Friday, February 4, 2011
Mushy mushy brain.
Just going on the record: In the past two weeks I have returned from a month abroad, gone to New York to see Will kick ass in moot court, started second semester of grad school, applied to a PhD program, and had Will move back from Miami after 8 months of living apart. My brain is slightly fried.
Monday, January 31, 2011
To boldly go...and try to not screw things up too much in the process.
This is but a mere intro to a much longer dialogue I will be having with myself, hopefully for the rest of my life...
Will and I went on a little date tonight, and on the way to Gaupos (where else, amigas??) we were discussing what a precarious trail we trod as individuals hoping to engage in human rights policy development and legal work. We were talking about trafficking in persons and the complications that arise as a result of Westerners not taking Khmer constructions of femininity into account when trying to implement counter-trafficking policies. (Yes, this is dinner convo- seven years and going strong!) Both of us in our time abroad, him in Arusha dealing with fallout from the Rwanda 1994 genocide and me in Cambodia, saw the problems caused by Western practitioners applying 'fixes' to things we decide are 'problems'. I am in the midst of pursuing work in conflict analysis and resolution, and want to make sure I keep this in the forefront of my mind as I go forward in my coursework.
As with most things Will and I discuss, the conversation quickly came to Star Trek. We both agree that we have a much greater respect for the Prime Directive as a result of our brief but glorious stints abroad. I am not saying that Khmer or Rwandan culture are pre-warp, far from it (although seriously, my Khmer pals, puh-lease, embrace the wonders of cuisine flavored with more than just lemongrass and tarragon). Rather, I am saying that we need to be more respectful of other cultures as we waltz into situations thinking that we can 'improve' them by applying our own definitions of better.
Much more thoughts on this in days, weeks, and light-years to come.
-Number One out
Similar, right?
Will and I went on a little date tonight, and on the way to Gaupos (where else, amigas??) we were discussing what a precarious trail we trod as individuals hoping to engage in human rights policy development and legal work. We were talking about trafficking in persons and the complications that arise as a result of Westerners not taking Khmer constructions of femininity into account when trying to implement counter-trafficking policies. (Yes, this is dinner convo- seven years and going strong!) Both of us in our time abroad, him in Arusha dealing with fallout from the Rwanda 1994 genocide and me in Cambodia, saw the problems caused by Western practitioners applying 'fixes' to things we decide are 'problems'. I am in the midst of pursuing work in conflict analysis and resolution, and want to make sure I keep this in the forefront of my mind as I go forward in my coursework.
As with most things Will and I discuss, the conversation quickly came to Star Trek. We both agree that we have a much greater respect for the Prime Directive as a result of our brief but glorious stints abroad. I am not saying that Khmer or Rwandan culture are pre-warp, far from it (although seriously, my Khmer pals, puh-lease, embrace the wonders of cuisine flavored with more than just lemongrass and tarragon). Rather, I am saying that we need to be more respectful of other cultures as we waltz into situations thinking that we can 'improve' them by applying our own definitions of better.
Much more thoughts on this in days, weeks, and light-years to come.
-Number One out
Similar, right?
Friday, January 28, 2011
On the road to Pace, but at a different pace.
I'm zooming up the Jersey turnpike (I generally like to go through this state as fast as absolutely possible) on my way to NY to see Will compete in a moot court competition at Pace University. Watching him prep for this has been so inspiring. He works harder than anyone I have ever met, ever, and pours his absolute all into everything he does. This can have its downsides, no doubt: skimped social life, late nights (for him- I put in ear plugs and eye mask a la Holly Golightly and conch out), and much, much too much time apart. But watching him work as hard as he does is so good for me.
I always want to be good at whatever I do right away- the instant gratification of perfection has yet to fall within my hands, but I still think that I should be able to 'get' anything I undertake instantly. And this has led to some less than fun outcomes, most especially in the procrastination department. One of my first professors once said that procrastination is just the way some people work, that it's their 'process'. I took these words to heart. Oh, how sweet the knowledge that it was just my process, my journey! I would roll over for another 20 minutes (read: 2 hours) of sleep, slumbering soundly in the knowledge that it was all part of my process, that I would be able to pull out whatever project I was working on (or supposed to be, anyway) at the last minute and all would be well. And this generally, for better or for worse, worked. I am fairly bright. Not brilliant, but pretty sharp. And I am a fast worker on many things, most especially writing. But not in-depth, deeply researched writing. And here is where my nasty little habit has kicked me in the ass in recent years. I have embraced my chosen career path of academia with joy and passion- I feel like I have found my calling, and am jumping in wholeheartedly, undertaking projects that I never before would have dreamed of being able to tackle. But this is a different kind of writing, kids. Nuanced research, transcriptions (kill me), detailed, precise formatting. I do declare, Miss Melanie, it's almost more than I can bear!
