple weeks later with my Khmer tutor and the expectations for me did not change much. We did, however, figure out that I'd come to the school on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays at 10AM. I would teach whatever I wanted in the library for grades 4, 5, and 6.

Finally, after some pussyfooting around, I went to the school to teach the kids about the three food groups. In Cambodia, there are three food groups promoted by the Ministry of Health - Grow, Go, & Glow! I think it's a great campaign. Grow - or "ahaa satabana reeang kai" represents the body building foods. The meats (and other weird things that contain protein - tarantulas, crickets, silkworms, eels, etc.) Go - or "ahaa tomapol" represents the carbs/fats/energy foods. So rice, corn, oils, fats, sugars, potatoes, etc. And then there's my favorite, Glow - or "ahaa gah-peer reeang kai" which represents the body protecting foods with lots of vitamins and minerals, i.e. fruits and veggies. I'm a veggie pusher. Generally, I'm unsuccessful at convincing kids of the wonders and deliciousness of veggies but I guess I don't blame them. It's kind of a written code that all children abide by - "Vegetables are our evil bitter enemy." But it doesn't hurt to try. My new tactic is to tell kids that if they eat vegetables they will be beautiful like me. I know, it's terrible but I'm on a mission to get all the kids in my village glowing! Vegetables are very delicious. Bonlai ch'nang na!

After the first lesson on the food group Grow, everyone learned to draw a fish!


I made it through the food groups and felt pretty good about myself. I had actually prepared (a little) and pulled off three days of health related material. This is my job! Hooray! And then, I started going to the school with nothing prepared. This was both fun and terrible all at the same time. The kids discovered that I can draw and they now demand me to draw monkeys, fruit, elephants, etc, ALL THE TIME.

I drew this monkey at the HC from memory! I know, be amazed.


I drew the line on drawing requests when my health center staff asked me to draw their kids MORE monkeys. No, it's time for your children to learn to draw their own damn monkeys (is what I said in my head.) If Peace Corps encourages anything, it's capacity building. It is completely unsustainable for me to make drawings for everyone in the village. I will teach them to draw and build on the capacity of the people! My heart has already been broken too many times by the words "Khnom aut jeh goo" spilling from a child's lips. It means "I don't know how to draw." And if there's anything a kid should know, it should be to draw (at least in my book.)

Something I learned the hard way is that kids in primary school = chaos (as the title of this post so suggests.) It boggles my mind, the difference between kids in primary school and the kids in secondary school. Or perhaps what boggles my mind the most is the tolerance for chaos displayed by the Khmer teachers.

Let me explain. One day I went to the school, excited to hand out nice white pieces of paper to the kids and have them draw their homes. I wanted them to draw their own houses because the day before they asked me to draw my house in America. There were, suspiciously, many more students than usual in the library - some very small. I suspected that there was more than just 4th, 5th, and 6th grade students stuffed into the already stuffed library. There was no where for the little little ones to sit. I was sweating.

I began passing out the pristine white paper only to realize I definitely did not bring enough for everyone. Grabby (and grubby) hands were surrounding me, kids were begging me for paper, and when I ran out I felt so bad. Why did I even do that? Again, giving the kids paper is not sustainable. I don't have endless funds to provide them with clean white paper every time I meet with them. And when I'm gone, no one will give them paper to draw on. To make the situation even worse, without thinking about what could come of it, I brought out my colored pencils and crayons. I did this because I wanted to do something nice for the kids. I wanted them to make beautiful drawings. But instead of joy and beauty, the library turned into MAYHEM. I don't think I've ever been so shocked by the actions kids. The moment I removed the colored pencils from my bag all chaos erupted. Kids were rioting, falling over each other, trampling the smaller and weaker kids to get their hands on the colors! It felt like an eternity; I was stuck in a tornado of whirling hands and screams. And as the chaos unfolded I looked to the back of the room toward the three khmer teachers sitting and watching the chaos - completely unfazed. What is going on?

I was upset. I told the kids to stop and sit down. I took the coloring pencils away. I told them what happened was not good and that no one could use the colors because of what happened. I felt bad for causing such a craze. It really showed me how seldom the kids receive new school materials and how much they lack in their lives but which I constantly had at my fingertips as a child. I had endless art supplies as a child and took it for granted. It's no wonder I learned how to draw and it's no wonder how so many kids in Cambodia say they don't know how to draw.

