Wow.

I can't believe it's been two years since Cambodia. The next adventure is long overdue.

so...

India. Yeah. I am doing things I have no idea how to do. I am coming straight at this...as if I had a clue. But I believe in it. And I think that's what is going to see me through. I do believe this is going to happen for me. Almost because I kind of can't believe it's happening at all.

India

I've been working for the last three years on finding a way to make photography matter to me on a deeper level. This past year I have been researching and theorizing about a photography/writing program that would use the camera as a tool to encourage creativity, literacy, and critical thinking in children overseas. The light went on. I sent my proposals off to a woman in LA who sent them off to a man in London, and now, the man from London is proposing the program idea to the headmaster of the Druk White Lotus School in India. Maybe it will happen. Maybe it won't. I'll know within the week. 

A New Chapter

A good friend of mine once told me that, "Beginnings are scary, endings are sad; it's what's in the middle that counts." But I've found that there isn't much difference between beginnings and endings....they kind of come in a packaged deal.

I just wrapped up my first year of teaching. I learned a lot....probably more than my students learned. I definitely struggled a bit. But I was lucky to have WONDERFUL people around me who kept me afloat. I also finished up a job in the dementia unit of a nursing home (doing art therapy). That job was also a huge learning experience. You know, when you come into a job where you don't know what to expect (which has been every job I've ever had), you worry a lot about whether or not you're any good at it. I spent a lot of time wondering if I was a very good teacher. I dropped the ball, or felt I did, a few times. But I learned from it. Though it was hard, I learned how to ask for help and how to communicate more effectively. The dementia unit was difficult because you could be working and working with a certain resident and come in the next day and they would have no memory of you. Finally, they became more "aware" of me, more used to me. Then I put in my two week notice and left. That was very difficult. I didn't know what good it would do to tell most of them, because I felt they wouldn't remember. I would just be a shadow in their memory, anyhow. But walking out of that place ripped a piece of my heart from my chest. And I can't stop thinking about the impact those residents had on my life.

The last and final job I had to tie up the ends on, was my job as a photo therapist at Stewart-Marchman (a drug and alcohol rehab clinic). The worst part was, I wasn't prepared for the emotions I was going to feel on that last day. I didn't expect them. I've seen a lot of things and have done a lot of "moving on" from where I've been. This was, perhaps, for me, the hardest goodbye I can remember ever saying - even more so than when I left Cambodia. I tried to speak, but my voice would break and then tears would just start falling. So I didn't do much talking that last day. The people that have walked in and out of those doors in the past two years have all made an impact on me. A huge one. I was so afraid when I first walked into that place - not knowing what a bunch of addicts and I would have in common. Come to find out, we are all the same. We all want the same things: to be loved, to give love, to be proud of ourselves and the choices we are making, to succeed at something, to succeed at our own lives. Each one of those clients said something that made me think, something that has worked to make me better. It wrecked me to leave that day. But I will remember it, learn from it, take it with me. Otherwise, it would just be a sadness and would serve no real purpose.

So life is always moving forward, progressing on to the next thing. Sometimes we have a say in it, sometimes we don't. If I've learned anything from any of the people I've worked with, it's the humility and willingness to be IN whatever situation you're in, and knowing that you are the one who chooses HOW to live and operate in it. You choose whether or not to learn from it, you choose to be happy, to be contemplative, to take life seriously or when to lighten up. This living, this life...this is it...for now, anyway. This is it with no guarantees. So why wouldn't we be good to each other? Why wouldn't we go out of our way to help someone else see what we already can?

The next step has arrived for me. I'm less scared/anxious than I thought I'd be...or than I usually am when new chapters begin. Maybe it will hit me when I get there. Maybe I'm just ready. Whatever it is, I'm happy that life has found me here and am relieved to see that the pages are starting to turn again.

the gravity of water

burning bridges seems to be a business of mine. when the embers stop glowing, i just build another bridge. a different bridge to a different place. and a short distance down that path, i light another match. this is something i'm just now beginning to see, but it's something i've done since i was a child. it's clearer to me now because, it seems that instead of starting the fire from 100 yards away, in the way that i used to, over the years i have gotten closer and closer to the flames. i feel the heat more now than in the past. and most recently, i lit the damn match while i was halfway across. and the fires, these new fires, they burn in slow-motion.

i found a girl once, on the side of the road. i could see the horse running all alone further down the pavement. her face was in the dirt, her ass in the air, her neck bent 90 degrees. i just stood there. my mind had separated itself from my body. i stood there. staring at her. frozen. i don't remember taking a single breath. i don't recall whether or not my heart was even beating. i just stood there.