Well, fiddledeedee to all of that is what I learn every time I watch Will going at it with his work. I see him logging countless hours to make sure that he can be proud of everything he does. His dad always says that the only thing you really have is your reputation, and in my little procrastination game I have put mine on the line a few more times than I care to admit because of waiting until the last second and only barely squeezing out a good product. I could do So. Much. More. If I give myself more time.
And here's the miracle: I'm actually doing this. For the past several weeks, I have been leaving more time for almost everything I do, and my life is immeasurably more pleasurable now that I'm not flying by the seat of my pants. A lot of this has simply been the result of taking on less than I usually do. Leaving the country for the better part of a month meant that people weren't asking me to join in on things, both things fun and not so much fun, and the result is that I am not feeling pressured to do as much. I feel like Cambodia reset my clock a bit. Life is so much slooooowwwweeeerrrr there, due to lack of infrastructure in some part, but also because I think there is a cultural acceptance of the fact that we are but mere mortals, and need not schedule ourselves at a frenetic hamster-wheel pace in order to be worthy humans. I felt like it was ok to be a human being rather than a human doing there. And this worked for me pretty well.
I actually only had one nightmare the whole time I was there, which is nothing short of a miracle for me, Queen of the Night Terrors. I had one last night- a baby one, only a 3 out of 10 on the terror scale. I thought my nightmares had to do with things non-stress related, but now I am questioning if perhaps it has more to do with the pace of life I am leading. We went a million miles a minute in Cambodia, no doubt- every single second was scheduled and structured to the max. However, there were no deadlines, no due dates, no looming bosses or taskmasters, versus right now: Will moved back from Miami last night after eight months of us living apart, I have a MAJOR application due Tuesday on which I have pinned a lot of hopes and dreams, we are looking for an apartment, we are looking for a job for Will, we are looking for a GA position for me, I am editing a paper for a conference in three weeks, and, oh, we live with my family (which is lovely, but still, it’s a lot to juggle a marriage and living in your mommy’s basement).
To pull this meandering thought train into the station, my point is this: I can be an amazing academic, and help influence changes that will lead to a more peaceful and just society. But only if I give myself enough time to really put out work using all of my best mental and emotional faculties. That shit takes time. And energy. And that’s ok. Because this is not going to simply result in better work; it will also yield less stress, as I will not be in wackadoo-hamster mode. And this is a happy thing. Yay.
Since I’m already doing this, I won’t call it a New Year’s resolution or anything like that, so much as be grateful for the fact that I do seem to be living this lack of procrastination out on a daily basis. But I do think I will have to keep working at it. Thank goodness I have a good role model.
When I grow up, I want to be Will Mount.
I always want to be good at whatever I do right away- the instant gratification of perfection has yet to fall within my hands, but I still think that I should be able to 'get' anything I undertake instantly. And this has led to some less than fun outcomes, most especially in the procrastination department. One of my first professors once said that procrastination is just the way some people work, that it's their 'process'. I took these words to heart. Oh, how sweet the knowledge that it was just my process, my journey! I would roll over for another 20 minutes (read: 2 hours) of sleep, slumbering soundly in the knowledge that it was all part of my process, that I would be able to pull out whatever project I was working on (or supposed to be, anyway) at the last minute and all would be well. And this generally, for better or for worse, worked. I am fairly bright. Not brilliant, but pretty sharp. And I am a fast worker on many things, most especially writing. But not in-depth, deeply researched writing. And here is where my nasty little habit has kicked me in the ass in recent years. I have embraced my chosen career path of academia with joy and passion- I feel like I have found my calling, and am jumping in wholeheartedly, undertaking projects that I never before would have dreamed of being able to tackle. But this is a different kind of writing, kids. Nuanced research, transcriptions (kill me), detailed, precise formatting. I do declare, Miss Melanie, it's almost more than I can bear!