The chaos of the day simmered and the kids that didn't have white paper were okay with drawing in their notebooks. Some kids copied my drawing of my house which I drew on the white board and it was even prettier than mine! They were so excited to show me their drawings. The lesson ended on a good note but I will never forget the day that I feared what 40 small children were capable of.

They look more innocent than they really are...........don't be fooled


The next day I went to the primary school turned out to not be an official school day. Most of the kids were already home but the kids that were there dragged me around the school grounds, threw flowers at my face, and shared star fruit with me.

It was nearing lunchtime when I decided to stop drawing elephants and go home. I walked hand in hand with a few kids when suddenly behind me I heard someone crying. I turned to see who was crying and why. It was a young boy, maybe about 8 years old, and it was unusual for a boy of that age to be crying. I was worried. He was standing in the doorway of the classroom with another girl that was equally as worried as myself. It took me a while to realize that the boys eyebrow was cut. It began bleeding pretty badly and was dripping into his eye. I wasn't really sure how he cut his eye, but I surmised that the door was shut on his face. And the girl standing next to him was the one who accidentally shut the door on him because she did not see him.

I got a napkin from a woman selling fruit nearby and wiped the blood away from his eye. We then walked our way across the campus - the boy, myself, and 20 other kids, to the health center. I held the boy close to me and repeated "aut baanyaha" to him which means "not a problem." I didn't want him to worry. I just wanted to scoop the boy up in my arms and run to the health center but it was hot and I didn't want to freak him out any more. I looked closely at his eye once me and my gang of kids made it to the HC. I was hoping he wouldn't need stitches but the nurse looked at it and decided it was a stitch-able cut. I was hoping no more than 4 stitches based on the size of the cut. Luckily, the boy's mom was informed immediately and she made her way to the HC as soon as possible. The nurse had him lay down on the bench and they prepared him for stitches. At that point, the girl that was involved in the accident was crying and all the other kids were crowding around to watch. I told them it was time to go home and that they should not watch. Some kids left with me but a few stayed because Khmer people love to watch disturbing things sometimes. I wanted to stay with him but decided it was better to get the other kids home and have less gawkers at the HC.

And so the stitches concluded my week of chaos with the children.

This experience only reinforces my theory that there is no "happy medium" in Cambodia. I'm either bored to tears and taking too many naps or running on stress induced adrenaline. The moments and amount of stressful events are extremely minimal in comparison to the massive amounts of boredom I endure at times which almost makes the stressful events a gift. I would never wish stitches upon anyone but having been involved in two stitching incidents within one month is maybe a little bit odd. Either way, I'm still hanging out with the kids 3 days a week, sometimes more.

Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride. (Nothing is better than this music video right here right now click this link seriously please do it.)

And here's a kiddie with a kitty! The kitty's dead now.

Kitten play

ស្រីកំដរ(ក្នុងពិធីរៀបការ) ស្រីកំដរ(ក្នុងពិធីរៀបការ) (No I cannot read that)

So, I have this host uncle. Don't know his name; we'll just call him "Boo" which is uncle in Khmer.

And Boo has this daughter whom I've never met. She got married this weekend, so I met her there. No big deal, I was one of her bridesmaids.

How did that happen exactly? Good question...I'll tell you how I finally figured out that I was indeed going to be a bridesmaid in my first ever Khmer wedding (attending and/or participating.)

Boo comes over to my house every once in a while to eat dinner with my family. Boo likes me, I think. He talks to me and I agree with enthusiasm to everything he says to me. Unfortunately he sounds like he's talking with marbles in his mouth so I never know what I'm agreeing to when I do so. Months ago I was able to pick up through our difficult conversation that his daughter would be getting married in January. "Cool" I thought, "I really want to show off my dance moves during the reception."

As we neared the date of the wedding, Boo would come over and mumble some things about me and babies and how they'd be pretty or something or other. The harder I tried to listen, the less I understood of his muffled speech. It was a fun game to guess what he was saying. He would hold my hand for a little too long, and holding my hand at all is unusual for any Khmer man to do. I told him my mom was coming in February and he said she should come in January instead to attend the wedding. I told him it's very difficult to change airline tickets and also very expensive. Since he thinks me and my American family are rich, he kind of scoffed at my response. Money shouldn't be an issue, what's important is that my mom attends the wedding.

