I've thought about it and talked about it and danced in circles around it...but doing it, being a part of something so big, sitting on the floor of an old man's home along the Siem Reap River as he speaks in laughter about small things..that teaches you something. Not trying to impart wisdom, impress, show off everything that he has or make you feel insignificant; he has nothing. Really. He has a green hammock hanging in the corner, sagging lowly at the weight of the small child (his grandchild) sleeping inside the mesh, another small child, a girl, hiding behind his feet, occasionally peaking around his arm to see the strange "barang" sitting inches away, some pots hanging on the wall of the kitchen (the only other "room" in the place) which also happens to overlook the river below, a small gas stove to cook on, and a few other things lying around (perhaps some items they use as utensils or plates). That was what this man had. And he had some oranges and bananas (his livelihood). I know about the oranges because he looked at me and smiled as he handed me two of them. It was an offering, a gift. He was giving me two oranges that he could have sold or given to his grandchildren to eat. But I could not say "no". How awful and rude it would have been of me to not accept such a generous gift. I don't think I've ever appreciated something so much in my life. I pulled out the only thing I had to offer in return - some stickers that I had brought from the States to give to the children at the hospital. I handed a page of stars to the one child that was awake (as the other remained quite comatose in his hammock). The girl smiled and I was surprised that she came to me and took them from my hand as I half expected her to make her grandfather act as a go-between. I didn't know if she had seen stickers before and didn't want to assume she had at the risk of her not fully enjoying the best feature of a sticker - it sticks. So I pulled one off of the page and stuck it on the back of her hand. "Ph'kai!" she exclaimed, which means "star" in Khmer. The conversation was a strange mixture of Khmer and English because the grandfather seemed to know just about as much of the English language as I know of the Khmer. I said, "thank you" and he invited me to come back to his home by the water the next time I was in Cambodia. I walked out and kept my feet moving parallel to the river bank. I looked over and saw two young men fishing. They smiled and said "Hello" in English and so I felt compelled to say it back in Khmer: "Suas'dey". And then I asked if they were fishing (which was obvious, but, frankly, I was excited to use the word "fishing" because I knew what it was in Khmer). They immediately invited me over and asked if I wanted to learn to fish. Of course I want to learn to fish! We stood there talking for a while about the Water Festival and the boat races that would take place in the city later that day. I watched as he stood there with a long branch and some twine hanging from the end of it....he wasn't catching anything. He told me it was difficult to catch fish when the river's waterline was so low (funny that he said that during the weekend of the "water" festival). We eventually said goodbye and parted ways. I walked across the small bridge and a moto driver appeared. He took me back into the downtown area of the city for 3000 riel (seventy-five cents).
All of this took place within two hours early in the morning. The day had barely begun by the time my short journey had ended. Cambodia is like that...the days are long, the heat is intense (absolutely a factor in the length of the day), and the experiences are, without a doubt, unforgettably captivating. Each moment that matters is one that is given to you. You don't have to steal a second of it. Someone just hands it to you. Like the stars in the sky, that's what those kind of moments in Cambodia are like for me. They're everywhere, not one of them can be ignored or denied of its beauty, and you haven't done anything to deserve to be in their presence. But you're really damn glad that you are.