Well, fiddledeedee to all of that is what I learn every time I watch Will going at it with his work. I see him logging countless hours to make sure that he can be proud of everything he does. His dad always says that the only thing you really have is your reputation, and in my little procrastination game I have put mine on the line a few more times than I care to admit because of waiting until the last second and only barely squeezing out a good product. I could do So. Much. More. If I give myself more time.
And here's the miracle: I'm actually doing this. For the past several weeks, I have been leaving more time for almost everything I do, and my life is immeasurably more pleasurable now that I'm not flying by the seat of my pants. A lot of this has simply been the result of taking on less than I usually do. Leaving the country for the better part of a month meant that people weren't asking me to join in on things, both things fun and not so much fun, and the result is that I am not feeling pressured to do as much. I feel like Cambodia reset my clock a bit. Life is so much slooooowwwweeeerrrr there, due to lack of infrastructure in some part, but also because I think there is a cultural acceptance of the fact that we are but mere mortals, and need not schedule ourselves at a frenetic hamster-wheel pace in order to be worthy humans. I felt like it was ok to be a human being rather than a human doing there. And this worked for me pretty well.
I actually only had one nightmare the whole time I was there, which is nothing short of a miracle for me, Queen of the Night Terrors. I had one last night- a baby one, only a 3 out of 10 on the terror scale. I thought my nightmares had to do with things non-stress related, but now I am questioning if perhaps it has more to do with the pace of life I am leading. We went a million miles a minute in Cambodia, no doubt- every single second was scheduled and structured to the max. However, there were no deadlines, no due dates, no looming bosses or taskmasters, versus right now: Will moved back from Miami last night after eight months of us living apart, I have a MAJOR application due Tuesday on which I have pinned a lot of hopes and dreams, we are looking for an apartment, we are looking for a job for Will, we are looking for a GA position for me, I am editing a paper for a conference in three weeks, and, oh, we live with my family (which is lovely, but still, it’s a lot to juggle a marriage and living in your mommy’s basement).
To pull this meandering thought train into the station, my point is this: I can be an amazing academic, and help influence changes that will lead to a more peaceful and just society. But only if I give myself enough time to really put out work using all of my best mental and emotional faculties. That shit takes time. And energy. And that’s ok. Because this is not going to simply result in better work; it will also yield less stress, as I will not be in wackadoo-hamster mode. And this is a happy thing. Yay.
Since I’m already doing this, I won’t call it a New Year’s resolution or anything like that, so much as be grateful for the fact that I do seem to be living this lack of procrastination out on a daily basis. But I do think I will have to keep working at it. Thank goodness I have a good role model.
When I grow up, I want to be Will Mount.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
John Mayer, I feel you, yo.
I spent a decent chunk of the afternoon Monday restocking on groceries and various accoutrements of Western living (hair-dye, body-wash, oh the luxury!). After schlepping through Costco I ran to Safeway for cereal and eggs that came in less than Duggar-sized quantities. As I was checking out, the cash register and I were chatting about the *shudder* snow storm we are supposed to get today. I mentioned I just left 85 degree Cambodia, and was not looking forward to wintry mix (le sigh). When he handed me my hermetically sealed, plastic wrapped cereal and metal canned goods after I paid he said "Welcome back to the real world!"
His tone was so friendly, but I couldn't help but reply "Fake world" immediately. It wasn't that I was trying to be rude (it just comes naturally sometimes! Seriously though, I'm working on it), but the whole day I had been trying to wrap my brain around the differences I feel and see here vs. in Cambodia,and can't help but think that some of what we consider 'developed' is really far less enlightened than what the 'developing' world has got goin' on.
The two biggest things that have struck me so far:
I had a conversation with my sister Sunday night about my (beautiful, amazing, brilliant) niece, and she was telling me about "attachment parenting"- based on Eastern principles of keeping your children close, not using strollers and swings to occupy your kids and keep them apart, etc. I was thinking about this today as I was stuck behind a minivan in traffic. The license plate said "BZEMOM" and the back window had those stickers where each family member has their own little personality depicted with cute charactatures. Looking at this lady's van, I thought of the Cambodian equivalent: motobike with up to six family members stuffed on the back. The streets are filled with them in Phnom Penh. Everywhere you look there are moms riding sidesaddle with babies tucked in their arms, their husbands driving while a young child- or two- is stuffed between the parents. The other day Beth and Adrienne, two women in the Center for Global Ed program with me, and I were at a cafe and we saw a woman driving with two boys on the back of her motobike. The one in back had his arms around his brother (I'm presuming the relationship) and was holding on to his mom- his brother sandwiched in between them, out cold asleep. I saw countless toddlers crouched between their mother or father's legs as the parent drove, the kid holding onto the handle bars and balancing on the foot post, with other family members sitting behind the driver.