About a week before the wedding, Boo came over for dinner once again; held my hand, talked about the wedding, and I only took in so much information. Then, my host mom said some things (in Khmer) like "put on make-up and dress..." and then I said "yes! yes!" And I smiled for everyone to let them know I would do whatever they wanted me to do. The way my host mom explained this to me, the dressing up and make-up and stuff, made me think...maybe perhaps I will be in this wedding?

Khmer weddings are typically about two days long and day one was set for January 19th. I didn't know when or how anything would pan out, I just waited patiently for my host mom to give me the signal. I waited around on Saturday morning, twiddled my thumbs, got tired of sitting around so I went to the market for my ice coffee fix. Finally I was told by my host pa that host mom was at the salon and that she was calling for me.

And this is where I got my first set of fake nails.

Awww yeah, I instagrammed that shiiiit. Gross.


It was at the beauty salon that I really REALLY started to think I was to be a bridesmaid for this shindig. The head midwife from the health center came to get her hair did and talked to my host mom about the wedding. Through my excellent listening skills (I can listen/understand Khmer much better than I can speak it) I heard the midwife ask "how is Laura going to be the bridesmaid when she doesn't even know the bride?" I was thinking the same thing. Then host mom explained that host Boo loves me and that he really wanted me to be in the ceremony (or something like that.) Then I thought to myself "Self, are you really gonna be a bridesmaid for the first time in your life in a Khmer wedding?" But I didn't want to jinx myself by thinking too excitedly that I was really going to be in the wedding. So I played it cool, yo.

Khmer weddings are all about tradition and loud music being amplified for all the neighboring provinces to hear. Day one was more intimate, with mostly gung-ho yays and immediate family members. And me, of course. The first ceremony I attended was to ask for the elders blessing in order for the bride and groom to marry. Apparently this ceremony is called "Inviting the Elders to Chew Betel Nut."

Ceremony #1 with the traditional Khmer band


The groom, bride, and parents


For some reason, there was also spraying of cologne. Boo went around spraying everyone's head. It was entertaining but not the most pleasant smelling cologne.

everyone clearly loves this part of the ceremony


even the kids think the music is a little loud


I was not involved in day one of the wedding, which made me question my very participation in the wedding. Luckily for me, the groom's sister was practically fluent in English and was able to clarify for me that I was indeed a bridesmaid. Even with this solidified information in my brain, I was still worried about how it would all work. "What clothing was I to wear? Do they provide the clothing for me? I hope they put make-up on my face to make me look like Jennifer Lopez." I was awkward and unsure in all of my thoughts especially because I was told I wouldn't be sleeping in my own bed but on the wood floor of a random house with many random people for the night. That night also happened to be the coldest night I have ever experienced in Cambodia and all I had to keep myself warm was a towel. I curled up in the fetal position in order to get optimum coverage with the towel from head to toe. As I was sweetly falling asleep, Boo woke me to tell me he was putting a blanket on me. "oh, gee...thanks Boo...but you didn't have to wake me up for that..."

Sleeping on the floor was not really any issue for me since sleeping on the floor was one of my favorite things to do as a wee little one. However, oftentimes when I sleep in foreign places I tend to wake up extremely early and don't know what to do with myself. I was always the first one awake during sleepover parties. So, of course I woke up at 3:30AM. The application of cosmetics and hairspray begins at 4AM (along with the amplified Khmer music) anyway so I was on the right track to bridesmaidship.

I was the first one to get my mask put on and then I sat around for 2 hours. Finally, my hair was quickly crimped and put up, with hair extensions and orchids to accent. Then the first costume was put on. All of the wedding party was dressed in shiny gold outfits. This outfit was by far my favorite. Unfortunately I do not have photos but hope to acquire ALL photos of myself from the official photographers of the wedding.

The Bride or "Goan Kr'mum" getting all done up. Kr'mum alone means virgin.


One of my fellow Bridesmaid's hair. I was super jealous cuz the other bridesmaids had long luscious locks and didn't require extensions.


