A Cambodian Princess and Christmas Music

My cousin Ted has been messing with me all week long about the gift he got for me, "Oh, you're just going to love it! I can't wait to see your face when you open the gift," and so on. Last night, while we were all sitting around the Christmas tree opening gifts, I came across THE gift, Teddy's gift for me. I tore into that thing like I hadn't done to a Christmas present since I was a kid. I couldn't believe it when I saw it. It was a Barbie doll.....wait for it.....not just any Barbie doll. It was a "Barbie's of the World" Barbie. What's really great about this is that I had seen an exhibition of "World" Barbies at the airport in Singapore last summer on the way to India. That had always stuck in my mind...all those Barbie's in the glass case looking so glamorous and elegant. For once, Barbie dolls made sense as a kind of cultural toy (instead of just this skinny, little blond girl with big boobs giving little girls complexes about what a "girl" looked like). And there it was: my Cambodian Princess doll dressed up in traditional Khmer garb and posing like a regular Cambodian Apsara dancer. How beautiful. What a wonderful gift! I couldn't believe my cousin had gotten me such a wonderful present. It made me feel like he understood how important that trip was for me. It was exactly the gift I didn't know I wanted to receive. It was perfect.

Catching Up and Slowing Down

The flights from Seoul into the States were the most annoying ones of the entire trip. And, with the holidays and the heightened security of the U.S. airports, I expected nothing less. I made it to the gate in Chicago just in time to catch my last flight home to Orlando, only to arrive there and realize that no one was there to greet me. Oh well. I'm a big girl. I can get my luggage and drag it outside all by myself and call my ride to remind them to come get me. As soon as I pulled my luggage out to the street (because the Orlando airport is the only airport in the world that makes you pay for a luggage cart!) my dad pulled up in his big Ford truck, which was really bizarre, by the way. He got out, we hugged, he grabbed my bags and threw them in the back and I opened the passenger side door and climbed in. And that was the beginning of me wanting to be back in Cambodia.
After a few days of being home, I realized that this was going to be more difficult than I thought. I was sleeping during the day and up at night. My family, of course, wanted to spend time together as soon as I got back, so I spent a lot of time walking through restaurants and houses looking like (and feeling like) a complete zombie. Last night, two weeks to the day of my leaving Siem Reap, was the first night that I slept on a more normal schedule (10pm-7am). WAHOO!!!! I did it!
Well, in between my arriving in Florida and this morning, I have not exactly gotten this all figured out. In fact, I'm terrified of living in this place again after being in Cambodia. Make no mistake, it's been wonderful seeing my family. But I changed in Cambodia. I'm more my own person now. And having the same kind of conversations with people that I had before I left for Cambodia, it just doesn't work anymore. I'm not judging the people. I'm judging the quality of my own life here against what it was just a few weeks ago. And I know I'm in complete control over that. But there is a difficulty in the people in your life not understanding...there's something difficult about returning to a place where everyone expects you to be the same person you were before you left and treating you the same and wanting to have the same kinds of conversations, when you have changed. I don't want to walk backwards down the road I'm walking on.
I had a dream last night that I was back in Cambodia. But, for some reason, I didn't know what to do. Then, I realized, I needed to get back into the hospital. I could just walk back in there and start working again. And this feeling of relief came over me. Then I woke up, took my hot shower (which I'm realizing that I don't like as much as I thought I would), and sat down in front of my computer to try and reconnect, through words, to the place that I have left...the place where I left the better part of myself.

