Tuesday Night Fever

I never realized how homesick actually being sick can make a person. Tuesday night (Wednesday morning), I woke up around 2am sweating and dizzy. I made my way to the toilet and knelt down, leaned over, and became reacquainted with my dinner from the night before. After it was over, it wasn't over. Up came blood, mucus, what looked like bile, and other objects that were completely unrecognizable. I spent the next two nights/three days in bed/next to the toilet. It's Saturday today. I have eaten a small bit of rice, some fruit, and drank pedialite - that has been the extent of my diet for the last few days. I'm tired. My body is tired. But I keep working, keep going to the hospital. I sit on the floor as kids who are much more sick than I have ever been hang over me and cough their little coughs, wipe their little noses, and look up at me like I must have it good. And I do. Compared to what they have, I have everything. Even with my sickness, I'm healthier than they are. I am starting to feel like I'm trying to bail water of a yacht that has already been half-eaten by the river. What can one person do? Really? I can't take anything away. I have a hard time knowing how to give anything. Hell, I have a hard time figuring out how to say "hello". I am officially homesick - unofficially depressed. And if I don't get access to photographing in that hospital soon, I'm going to go insane. Frankly, I suck at making origami pets on sticks. And I suck at tracing out of coloring books. And the kids color faster than I can trace. The last art therapist who volunteered at the hospital got fired! A volunteer! Got fired! And how? Because she started yelling at the kids. Can you imagine? These sick kids who have travelled hours upon hours to get to Siem Reap are getting yelled at for wanting too many pictures to color. I can imagine. Sometimes I just want to cry. What am I really doing for these kids? What the hell am I doing here? Wouldn't someone who actually has a degree in art therapy be of more help? Yes. Me. I have a camera. And Monday's coming soon - yet again. Another Monday where I leave my camera in my room on my desk. What the hell am I doing here?

Angkor What?!?!

I was beginning to feel like a loser tourist because I had been in Siem Reap for a week, and had not visited the famous temples of Angkor. So yesterday, I got up around 6am and filled my pack with photo equipment and luna bars and headed out to the streets to find a fair and willing tuk-tuk driver to take me to the old empire. It was only a few moments until a tuk-tuk driver flagged me down on the street. His offer to drive me around all day long for only $10 USD was too good to even bargain with. I was expecting a price of at least $12, so I jumped in the back and off we went. Zooming through the streets of Siem Reap, I could see why one would want to find an experienced tuk-tuk. The driving here is insane. The only rule is that there are no rules. The bigger the vehicle, the less likey you are to get run over.
Eventually, we made it to the first Wat: Angkor Wat (the mother of all Wats). I spent about two hours roaming around angkor and finding spaces where there were no signs of tourists. I lucked out and found a few...although I soon realized that the reason there may have been no tourists around was probably because of the amount of dung I was smelling. I turned around, and yep, sure as shit, there it was....piles and piles of it. I don't know who left it, but I wasn't staying to find out. i took the photo of myself at the Wat (which I did at each following Wat that I visited) and moved on.
I spent about two hours at each Wat. It was a good amount of time for me to photograph and to just ALMOST pass out before returning to my tuk-tuk driver. He was very kind, though not a guide. It was good to not have a guide. I imagine, with three months left here, I will have plenty of time to visit the Wats with a guide.
The Bayon and Ta Prohm were my favorites (And not because "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" was filmed there). It was so beautiful. The jungle has reclaimed Ta Prohm. It was amazing. Got bit by some nasty ants there, though, and am still fighting not to itch the spot.
After the temples, my driver took me to Tonle Sap Lake. I got on a motorized canoe and cruised on to the Vetnamese floating village to see the sunset. Unfortunately, there was no sun as the clouds had taken over the sky for the night. So, I sat at the small, floating cafe, looked at the fish exhibition, and got back onto the boat (which turned into my own private boat) and sailed back to shore. When I arrived on land, there was a carnival happening - I mean, the works. There was a ferris wheel, cotton candy, and balloon shoot races to win stuffed animals. It was amazing. But I could tell by the look on my driver's face that he was ready to head back to town. And frankly, so was I.
The drive back lasted about 15 or 20 minutes. It was nice to be out at night, riding in the tuk-tuk. I got home, had dinner with my two housemates, and crashed.