We finally made our public entrance at 8:30AM (I've already been awake for 5 hours! what?!) We walked in a procession through all the guests seated in the shape of an aisle. Then the entertainers, a man and woman dressed in traditional Khmer garb as well, walked down the aisle and sang about the 36 fruits that must be given as gifts to the couple. There must be at least 36 fruits present during this ceremony or something bad happens...I don't really know this but I'm sure it would be chaotic if there were not 36 fruits present.

Then we returned to our hot and stuffy room for a costume change. Next we were all dressed in shiny pink outfits with the funny Khmer puffy MC Hammer pants.

In our "dressing room"


And next was the hair cutting ceremony. The whole wedding party walked around a table and then almost every guest symbolically cut the hair of the bride and groom. This represents a fresh start in their relationship. This is also to wish them happiness, prosperity, and longevity.

Following this ceremony, we finally ate lunch and I had a hefty headache. My host family left me to go hang out at the lake and I sat around for several hours. But fortunately, I found an American girl at the ceremony! She was also stuck at the party for the long haul because her host mom was the groom's sister. Kate (that is my new American friend's name) was fresh to Cambodia, only a week and a 1/2 into her 12 week study abroad program. I rambled on and on to this poor girl because it was such a relief to speak English. We both were experiencing what may be considered "Caffeine headaches" as we did not get our fix of coffee yet. Being the prized foreigners at the wedding, someone was sent out to get the coffee for us. Talk about service!

And then I had to leave her to get my second layer of make-up and hair done.

The other two Bridesmaids: we were rushed to get our hair/make-up fixed up only to sit for another hour.


Then we stood at the entrance of the party for about two hours with the groomsmen to greet the guests coming in for the real party. Every guest received party favors (fruit shaped keychains!) at the entrance. I was a spectacle, believe it or not. My favorite part was blowing the minds of a couple of my high school students and health center staff. They were shocked to see me at the wedding at all...let alone with traditional Khmer garb on. It was awesome.

After the last guests trickled in, we had one last costume change into our party dresses and one last ceremony. We walked around a table again, three times. Then the bride and groom lit candles. The wax of the candle represents anger and by burning it, it's an agreement of the newlyweds to not be angry with each other in their marriage. Then we finally got to eat dinner. I ate a little Khmer salad, some cashews, and drank half a beer until I was forced onto the dance floor. Now's my time to shine!

How many times can you dance around a circle until it gets beyond boring? Apparently, it never gets old for Khmer people since we danced around the same table for 3 hours straight. I busted out my latest moves and once again, blew the minds of everyone. Who knew the twist was such an impressive dance move?!

I was followed around by far too many overly eager and drunken older Khmer men. My host family did not seem to catch onto my body language/distressed face as I tried to escape the strange convulsive dancing of these men. But rather than letting these guys ruin my night, I just embraced my extreme exhaustion by dancing even stranger because everyone thought my moves were the cat's pajamas. Indeed, they were.

I, on the other hand, was entranced by the moves of an unsung dancing queen. He wore green camouflage pants, gold spray painted army boots, and a skin tight yellow t-shirt that read "SINGLE SINGLE SINGLE" in shiny gold lettering. He danced in his own world, his eyes shut, toes pointed, and leaning as far back as possible as if to win the imaginary game of Limbo. He pointed his fingers to the sky, sometimes his pointer fingers but sometimes his middle fingers. Luckily it doesn't mean the same thing in Cambodia as it does in America. It probably means nothing in Cambodia.

Dancing 50 more times around the table and I was finally able to go home. And I can say, without a doubt, that this was my favorite and most memorable fully Khmer experience so far.

Still looking fly after 20 straight hours of Khmer wedding madness.


Perhaps I will have a Khmer wedding of my own someday............................................................

New friends, Old friends, Medium friends, and bikes.

Part 1: "treat-yo-self" 2013


I took a "treat-yo-self" trip to Kampot town this weekend. It was a toss-up between super-Khmer-happy-family-3-day-overload-trip-to-Battambang-for-some-sort-of-party-thing or bike-to-Kampot-meet-with-old-college-buddy-eat-awesome-food-relax-drink-things-be-happy-merry-sanity-weekend.