Seoul Soup

So, I officially left Cambodia two weeks ago today. I remember when I left that I was sad to be leaving, excited to be heading to South Korea to see Aldrin (my boyfriend). The flights all went smoothly to Seoul. I was there around 8am and Aldrin was there to greet me. It was great to see his face. It was like a fairytale, the first four days we had together. We went out for dinners and I got to meet his co-workers/friends and we went to the Seoul Art Center to see an exhibition on Man Ray (and Robert Frank, Garry Winogrand, Bill Brandt, Brassai). It was wonderful. I had fallen in love with Aldrin all over again when he came to Cambodia. And Seoul was no different. Then I made a big mistake and went to the Seoul airport to head back to the states a long 28 hours before my flight actually left the country. So....I got back on the bus toward Anyang to return to Aldrin's apartment. I arrived (which, frankly, I can't believe I found the place) around 5pm and knocked on his door. He wasn't home, so I decided the only thing that I could really do was wait for him to come home. It was cold. I propped my luggage up against his door and took a seat on the stairwell of the apartment building. For three hours, people walked passed me, up and down the stairs. No Aldrin. My fingers and toes had become numb by this point. I realized that sitting there any longer was going to be bad for my health (I had been getting up periodically and walking outside and then back in to keep my blood flowing). I had seen a small, corner restaurant that looked warm and as though it may serve soup, so I eventually decided to leave my bags sitting outside Aldrin's door and go across the street to the almost empty establishment. I grabbed my important documents and objects (i.e. passport, flight tickets, money, credit card, camera, hard drive-which had all my images from Cambodia on it, etc.) and walked out of the building. I entered the restaurant and took off my shoes where all the other shoes had been abandoned on the floor. I could instantly feel my face beginning to thaw from the warmth of the place. I scuffled my feet across the floor over to a table and sat down on the hardwood floor. There were only four pictures up on the wall and since I couldn't read or speak Korean, and no one in there could speak English (or maybe they just weren't willing to, I don't know), I pointed to the bowl with the red broth that looked like it had noodles in it. A few minutes later, The warm broth arrived along with about ten side dishes of different things one could add into their soup. I picked up the chopsticks and poked through the bowl. My inspections revealed many different species from under the sea, so I decided it was a seafood medley. There were chunks of fish, squid, seaweed, etc. in the bowl. I thought, "How great! I'm a vegetarian and I chose the seafood! This is perfect!" So I began to eat. And the broth was so warm that I had to keep blowing my nose and dabbing the water from my eyes (which I'm sure the other patrons really appreciated and found appetizing). As i was eating, I submerged my chopsticks in the broth and pulled them back out to find that I had fished for something that didn't look "fishy". I had a hunch for what it might have been, but I put it in my mouth, nonetheless, and bit down. Yep, it was brain. Now, brain of what, I didn't know. It was small, but I began to realize that maybe fish didn't have brains, and if they did, they surely were not as large and as defined as this one. Still, trying to bring my body temperature back up, I took another bite. It really wasn't half bad to tell you the truth. And, to be honest, I've eaten a lot worse. Soon after I took another bite, I realized that, by looking at the part of the brain (or whatever it was) still hanging on the chopsticks, I could see what appeared to be a brainstem. That was it. I was done. No more for the vegetarian (who eats dog AND brain, apparently).
I paid the bill and walked back across the street. As I entered the door of the apartment building and rounded the first set of stairs, I could see my luggage still sitting outside of Aldrin's door. AHHH!!! That meant that he was still not home. It was around 9pm at this point. I sat back down on the stairs and repeated my earlier routine of sitting, standing, then walking outside (half looking for Aldrin, half trying to get my blood flowing again). Armed with only my zip-up hoodie (because it wasn't exactly cold in Cambodia and I'm just that smart to forget completely that Seoul might be cold in December), I really began to feel the night's cold. Around 11:30pm a girl that lived upstairs came in the front door of the building and almost walked right into me. She said she was sorry. She spoke English!! Thank god. Okay. But she went as quickly as she came in. "Damn! I'm going to be out in this cold all night," I thought. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps coming down from the stairwell above. It was the same girl equipped with a blanket, some hot tea, and her cell phone. I had tried to call Aldrin earlier from a payphone type of thing, but I had a hard time figuring out how to work it (yeah, I'm a genius). So the girl asked if I had Aldrin's cell phone number and I gave it to her. She called a few times. No answer. Then she told me there was an empty apartment right above Aldrin's that the tenants had moved out of just that morning. She took me upstairs and let me into the vacated room. I laid the blanket out on the floor and sat down. Before I knew it, the door was opening and I was waking up from a pretty deep sleep....probably a coma. It was Aldrin. "What the hell happened??!!? Why didn't you call me??!?!" I gave him the story, told him I tried to call. Then we walked down to his apartment and I fell asleep as soon as I got inside.
I woke up a few times in the night and looked over to see him awake. I wondered why he hadn't been asleep and thought maybe it was because there were two people shoved onto a bed that was made, really, only for one. I fell back asleep. He woke up really early and took off for the gym. A few hours later, after I had showered and gotten dressed, he returned to the apartment. He got ready for work and we said goodbye (again) and he left. A few hours after that, I got back on the bus toward the airport and a few hours after that, I boarded the plane into Chicago. And that was Seoul.