i can remember that feeling, relive it, as if it were all happening again, right now, all the time, in every moment of my life. it's the same feeling i get when i'm standing on one of these burning bridges. no connection between my body and mind. my emotions paralyzing me. water all around me, everywhere. but i stand still; my eyes full and on fire. my heart will not tell my head to tell my arm to reach out.

i just stood there staring at her. i was the only one. just me, my feet, three feet away from hers. i could not move myself. gravity finally took over. i collapsed. fell to my knees. sunk my fingernails in the dirt and crawled up beside her paled and pained face. i took a breath. asked for her name. i had done it. found a way to reach out for the bucket. but i had waited too long. the heat had stolen the water. no response. i used one hand to remove her hair from in front of her eyes, careful to not touch her face. i saw her. she was young. my age. again, i asked for her name. nothing. just my voice and her shallow, uneasy breaths. and there, on the side of the road, the tears came.

unable to save her. unable to save myself. paralyzed.

something meaningful

so i've been pretty depressed lately and i've finally figured it out. i can't stand working a crappy job for nine hours a day for $6.75 an hour. imagine that. and a job where, no matter what you do, there's always something wrong with it. that's called a corporate job...making coffee for a big-wig brown bean business. yeah. i can't believe the trouble you can get into for pressing a single button on a cash register. ridiculous. and the fact that i work with so many people who actually believe in the crap is unreal. it makes me sad. i see these young kids doing this job, falling into line, following the DUMBASS leader. it's not me. and they are surprised at me. all of a sudden, i am the rebellious employee that needs to be watched and tracked. give me a break. what? because i think for myself, i've committed some horrible crime? well, today was my first day taking control of the adult group at the rehab center (my other job...that i actually find joy and meaning in doing). and it went too well. i left there wishing that i felt every day the way i felt leaving that place. that's the way life should be. maybe it is totally selfish. i mean, it is. feeling that good is selfish. but i love feeling like i'm doing something that matters to someone else. i can't imagine spending a lifetime trying to please someone through a cup of coffee when there are actual problems in the world. there are people who need me. people who need you. they're everywhere. being able to be that person,..being in a place where you CAN be that person...i feel totally blessed. this is what i want to do with my life. i'm dropping off my portfolio at the local newspapers tomorrow and if they show any interest AT ALL, i'm saying goodbye to that coffee company forever. hell, i want to say goodbye anyway. but the way this country works, you have nothing without a constant inflow of greenbacks. isn't it funny, the things we must do, the parts of ourselves we must compromise, in order to survive in this backwards nation?. i think so. it's depressing. no wonder so many people have such a hard time finding a reason to smile. i've found mine. and my happiness, my peace of mind is worth so much more than a dead white man's face.

hmmm.

what is this distance that keeps us from knowing ourselves? where are we really when we're lost in thought but not really thinking? are we always waiting to be delivered from the place we find ourselves? harbouring so many things, deep seeded feelings, that we make such an honest effort to avoid the thought of the things we must face in order to grow. if it is only myself who can truly know where my happiness lies, why are there so many people chiming in...so many people who think they have the answer. what are they answering to? i'm still searching for the questions. and i'm enjoying the search. the arrival at realization is like reaching the peak of a high and rocky mountain. i want to rejoice, to take it all in, to open my arms wide and feel that wind blow across my face. because everyone knows the wind feels different at the top of the mountain.

back to the bracelets.

wow. i've never felt less like myself in a long time. i'm working at a large corporation. doing the things that now, i can't imagine doing after an experience like cambodia. and i can't complain. because i'm here. i put myself here. i'm not this person anymore. i'm on the road to knowing who i am.....finally....and this is not it. this person that everyone expects me to be, expects that i can be. i am not. i know who i am now. that is what cambodia did for me. and now i am here. so what do you do? what does anyone do in this situation? do you bear down and just keep moving in the direction you're going? or do you make the tough decision? it's funny. when i was in cambodia, everyone was proud of me....scared for me,......but proud of me. now that i'm home, no one knows what to think. and i'm, again, just thinking of myself. tonight i was reminded of the girl with the gold bracelets. and i cried. and cried. i have avoided thinking of her. as i think most people trying to be sane would do. but i cannot avoid her any longer. and now i understand why. funny thing is....there are butterflies everywhere.

packing up the jetta

one more week in san francisco. truth be told, i'm excited to get out of here. never thought i would say that. but i'm excited to start the next journey....and i don't feel like that next journey has much to do with san francisco. i love this city. i will always love it. but i moved on and didn't realize it until i got settled in...well, as settled in as possible in two months time. i know i'm just biding my time here. so, on saturday next week, i'll be driving the jetta across the bay bridge headed toward vegas to pick up miss annalisa from the airport, party down and celebrate paulina's wedding in sin city, and then drive mama back home to iowa city (via the long route). then on to florida. start the new job. register for classes. get started on applications for my masters. all the while, the big secret is that i'm just wondering when i will return to cambodia.

help the children of the AHC and BUY MY PHOTOGRAPHS!!!!