"Hmmm....now that one right there is a toughie! What to do, what to do?" <-insert Minnesotan mom accent.

Kampot won this round.

Here's a bird I met in Kampot


Saturday morning - I woke up at 5AM, ate a Luna bar, accidentally woke up host brother because I klutzed around in the dark and knocked things over, loaded up the bike rack, and finally got out of the house at 5:54AM. Kampot here I come! The bike ride is about 2.5 hours for me. I was motivated by the music in my ears and the potential of meeting up with an old college buddy (I'm talkin' like I'm in my 40s...it's only been 4 years since I graduated), Nan Onkka (her name is like the Khmer word for organization! I forgot to tell her that...)

I arrived in Kampot around 8:30AM, drank coffee, listened to foreigners speak in their fancy languages; I thought they were French. I decided a shower was necessary; just cuz I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer doesn't mean I have to be dirty/sweaty/smelly/awkward. As I was leaving the coffee shop, the "French" folks said "goodbye" to me and asked me where I was from. From there our goodbye became a 30 minute conversation. And in truth, they were not French but Belgium. Ah, oh...you know those fancy European languages all sound the same. My bad.

This Belgium couple was wonderful. It turned out they were on a 5 month biking adventure through Asia. Impressive because they were not particularly young (perhaps in their 50s?) but obviously very fit and well traveled. They began their journey in Thailand, were now beginning their Khmer voyage, heading up toward Laos, and onward to China. Holy moley! And I thought I was a BAMF for biking almost 60k that morning! Not so.

I proceeded with the "treat-yo-self" theme and shacked up in a guesthouse room with TWO beds! I proclaimed one bed as the "stuff-bed", a term used by PCVs to describe the bed used to put all your shit on. The other bed is, of course, the bed used for sleeping.

I took a fake shower; a term I used in college to explain the shower in which hair is wetted but not washed. A magic shower is one in which you do not get your hair wet. After that I went to another coffee shop, bought another coffee; this one I did not add sugar to and I was proud of myself for drinking it in its unadulterated state. After a game of Facebook message tag, Nan and I found each other!

Reunited and it feels so good. We reminisced about college, (we met in Spanish class with Professor Narvaez), and generally brought each other up to speed on the 4 years since we last spoke. Nan has a pretty sweet life going on for herself. She lives in Northern India in the mountains and teaches art at a world renowned International school called "Woodstock" to very well off students from all around the Eastern world. The classroom is, however, heated with a stove and has a tin roof. Very interesting.

I gave her travel advice for Cambodia and she made recommendations for travel in India. I'm planning on going to India with PCV homies in April/May. I'm excited and lucky to have India connections. This world is pretty neat.

It was nearing lunchtime and (I don't know if anyone's noticed) I've only eaten a Luna bar since 5AM and consumed two cups of hot coffee. Nan had food waiting for her at her guesthouse and I foresaw a cheeseburger in my future. We parted ways and forgot to take a photo to prove to the world that we did indeed meet in Cambodia.

The cheeseburger was delicious.

Alleyway in Kampot. Noodle sheets drying.


Then I went back to my room with two beds and thought about napping but also thought I heard banging on my door. I opened the door and two backpacking dudes were scoping out the room next door to mine. They were trying to work the guesthouse lady down from $7 to $6 and I told them it wasn't gonna happen. Then they asked me if I owned the guesthouse. Ha. I said no but did say that if they wanted, they could stay in my room since I was alone and had an extra bed. Now, I know what you're thinking..."Laura, you just met these strangers and you let them stay in your room? That doesn't seem very safe..." I know, I know....but I'm a decent judge of "creep" vs. "not creep" characters and these guys were far on the "not creep" side of the scale. PLUS! We'd split the cost of one room! Only down side was that I no longer had a "stuff-bed." It was a worthy sacrifice.

My new friends hailed from Israel. My first set of Israeli friends - Re'im and Mischa. They were starving so I took them out to find food. They ate burgers too. I instantly connected with these two. They were very fun and easy to talk to. We talked about Khmer culture and I told them the funny word combinations I knew in Khmer; for example - "mien p'tayah pbooah", which means pregnant literally translates to "stomach house." Pretty cool, huh? I think so.