Seven Hours

It is exactly seven hours before I head to the airport and, eventually, board the plane to go to Seoul and see Aldrin. It's really happening. It's all coming to an end. I don't really know what else to say right now. There's not much to say. Everything is done. I am going to the hospital this afternoon to do some last minute things: give a gift to Sinath and one to Sockaan and a letter to the Executive Director thanking him for the amazing experience I've had, return the cell phone the hospital loaned me for three months and say goodbye to the kids. Everything is packed and sitting in one small spot in my big, now empty room. Every space I'm in right now seems empty, but I feel so full. And I'm very happy to be going home and seeing my family and friends. So it's difficult to be too sad. But there is a definete part of me that is experiencing the lamentation of goodbye.

Photography Exihibition and Bill Clinton!

The exhibition is up! .....with a little trouble and a lot of help, the photo project that I worked on with the kids at the hospital is now gracing the walls outside the In-Patient Department. I felt so accomplished when that grid of images finally went up onto the wall. For a moment, I thought it would never happen. And with only two days left at the hospital, it was just in time. Also, the children got to see the photographs that they took blown-up to a large size and displayed, which, frankly, was one of the coolest things I've ever seen (the kids' reactions). It was about a "Day in the Life" of the children. It was a chance for them to finally get some real art therapy and express the way they feel about being in that place at this time in their lives. It was beautiful. And it was only sheer moments after the successful installation that Bill Clinton came walking through the doors of the hospital. He was a good-looking man, but I expected him to seem larger-than-life, for some reason, and he did not. He looked like any man I'd ever seen (except, of course, for the fact that I recognized his face). He greeted some of the children and spoke with the executive director of the hospital about procedures and problems of having this kind of a facility in a place like Cambodia. It was interesting to hear the small bits of their conversation. He left as suddenly as he came. And as soon as he walked out the door, Sinath (play specialist) was telling me how beautiful she thought he was. Soon, all the Cambodian female nurses and staff were talking about how much they enjoyed just looking at him. It was hilarious. I loved being a part of that moment with them. The experience of seeing Clinton for the first time was so much more enhanced because I got to do it with these people.

One Party, Four Days and 150 Goodbyes

I feel .....Something. This experience was ......Something. I am in a space that I can't quite explain. I'm ready to go home. Ready to see my family. I have four days left. Four days to make things right, to laugh the laughs, to dance with friends, to drink Angkor Beer, to reminisce with the people who understand, to take pictures, to paint ceiling tiles, to play with the kids, to talk with the staff, to be misunderstood, to misunderstand, to walk through the Wat, to listen to the monks chant at 6am, to sit on the side of the road and watch the slow and beautiful Cambodian life pass me by. Last night was my first and only breakdown so far. I think I had gotten so ahead of myself, getting excited to come home, and I didn't realize right away what I was leaving behind. This is the end of this experience. And the end only ever exists to usher in a new beginning, but this ending is the most powerful one I've ever tried to bring to a close.
I spent most of yesterday partying with 149 people...staff and volunteers from the hospital. We were celebrating. It was a time for us all to come together and rejoice in the fact that we simply knew one another...that we were all in the same place at the same time and how wonderful and precious a thing that is. We drank....everyone drank. And no one can drink quite like the Khmer...which is kind of hilarious because they are all drunk after one beer, but they just keep on drinking. A few hours in, after the meal and a lot of beer, we were having egg races and playing other games you would only really think to play as a child. The really beautiful thing is that we were all playing because we wanted to, because we were having fun, because we were truly enjoying each other and that time together. We danced the traditional Khmer dance in a circle around a table. Did I mention that we laughed? Alot? We stayed there for hours. The volunteers were the last to leave, and I think, rightfully so, as we will be the first to go. Our place here is so impermanent and so temporary, it's difficult to know really how much you are doing for a place like this, for people who know how to live so much better than you do. But I've done what I could. I hope. I pray that I've done something good for this hospital. I know I've done something insurmountable for myself. Making the choice to come here was the smartest thing I've ever done, even though, at times, I really thought otherwise.
I am so grateful, and so saddened, and so healed all at the same time...in a way that I never expected or planned on. I'm leaving here a different person than when I came. And I don't ever want to go back.