Despite the safety factors that would lead the US Department of Children and Families to apprehend any parent in the US that even attempted to do this, there appeared (from my outsider's perspective) to be an upside to this system. These families are really together- really, really closely together. The "BZEMOM" in front of me today had a whole Honda Odyssey of space between her and her children. This is not really a 'problem', or a negative or anything, but I do think that we have come to value personal space to the point that we have built in large barriers between ourselves and those we love. We have McMansions where each family member can have their own floor. We strive to give our kids a sense of independence and confidence, so we enroll them in a bazillion different sports and extracurriculars, and are so pressed for time that we swing through the drive-thru and skip family dinner, time where we would not only be fostering closeness, but where kids would truly gain the confidence that comes from knowing they are loved, valued and appreciated.
And then there's the food issues where I definitely feel that we are more in a fake, plastic-wrapped world than the developing world. One of my FAVORITE experiences I had on the entire trip was when an employee of Jimmy's uncle ran into us at the market. I was on the prowl for fruit to give as gifts to folks I had interviewed, and Ming (which means aunt in Khmer, Jimmy told me she cares for him as if he's her nephew, and that I should role with the term as well) decided to embrace the mission. No sooner than had Jimmy explained what we were up to, Ming grabbed my arm and started dragging me through Central Market, chatting up friends along the way. We went to a half-dozen fruit stands, where she haggled her way into a great deal on some beautiful baskets filled with fresh yummy produce.
So in the process of getting absolutely-fresh-from-the-tree fruit, we also got to support local, small business owners and interact with a multitude of Ming's friends. It's a rare day when I run into a pal at Safeway (and not because I don't have any friends). Our world is so spaced out here. In the 'burbs where I'm staying with my mom we live in houses where we have to get in the car to go pretty much anywhere. We value 'food safety' over real food- embracing the joys of processed, packaged corn starch concoctions over honest-to-goodness food that doesn't hail from mysterious origins.
My favorite meals while in Cambodia involved fruit purchased from a street stand. They're everywhere, and the fruit is amazing. I would purchase a small pineapple (there's a specific species over there that is a little baby one, so cute and delish!) for 2000 riel, which is exactly $.50. The fruit stand person would peel the pineapple, then cut it with this notched design that made it possible to eat right off the core, corn-cob style. Not only was this amazingly delicious, it also skipped so much of the ridiculous carbon emitting process that we build into our food production here. The fruit guy gets his fruit directly from the farmer, skips the expensive and land filling packaging process, and then sells it to me. Easy.
I bought a pineapple at Costco and was looking at it ripening on my counter this morning. I am sure it had quite a flight from its country of origin, and a few fun trips in a truck to get to Chantilly Costco, then the car ride (it's ultra-low emissions, I promise!) to get to my house. So many steps, and it's still not even ripe because it had to be picked off the tree well before it's time so it wouldn't rot before getting to me. Yikes.
On top of the geographical nuttiness that went into my pineapple procurement, the good people at the Dole fruit company decided that the pineapple on it's own was somehow not enough. Perhaps the beautiful ridges and resplendent fronds were not enough of a selling point that I, an informed, nutritious conscious consumer, would want to partake of their product. So they stuck a tag in it, informing me that the pineapple is a "Super-food!", and "Good for my joints!" (Insert mental image of jazz hands here) I'm really down with Dole doing whatever they feel is best to move their product, and I get that if I, in the midst of a DC winter, want to enjoy the wonders of a tropical pineapple I must embrace the carbon footprint that comes along with my gastrointestinal longings. It's just that all of this makes my pineapple seem less, well, real.
I don't know that what I am feeling right now is culture shock, so much as a deep questioning of the assumptions I have had about what the "real world" is. So, I'm with you, John Mayer. I do feel like I just found out there's no such thing as the real world. And I don't know what that means for me and Will's future, although I am guessing it will involve more transnational flights and anti-malaria pills. What I do know for now is that I am much more skeptical of the idea of aiding 'developing' countries with a particular idea of what that development should look like.