Before I left the next morning, I left my Israeli friends a toilet paper message and cash for the room. I had no real paper and TP was the next best option. I ate some amazing french toast and drank hot coffee to stimulate my bowels before biking back to my home. This was very necessary. And I was off by 7:30AM.

Part 2: The real ride

The bike ride out of Kampot town always reminds me of Cambodia's distinct beauty. At my site, I'm generally surrounded by flat rice paddy fields and trash but look out into the distance and I'm encased by mountains. My morning bike ride included misty mountain tops and a dreamlike landscape for extra biking pleasure. The first hour and a half was a challenge with headwind and slight inclines that are slightly annoying.

Not my photo but this is what it looks like riding out of Kampot


This time my ride was motivated by the music in my ears and a scheduled meet-up with my PCV friend Emma. We met in Chhuk which is about 18k from my town and the site of another volunteer but he was still in K-town. From there, Emma and I biked to Chumkiri which is the site of yet another volunteer. An infamous PCV by the name of Bruce whom I had never met before. Chumkiri is a pretty flat, hot, and boring 13k ride from Chhuk.

This is Emma. She is my friend.


I met Bruce, he showed us around his village, we ate lunch and dessert, and then met up with one of our PC Khmer teachers, Savin. Our next destination was Malayk. It's a lake, surrounded by mountains, and a pretty sweet Khmer hangout place. My family took me there once and I watched them play cards. Here's where I was introduced to the crazy-biking-spirit that is Bruce. We hopped on our bikes and took a sharp right turn off the main road. Emma and I said "goodbye" to Bruce as he flew down the lumpy, bumpy, sandy road off into the distance. Savin followed us in his moto; he was content with the easy pace down the small road.

Everyone, meet Bruce. This is Bruce.


There were moments on this trip to Malayk when Emma and I had to walk our bikes because the loose sand was impossible to ride through. It was like being stuck in the snow and it took so much effort to get through that all we could do was laugh at ourselves. Bruce informed us afterward that there were shortcuts to avoid the sand dunes. Ah, we were unaware. We were chased by dogs and I feared for my ankles while speeding off of their property.

This is Malyk - A LAKE.


Khmer people laughed as us as we grunted and screamed out while biking past their homes on the treacherous road. And this is when I remembered that biking in the Cambodian countryside is one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had so far. It's far superior to my rides down the National highways.

After much sweating and near falls, we made it to Malayk. We took a break, rehydrated, and discussed our next plan of action. We will bike around Malayk. Bruce has never successfully circled the lake but he's sure that we can do it. The woman at the small food stand was worried we'd get lost. We went anyway and thought we could follow the cow trails, closer to the water's edge. We biked along precariously on the small rice paddy paths and took a sharp right turn to make our way to the cows. Emma, however, didn't quite make the turn and took a spill, right in front of a Khmer family just standing there in awe of the barangs biking around like fools.

We all underestimated Emma's condition. Emma was nervous to continue on but Bruce tried to push us forward, toward the lake, and there we could discuss our next move. It was then that I noticed the blood dripping down Emma's leg. "Umm....so...you're bleeding a lot." Emma and I quickly inspected the damage and could hardly look at her knee. It was basically a hole in her knee, skin flaps and all. Bruce said it looked fine. That was his trick, he stated, learned from first aid training. Tell the person it looks way better than it actually does. You don't want the injured individual to panic. I was somewhat panicked and it wasn't even my knee!

Emma; post-hole-in-knee.


The great bike disaster.


A kromah was wrapped around the knee-hole and we called upon Savin to save us somehow. He, being the fluent Khmer speaker, was able to explain the situation best. We debated where to go from there. Emma definitely needed stitches for her knee-hole-flaps.

This is Savin. What a good guy.


Meanwhile, Bruce simply strapped Emma's bike onto his bike rack. Piece of cake. Bruce will ride two bikes at one time with skills beyond my ability. Laura will just watch with constant worry that Bruce will be the next one to fall and injure himself.

Bruce, just riding two bikes. NBD.