HEY FRIENDS!

I've decided to put my images from the Angkor Hospital for Children up on myspace for an impromptu sale. I'm hoping to raise money for the AHC by donating 100% of the proceeds from the prints back to the hospital. The photographs are $35/each. All prints measure 11x14inches. This sale is meant for myfriends on myspace to have a way to chip in and help out the kids in cambodia. Please, if each of you buy just one print, think of how much we could, collectively, help the kids of the Khmer provinces.

The images can be viewed on my myspace profile page under the "i'd like to meet" title. Please take a moment to look at the images and think seriously about purchasing one. if for nothing else, than to help give medical care to the children of cambodia's countryside.

Email me with your request for prints (denote the number of the print you would like) and I will respond to your email with methods of payment and estimated arrival of print(s). WE CAN ALL MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

LANDSLIDE IN SAN FRANCISCO

the landslide that occured yesterday, happened about three blocks from our apartment on the same hill we live on. and tonight we felt a shift. could've been a quake. but that would've been a big quake. there's a lot of earth moving up here. they say the big one's coming. we're starting to think maybe they're right.

Opportunity

You know, it's strange how things just seem to come together when you're really sure that they absolutely won't. It looks like I may have a very good job opportunity back in Florida (which is great, because I'm heading back there to work on my master's toward art therapy). The best part is that it is doing PHOTO therapy. And let me tell you, I don't think there are a lot of jobs out there for "photo" therapy just yet. So this is great news! Great News!

The Winds of Change

Sitting here at my computer in my room that looms over the city of San Francisco. I arrived in the city about three weeks ago. Four days after I moved my things from my car to my new bedroom, I realized what my next step is going to be. And I'm not taking it here in San Francisco. I will pack my car back up and head back across the states...back to Florida. Back to my father's house. One more year. One year of doing post-bac work so that I can apply for my Master's in Art Therapy. And I plan to work with kids. I hope to work with kids. I hope to return to the hospital better equipped to help those kids deal with life, with living. Something tells me I never would've discovered this had I not first made the roadtrip back out here to San Francisco. I don't think I would've figured out the puzzle. So I've taken for myself what San Francisco had left to offer me and now I will begin a new journey back to an old place.

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.

Giving Thanks and Getting Seoul

It wasn't really Thanksgiving. I mean, we are in Cambodia, after all. I felt a little silly for celebrating Thanksgiving here when, at the same time, I'm taking advantage of celebrating the Khmer holidays as well. But, I did say I was going to start celebrating every thing...every reason. So here I am - in Cambodia - and happy to say that four of the volunteers (myself included) went out for a fancy meal at Chambey's on November 24th. We all sat around and told what we were thankful for...(just kidding. We didn't do that). Why do we need to SAY what we are thankful for? Isn't it obvious? Two and a half months ago, it wasn't so obvious to me. Today, yes, I know better what is important in life...in my life. Working at the hospital...there's no need to tell the others who are working there with me, what I am thankful for. We are all thankful for the same things and we know it. Words are unnecessary, they are overrated (sometimes).
I'm sitting here, almost one week after our Southeast Asian Thanksgiving celebration, looking out onto the street, watching the sun set over Siem Reap and I can't believe I only have thirteen more days here. My body is beginning to recoil from the grip of this place, but it feels a little strange...even the thought of leaving. Part of me knows I may never return. And part of me has been checking out a little early. I mean, I've been working a lot with the kids lately. We've been doing really fun things...photo projects and painting. But I see myself leaning back a little, not wanting to be as attached to the kids as I have been for the last two months. I think it's kind of a pointless effort. And it's not really even an effort, because...well, I was watching Sinaath (the art therapist at the hospital) read a book to a young girl that I had been sitting with earlier in the day. I moved over toward the bed and sat next to the girl. She was sprawled out on her side and obviously in pain. I couldn't see her face because she was watching Sinaath read as well. I kept looking over at the girl's mother and she returned a smile every time I glanced her way. Eventually, the girl turned far enough for me to see her face. She had been smiling the whole time she was listening to Sinaath's story. I mean, it's a moment like that that just breaks your heart and completely heals you at the same time. This girl is, justafiably, in so much physical pain, but all she needed was for someone to pick up a book and read to her. It's moments like those that I had never experienced before coming here. Part of me wonders if I will ever have moments like those again after I get on that airplane from Siem Reap to Seoul. And then, I think, you know, those moments are everywhere all the time. Maybe I just never paid attention to them before.