The other thing I do know for certain: If being able to buy a hermetically sealed package of Mott's blueberry-apple sauce and a package of Dunkaroo's to eat in my Honda Odyssey is the epitome of development, count me out.
His tone was so friendly, but I couldn't help but reply "Fake world" immediately. It wasn't that I was trying to be rude (it just comes naturally sometimes! Seriously though, I'm working on it), but the whole day I had been trying to wrap my brain around the differences I feel and see here vs. in Cambodia,and can't help but think that some of what we consider 'developed' is really far less enlightened than what the 'developing' world has got goin' on.
The two biggest things that have struck me so far:
I had a conversation with my sister Sunday night about my (beautiful, amazing, brilliant) niece, and she was telling me about "attachment parenting"- based on Eastern principles of keeping your children close, not using strollers and swings to occupy your kids and keep them apart, etc. I was thinking about this today as I was stuck behind a minivan in traffic. The license plate said "BZEMOM" and the back window had those stickers where each family member has their own little personality depicted with cute charactatures. Looking at this lady's van, I thought of the Cambodian equivalent: motobike with up to six family members stuffed on the back. The streets are filled with them in Phnom Penh. Everywhere you look there are moms riding sidesaddle with babies tucked in their arms, their husbands driving while a young child- or two- is stuffed between the parents. The other day Beth and Adrienne, two women in the Center for Global Ed program with me, and I were at a cafe and we saw a woman driving with two boys on the back of her motobike. The one in back had his arms around his brother (I'm presuming the relationship) and was holding on to his mom- his brother sandwiched in between them, out cold asleep. I saw countless toddlers crouched between their mother or father's legs as the parent drove, the kid holding onto the handle bars and balancing on the foot post, with other family members sitting behind the driver.
Despite the safety factors that would lead the US Department of Children and Families to apprehend any parent in the US that even attempted to do this, there appeared (from my outsider's perspective) to be an upside to this system. These families are really together- really, really closely together. The "BZEMOM" in front of me today had a whole Honda Odyssey of space between her and her children. This is not really a 'problem', or a negative or anything, but I do think that we have come to value personal space to the point that we have built in large barriers between ourselves and those we love. We have McMansions where each family member can have their own floor. We strive to give our kids a sense of independence and confidence, so we enroll them in a bazillion different sports and extracurriculars, and are so pressed for time that we swing through the drive-thru and skip family dinner, time where we would not only be fostering closeness, but where kids would truly gain the confidence that comes from knowing they are loved, valued and appreciated.
And then there's the food issues where I definitely feel that we are more in a fake, plastic-wrapped world than the developing world. One of my FAVORITE experiences I had on the entire trip was when an employee of Jimmy's uncle ran into us at the market. I was on the prowl for fruit to give as gifts to folks I had interviewed, and Ming (which means aunt in Khmer, Jimmy told me she cares for him as if he's her nephew, and that I should role with the term as well) decided to embrace the mission. No sooner than had Jimmy explained what we were up to, Ming grabbed my arm and started dragging me through Central Market, chatting up friends along the way. We went to a half-dozen fruit stands, where she haggled her way into a great deal on some beautiful baskets filled with fresh yummy produce.
So in the process of getting absolutely-fresh-from-the-tree fruit, we also got to support local, small business owners and interact with a multitude of Ming's friends. It's a rare day when I run into a pal at Safeway (and not because I don't have any friends). Our world is so spaced out here. In the 'burbs where I'm staying with my mom we live in houses where we have to get in the car to go pretty much anywhere. We value 'food safety' over real food- embracing the joys of processed, packaged corn starch concoctions over honest-to-goodness food that doesn't hail from mysterious origins.
My favorite meals while in Cambodia involved fruit purchased from a street stand. They're everywhere, and the fruit is amazing. I would purchase a small pineapple (there's a specific species over there that is a little baby one, so cute and delish!) for 2000 riel, which is exactly $.50. The fruit stand person would peel the pineapple, then cut it with this notched design that made it possible to eat right off the core, corn-cob style. Not only was this amazingly delicious, it also skipped so much of the ridiculous carbon emitting process that we build into our food production here. The fruit guy gets his fruit directly from the farmer, skips the expensive and land filling packaging process, and then sells it to me. Easy.