Bruce miraculously made it back to the food stall in one piece, along with the bike still strapped to his rack. From there we called Emma's host family and the PC medical staff, both were pretty useless but the PC medical staff was adamant that her wound be cleaned first. There were several places she could go such as my health center but did she really want to go there? NO. The thought of getting stitches in a health center was frightening...considering what I've seen on an everyday basis at the HC. Henceforth, Emma was shipped to Chhuk's referral hospital to get it cleaned. And then to Phnom Penh for the stitches. Thank goodness.

Bruce and I biked like the wind down the path to the National highway. Bruce, looking like a badass, with the bike still strapped on his rack and me not looking like a badass. We biked so fast down the terrible, rocky, dirt road that the turbulence was hardly noticeable. We biked back to my house since it would be most convenient for Emma to pick up her bike there once she is able to bike again. Bruce stayed for tea, bought some bike grease, and then set-off for his long ride back to his site in Chumkiri where our adventure began.

And now I can officially say that my hipster status is being demoted because I love my mountain bike.

And then, in the safety of my home - the sky rained.

who am I?

January 15th, 2013 will be my 6 month mark. I'm nearing 6 months in the Kingdom of Wonder and it continues to leave me wondering.

I've been living with my host family and village for 4 months now, and at times I feel ashamed by the lack of personal connections I've made so far with my family, community members, and co-workers. This feeling ebbs and flows with each day which makes everything here so much more challenging for me. With so much time already passed, I feel like I'm not meeting my own expectations.

I think back to my first unofficial day of college. The first day of Cross Country camp. I walked toward Ytterboe Hall with my bag and watched the other girls bounce around joyfully as if this wasn't all completely new to them. I remember Laura Melcher and her amazingly curly locks and thinking "she must be a junior or something; she looks mature." I remember Nicole Novak, stoic and tall as she will always be, eating brownies or cookies or something and thinking "I think we could be good friends."

Nicole is the tall and stoic one on the right


I almost didn't join Cross Country at St Olaf but it wasn't because I didn't want to. It was because I was overlooked for some reason. I don't know how it happened but I wasn't on any of the lists of first year students interested in the sport. (How could they?! I'm the fastest runner in the world!) And St Olaf, of all private colleges, is open to runners of all shapes, sizes, and abilities. St Olaf has an exceptional Cross Country team because of it's immense team and "diversity." I say "diversity" like this because it wasn't a culturally or ethnically diverse team by any means. But it wasn't just a team compiled carefully of the sought out, stick thin, varsity running prototypes either. This is what made the St Olaf CC team special.

And before I knew anything about the great history of the St Olaf Women's CC team, I simply sat back and observed the mad interactions of the sophomore, junior, and senior women. At first I thought to myself "Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?" I was afraid I wouldn't make any friends. I was especially concerned for myself because I was quieter than I had been in perhaps a decade...which is a long time for an 18 year old!

I realized that the shy little 5 year old Laura still existed inside me and I was shocked. I was, however, able to express the weird, LOUD, and silly Laura in different ways; more subtle ways. I had these awesome shoes that were bright green, yellow, and black. They looked like the Jamaican flag, actually. And to go with my shoes, I had a neon yellow bag that I always carried around my shoulder.

Shy Little 5 year old Laura. Maybe I'M 5. I don't know


It wasn't long before I made eye contact with Caitlin Molsberry from across the room and felt all warm and fuzzy. She was my savior. She may not even know this, but I think she helped me open up because she was so welcoming, gregarious, and had a mile long smile. It didn't take long for the St Olaf Women's CC team to become my family.

The Junior CC runners 2006 - we have no excuse for our behavior, Caitlin is the one eating me, Laura Melcher and I are the dweebs in front....



Left to Right: Caitlin - Sailor, Laurax - Pirate, Laura - Sailor, Nicole - Sailor


Meanwhile in Cambodia, I still find that the shy little 5 year old Laura is immobilizing weird, LOUD, and silly Laura. This makes me sad when I think about it for too long. I am so reserved and stiff around even my host family and I don't want to be. I want to be myself but I don't know how to be myself in Khmer. I don't know how to be the goofy person that I really am while in a completely different culture. I don't know how to make jokes in Khmer and I don't understand most Khmer humor...but I laugh along anyway to pretend that I know what's going on.

Since I can't have deep conversations with adults in Cambodia, I turn to the kids in Cambodia. Instead of trying to understand what they say (because children only speak gibberish), I just make weird noises and dance with them. This is the best way I've found to avert most depressive thoughts.