Not A Vacation

It has never been more clear to me that this trip is not a vacation. The other day, Sambun, The White House security guard asked me how long I would be on vacation. It sounded strange to me after a week of working in the children's hospital. Is this a vacation for me? No. It's not. And I'm not sure how exactly it's not, but I'm sure of it. Sitting by Chen's bedside, hoping that he turns to me and smiles does not feel like vacation. It's painful, exhausting, emotionally tiring. But stating complaints seems selfish and pointless. Here is this boy, Chen, (the one I named before as John), laying in bed #3 of the low acuity unit at the hospital clutching his stomach, crying in pain. He has AIDS. His mother died (a common sign for a child who has AIDS in this country), his father wants nothing to do with him because he thinks he cries too much, his aunt and uncle who came to visit bolted without telling anyone after they found out that they would be the ones responsible for him. Chen is five years old, weighs 11 kilos, refuses to eat, doesn't respond, stares up at the ceiling and cries. That is his life. He doesn't want to live, I imagine. If I were him, I would want to be with the one person who I knew cared for me: my mother. Perhaps that's what he wants. And if that is what he wants, one can't help but respect it. Right now, my only job is to rub his little belly when it hurts, brush the sweaty bangs from his face, and hold his hand. I want him to know that he's not alone. Maybe I can't even do that for him. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop sitting at his bedside.
The boy in the bed beside him likes to color with me. He is not terminal and will be going home in a few days. Chen watches us color sometimes. Yesterday we made animals out of modeling clay. The boy in the next bed was much better at it than I was. It's funny, I'm here as an art therapist, but I am a photographer. I can't draw or mold animals or do anything that an artist should be able to do. I think it seems strange to most the staff and patients at the hospital. I'm waiting for clearance to photograph. I know that if I can bring home some of the things I am seeing here, it will engage other people to act as well. Maybe I will be able to generate funds for the hospital, do something good for these kids who have nothing. Some of these children's ailments cannot even be treated here. The laboratories in the hospital are archaeic. They don't have the right tools to even correctly diagnose these kids. But the doctors and nurses are some of the most genuine, kind people I've ever met. And they help me communicate with the children, as most of them speak some english and I am struggling to learn the Khmer language. Sometimes you don't need words, I think. Sometimes, it's enough just to be there. That's what I have to tell myself for now.
So, as I sit here and write on my laptop in the Western section of Siem Reap (where one can have a latte as they navigate the wireless internet), my mind is just three blocks away at the children's hospital where the roads look very different and the children who poopulate the area are not wearing nikes and Michael Jackson t-shirts. No shoes, same shirt, same pants everyday. Everyday in a hospital bed, sweating with sugar ants crawling all over them. Am I on vacation? No. This place must feel very different to someone on vacation. I'm glad I'm where I'm at, doing what I'm doing.

I Was A Superhero

Apparently malaria pills are the #1 untapped drug by people all over the world. One little, blue pill each night not only keeps you from dying of malaria, but it also turns you into a superhero as soon as you close your eyes. Last night I was invincible. All of my superhero friends became my enemies and, as SuperJuJu, I defeated them all. I could fly, become invisible, eat and not get fat. That's right. All this from one little, blue pill.
Last night's dreams were a much needed lift after yesterday's events at the hospital. I barely made it home on my squeaky bicycle. And not just because I got lost on the way. I had become so tired from sitting in the same position all day tracing pictures out of coloring books for the children to draw (by the way, I found out that I'm a bad tracer-that's right-a bad tracer), my little feet would barely move. And then the rain came. It was the second time that day I had been on my bike and gotten caught in the Cambodian rain. Finally, I made it home, but was too discouraged to do much of anything. I just don't understand how this is therapy for anyone, least of all, the kids. I hope I can change some things around here. But for now, I am the new girl from the US who can't speak Khmer and can't trace a picture.
Today a little girl finally got up the nerve to start drawing on her own from a blank sheet of paper. It was beautiful. I didn't care what it was. It was hers. And then when she finished, she looked at it, crumbled it up into a ball, and shoved it under her foot. She thought it was ugly. I unfolded it and in my best hand gestures, tried to let her know that if she didn't want it, I wanted it. She put it with her other pictures (ones that I had traced and she colored in) and took it home. I need to learn Khmer and I need to do it quickly.

Two New Roommates

I made it to Cambodia. For a while there, it was beginning to seem like I would never arrive. After thirty-six hours of flying and waiting, flying and waiting, the plane landed in Siem Reap. (This was after drinking 100% pure Florida orange juice in Seoul, getting my tissues stolen by a sick Korean, and eating some very questionable fruit en route to Cambodia). Before we even touched down at the Angkor International Airport, I could see the rain hitting my small, oval window. After all, it is the rainy season here. It only took about fifteen minutes to get from the plane out to meet my volunteer coordinator who would take me to my new home for the next three months. It was 10:30pm and so, when I arrived at the White House, I carried my bags up to room #4, said goodbye to Sopheary (volun. coord.) and jumped into the shower to rinse the three days of travel off my body. After a few minutes under the cold water, I air-dried (as I had no towel), got into my pajamas, and began to unpack. Quickly, I realized I was not alone. I turned around to find two large lizards on my wall, staring at me. Well, I guess it wasn't my wall, it was theirs. And they didn't want a third roommate. But I introduced myself and affectionately named them Gecko and Geico. They still haven't responded. After unpacking, I laid down on my new bed, put a melatonin under my tongue, and fell asleep.
It was 4:30am when I woke up. I decided not to try to fall back asleep. I got up and continued unpacking what I did not finish the night before. Three hours later, Sopheary showed up to take me to the children's hospital where I would be working until mid-december as a play specialist with the children. During the course of the morning I met a lot of people I would be working with and eventually, got to spend some time with another American who was living at the White House and working at the hospital as well. We had brunch at a Vietnamese restaurant down the street from the hospital and after returning to the hospital to work for a few more hours, returned to the White House for lunch. There, I met the other American living and working with us. They are both very nice and helpful, which is good, because I am definetely lost to this world for right now. But I am enjoying tooling around on my bicycle.

Getting Ready

I am leaving for Cambodia in four days and have been waiting for this since January but, hard to believe it's actually here and truly happening. There have been freakout moments not lasting long though. I am ready, excited and hope to do some good at a children's hospital where work awaits.
Another hope is to create lasting photographs and being a human-interest photographer the task is to make people see what's happening out there, to induce more people to scare the shit out of themselves and travel.
I don't want to be locked inside a box for it's time to think outside of that. The goal is to really see what's happening out there in the real, the other, world. People of my parent’s generation are vital and alive today . . . they've seen changes . . . seen things come and go, but, when will they get tired of watching it unfold on a television screen?
This is a fortunate opportunity to go to cambodia. and the three months spent there, living every moment, enjoying each breath of it, will be amazing and unforgettable. But right now, it is time for packing the suitcases.