I bought a pineapple at Costco and was looking at it ripening on my counter this morning. I am sure it had quite a flight from its country of origin, and a few fun trips in a truck to get to Chantilly Costco, then the car ride (it's ultra-low emissions, I promise!) to get to my house. So many steps, and it's still not even ripe because it had to be picked off the tree well before it's time so it wouldn't rot before getting to me. Yikes.
On top of the geographical nuttiness that went into my pineapple procurement, the good people at the Dole fruit company decided that the pineapple on it's own was somehow not enough. Perhaps the beautiful ridges and resplendent fronds were not enough of a selling point that I, an informed, nutritious conscious consumer, would want to partake of their product. So they stuck a tag in it, informing me that the pineapple is a "Super-food!", and "Good for my joints!" (Insert mental image of jazz hands here) I'm really down with Dole doing whatever they feel is best to move their product, and I get that if I, in the midst of a DC winter, want to enjoy the wonders of a tropical pineapple I must embrace the carbon footprint that comes along with my gastrointestinal longings. It's just that all of this makes my pineapple seem less, well, real.
I don't know that what I am feeling right now is culture shock, so much as a deep questioning of the assumptions I have had about what the "real world" is. So, I'm with you, John Mayer. I do feel like I just found out there's no such thing as the real world. And I don't know what that means for me and Will's future, although I am guessing it will involve more transnational flights and anti-malaria pills. What I do know for now is that I am much more skeptical of the idea of aiding 'developing' countries with a particular idea of what that development should look like.
The other thing I do know for certain: If being able to buy a hermetically sealed package of Mott's blueberry-apple sauce and a package of Dunkaroo's to eat in my Honda Odyssey is the epitome of development, count me out.
Monday, January 24, 2011
A less than graceful departure and re-entry. As if that's a surprise.
Just a quick post to say "I'm back!" And what an adventure it was to get home. My new Khmer BFF Jimmy, his cousins, and my friend Yeme and I all went out for Indian food prior to me and Yeme heading out, and I had something that did not agree with me. I chicken-tikka'ed the whole way home, vomiting all 22 hours in the air. Fun times. But now I'm back, and my doggy is happy, and I am happy, and I took a hot bath (oh the wonder, oh the glory!).
Speaking of baths... Yeme (who was rooming with me for the last three days we were in Phnom Penh) and I were staying at a guesthouse down on the riverside, a lovely little place that was clean, super friendly staff, everything you could want and more. We planned on showering in the afternoon prior to getting on our plane late Saturday evening, in the hopes that we would not be too grody for the long haul back (ha, little did I know I would be puking my guts out the whole trip home). All was going according to plan. Yeme was packing, and I jumped in the shower. And by shower I mean I got under the detachable shower-head thingie that was installed between the toilet and the sink. The water was lukewarm, which I have learned is 'super luxuriously hot' in Cambodia terms. I was thrilled, you can imagine, when the water grew ever more warm, then hot, then scalding. This was fun! Water that's warm! Yea!
Except then the water slowed to a trickle. Then stopped. This was less fun. I still had shampoo in my hair, and soap all over my body. Less fun indeed.
Yeme called down to the front desk and they explained that the water would be back on in a short thirty minutes. Whoohoo! I wrapped in a towel and got to work packing, figuring that suffering any dry skin resulting from soap drying on my body was better than rinsing in the toilet water. After 30 minutes, no water came on but a knock came at the door. I opened it- wearing my towel- to find two Khmer guys, early 30s-ish, carting a tub of water between the two of them. A brief note on Khmer society and decency: me wearing a tank-top was mildly scandalous. The sight of me in a towel was practically pornographic. The two guy's eyes bugged out, and after a minute of stammering they brought the tub into the bathroom, along with convenient dipper. Good times.
So my last 'shower' in Cambodia was less shower, more 'dunk your head in a bucket Icthus music festival style', but that made it much more fun. Definetly a high note to go out on.
Grandma, if you're reading this from Heaven, thanks for teaching me how take a Polish bath when I was little. I hope you're ok with me changing the name to PhnomPehnPolish bath.