My dance friends


I have to constantly remind myself that this was never supposed to be easy. That it does take time. That it will get easier to talk to people here. That my language will get better. That I'll actually start doing something productive. But it doesn't negate my experience NOW. I know it will get better - it already has gotten better. But it's still f*@$ing hard. And I will always be hard on myself (unless, of course, I get hypnotized or something. Anyone know of any good hypnotists/Gruu Khmers in Takeo Province?)

Other than yearning for the weird, LOUD, and silly Laura to finally be released into the Cambodian wild, I also yearn to utilize my strengths. Shout out to the StrengthsFinder 2.0!!!! I took the Strengths Finder quiz back at my old job in the US of A. It was something that my co-workers and I were slightly obsessed about. My boss made a graph-type thing of all our co-workers, our shared and different strengths. It was awesome.

Anyway my strengths, based on this quiz, turned out to be Adaptability, Developer, Empathy, Positivity, and (my favorite) Woo.

I'm pretty sure I've nailed down my skill of adaptability. That one is a given. Although, I don't want to pretend that I'm really roughing it out here on the other side of the world. I have it incredibly easy as far as living, eating, and amenities go, actually. This is Posh Corps as far as I'm concerned, which I'm not (I'm not concerned.) Some of my friends live in a bona fide "shit hole" over here. Their words, not mine. I live in a mansion. I am very lucky.

Have you seen my house? This is my Khmer Mansion. Posh Corps4Lyfe.


The strength I'm most in tune to is Empathy however it's severely stifled. My energy in empathy is being channeled mostly toward characters in books, episodes of Parks & Recreation, and music rather than the people around me.

Part of me believes this is happening because of the empathy or lack thereof I've witnessed in Cambodia. I've heard from several people that the word "Empathy" doesn't even exist in the Khmer language. While that may be true, it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist in the culture. It just means that it is expressed in a way that I cannot fully comprehend.

Some days in the health center I get so frustrated by the apathy of the staff. A child comes in with a gash in his head and there is laughter amongst the staff and parents when the child is screaming from the pain of the alcohol on his fresh wound. I cannot make sense this kind of reaction to pain and suffering. Laughter is often a reaction to discomfort or embarrassment in Khmer culture. How can I, as an outsider, understand whether or not the staff and parents are making fun or feeling discomfort, or empathy for this child? And how can I expect myself to try to understand this reaction given the country's dark and not so distant history?

I was reading a little something about Empathy and I seem to fall best into the "Personal Distress" category; where my ability to have empathy for a person can actually be detrimental for my own mental health and stress levels.

I think some of my empathy skills are muted in Cambodia but some are also EXTREMELY HEIGHTENED. For example, my host family had an aunt and uncle visiting from America today. It's been years since they've seen each other. I nearly started crying out of happiness for my host mom when she saw them. My host mom gave her aunt a HUG for crying out loud! Khmer people DON'T. HUG. This was a big deal and I could hardly compose myself.

My heightened empathy and overall emotions make me question my effectiveness and presence in the health center. I question my presence in the health center on a daily basis for many reasons, particularly for my extreme lack of medical expertise. But my ability to stomach the everyday illnesses and injuries is getting seriously tested and I'm not sure how good it is for my own sanity and wellbeing. There are some days that I see some pretty terrible things and feel myself getting pulled down, down, and down by the severity of health problems in this country. And for that to coincide with indifferent health care staff, I'm left feeling hopeless and still...useless.

HOWEVER! (I'm going to turn this around, I swear. I don't want you to leave my blog feeling depressed.) If I were sent here to improve health care in Cambodia, I wouldn't have been sent here! Wait, that's really confusing and poorly phrased. My title is Community Health Education Agent. For my remaining two years here, I will devote myself to the C in the CHE program. If I give myself time, I will be more comfortable in my community and the people in my community will be more comfortable with me. Through said comfort, I will build relationships and respect within the community. From there, I will make small steps to help my community take the right steps to improve their own lives. It's not about me, it's about the people here in this community and building on their strengths and abilities. I'm just going to act as a guiding force or maybe like a cow plowing the rice field or something.