Speaking of baths... Yeme (who was rooming with me for the last three days we were in Phnom Penh) and I were staying at a guesthouse down on the riverside, a lovely little place that was clean, super friendly staff, everything you could want and more. We planned on showering in the afternoon prior to getting on our plane late Saturday evening, in the hopes that we would not be too grody for the long haul back (ha, little did I know I would be puking my guts out the whole trip home). All was going according to plan. Yeme was packing, and I jumped in the shower. And by shower I mean I got under the detachable shower-head thingie that was installed between the toilet and the sink. The water was lukewarm, which I have learned is 'super luxuriously hot' in Cambodia terms. I was thrilled, you can imagine, when the water grew ever more warm, then hot, then scalding. This was fun! Water that's warm! Yea!
Except then the water slowed to a trickle. Then stopped. This was less fun. I still had shampoo in my hair, and soap all over my body. Less fun indeed.
Yeme called down to the front desk and they explained that the water would be back on in a short thirty minutes. Whoohoo! I wrapped in a towel and got to work packing, figuring that suffering any dry skin resulting from soap drying on my body was better than rinsing in the toilet water. After 30 minutes, no water came on but a knock came at the door. I opened it- wearing my towel- to find two Khmer guys, early 30s-ish, carting a tub of water between the two of them. A brief note on Khmer society and decency: me wearing a tank-top was mildly scandalous. The sight of me in a towel was practically pornographic. The two guy's eyes bugged out, and after a minute of stammering they brought the tub into the bathroom, along with convenient dipper. Good times.
So my last 'shower' in Cambodia was less shower, more 'dunk your head in a bucket Icthus music festival style', but that made it much more fun. Definetly a high note to go out on.
Grandma, if you're reading this from Heaven, thanks for teaching me how take a Polish bath when I was little. I hope you're ok with me changing the name to PhnomPehnPolish bath.
Friday, January 14, 2011
These are a few of my favorite things
So much of this trip has been ‘eye opening’ in the frustrating sense: genocide, gender disparities propagated through crappy policies at the gov. and NGO level, violence towards women that goes ignored, and crippling poverty. However, this trip has also been two of the best weeks of my life. Fun people in our group, amazing views, encounters with local folks that have challenged my world view and a priceless opportunity to test drive some of the methods I have learned in the past two semesters of grad school. In addition to these fantastic things, here’s a quick hit list of what has made this experience so special, in no particular order:
Sleeping in the back of the bus while catching air over some crazy ass bad roads.
Waking up to bizarre music outside my window in Battombong.
Having my own personal chorus of people that make sure my food is “no sugar, right???”
Making friends with people I would never encounter at Mason. Despite the fact that is on the same campus, I never would have met many of the undergrads here, and they are amazing.
Poop jokes with everyone, and Al making veiled comments on diarrhea. Really, how many post-grads can you have in the States making fun of bodily functions without being concerned about job prospects/tenure?
This comment from Chris at dinner tonight: “I wish I had a coffee table book of things you (me) say, you are hilarious!” (Cue Beth’s mental chorus: “They like me, they really like me!”).
The circus training this afternoon: Step 1) Take a bunch of street kids; Step 2) pay them to come train in acrobatics instead of beg on the streets; Step 3) put on a ‘circus’ about the Khmer Rouge regime; Step 4) tour the world; Step 5) change the course of the human race. Wow.
The bravery of the people, especially the women (natch) that I have had the honor- really, an honor- to speak with about their lives in the short time that I have been able to learn from them. Hearing the personal stories of women struggling to raise their children while battling HIV, having to watch their HIV positive kids grow up knowing that they are going to lose their remaining parent, the 18 year old who was brave enough to share with us her struggles to find her mom in Bangkok while raising her younger brother, and the young women that shared with me their brutal fears about the possibility of having to turn tricks to make a living despite the fact that they have received job training (as hairdressers, a mega-oversaturated industry here) from well-meaning NGO programs. I know that many of you (ok, all) will never read this blog, indeed, may never even log onto the internet, but know that my gratitude radiates to you beyond the boundaries of the world wide web. Thank you for your honesty, for your courage in the face of insurmountable odds, and for inspiring me. Your willingness to live life on life’s terms has humbled me. Thank you.
The smile on the face of a man pictured in Tuel Slang, the genocide museum. The man was photographed as he was registered with the Khmer Rouge at one of the prisons they used to ‘reeducate’ (read: torture) people. He had the biggest smile on his face. I pointed it out to one of the women on the trip with me, and she commented that the poor bastard had no idea what was about to happen. I find that unlikely. The events going down during the KR were not secret, and between 1.7-3 mil people died in the span of 4 years. In my mind, this man’s smile came not from ignorance, but from a well-spring of the human spirit that refused to go quietly into the dark night. His smile, to me, was his last ‘fuck you’ to his captures as he went down. They had his body, his family, his life, but they did not have him.
The biggest take away, today, as I write from Siem Reap (SR : Cambodia :: Orlando : United States) is that, no matter what, the human spirit finds a way to continue. Genocides claim millions, children starve, teeth rot in the mouths of grandmothers raising their orphaned grandchildren, men refuse to allow women a seat at the table as they rebuild their country, and do-gooders come in and make scratch off the top while the people they are here to help get tin boxes to live in with the NGO’s name painted on the side. But despite all of that, children play games, people fall in love, mothers hold dreams for their children’s futures, neighbors comfort one and other. And sometimes, if she’s really, really lucky, the occasional dumb, nïave researcher gets the opportunity to be inspired by people a world away in whose lives she has no right to be included, but is.
For all of this, I am grateful.
Sleeping in the back of the bus while catching air over some crazy ass bad roads.
Waking up to bizarre music outside my window in Battombong.
Having my own personal chorus of people that make sure my food is “no sugar, right???”
Making friends with people I would never encounter at Mason. Despite the fact that is on the same campus, I never would have met many of the undergrads here, and they are amazing.
Poop jokes with everyone, and Al making veiled comments on diarrhea. Really, how many post-grads can you have in the States making fun of bodily functions without being concerned about job prospects/tenure?
This comment from Chris at dinner tonight: “I wish I had a coffee table book of things you (me) say, you are hilarious!” (Cue Beth’s mental chorus: “They like me, they really like me!”).
The circus training this afternoon: Step 1) Take a bunch of street kids; Step 2) pay them to come train in acrobatics instead of beg on the streets; Step 3) put on a ‘circus’ about the Khmer Rouge regime; Step 4) tour the world; Step 5) change the course of the human race. Wow.
The bravery of the people, especially the women (natch) that I have had the honor- really, an honor- to speak with about their lives in the short time that I have been able to learn from them. Hearing the personal stories of women struggling to raise their children while battling HIV, having to watch their HIV positive kids grow up knowing that they are going to lose their remaining parent, the 18 year old who was brave enough to share with us her struggles to find her mom in Bangkok while raising her younger brother, and the young women that shared with me their brutal fears about the possibility of having to turn tricks to make a living despite the fact that they have received job training (as hairdressers, a mega-oversaturated industry here) from well-meaning NGO programs. I know that many of you (ok, all) will never read this blog, indeed, may never even log onto the internet, but know that my gratitude radiates to you beyond the boundaries of the world wide web. Thank you for your honesty, for your courage in the face of insurmountable odds, and for inspiring me. Your willingness to live life on life’s terms has humbled me. Thank you.
The smile on the face of a man pictured in Tuel Slang, the genocide museum. The man was photographed as he was registered with the Khmer Rouge at one of the prisons they used to ‘reeducate’ (read: torture) people. He had the biggest smile on his face. I pointed it out to one of the women on the trip with me, and she commented that the poor bastard had no idea what was about to happen. I find that unlikely. The events going down during the KR were not secret, and between 1.7-3 mil people died in the span of 4 years. In my mind, this man’s smile came not from ignorance, but from a well-spring of the human spirit that refused to go quietly into the dark night. His smile, to me, was his last ‘fuck you’ to his captures as he went down. They had his body, his family, his life, but they did not have him.
The biggest take away, today, as I write from Siem Reap (SR : Cambodia :: Orlando : United States) is that, no matter what, the human spirit finds a way to continue. Genocides claim millions, children starve, teeth rot in the mouths of grandmothers raising their orphaned grandchildren, men refuse to allow women a seat at the table as they rebuild their country, and do-gooders come in and make scratch off the top while the people they are here to help get tin boxes to live in with the NGO’s name painted on the side. But despite all of that, children play games, people fall in love, mothers hold dreams for their children’s futures, neighbors comfort one and other. And sometimes, if she’s really, really lucky, the occasional dumb, nïave researcher gets the opportunity to be inspired by people a world away in whose lives she has no right to be included, but is.
For all of this, I am grateful.
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