Reflections: Neither in nor out

In Cambodia I was an insider-outsider. As a half-asian person with dark-ish skin, I was often mistaken for part-Cambodian. I was both "on the inside," but also always the "other." People assumed I would know how to eat certain foods (at least more likely to "take" to things that my whitey-white counterparts), people were receptive and encouraging of my attempts at Khmer. They tried to listen because I looked like I might be able to speak.

It's funny how being "ethnic" can help you avoid some of the idolization of westerners. Well... you're barang, but not realllllllly. I still remember when a student at the local business university would not believe I was American -- "no, you can't be! you're chinese!"

New Toilet Feelings

It's 4:50 am on December 12. I'm in a lovely hotel room at the oh-so-trendy Blue Lime in Phnom Penh and I can't sleep because I'm too hyped up about flying home today.

My mum calls me "new toilet girl" after a Chinese saying about the type of person who has to be the first to use the new latrine hole once it's been dug. As much as I want to be sad about leaving, my predominant feeling is excitement. Not excitement to leave, but a deep thrill thinking about moving on to WHAT'S NEXT.

Things I'll miss: #2 Cooking with friends

I love the way that my Cambodian friends seem to come together in a kitchen. Starting at the market around 7 am, watching them in action is like observing the industrious and mysterious workings of a beehive or colony of termites. First someone comes up with a plan. What will we make today? Once the plan is agreed, everyone spreads out in their own separate directions to the meat stalls, to the dry goods, to the green grocers to collect the requisite ingredients. It's not at all clear who's buying what or how much, but somehow, when we reconnoiter back at the house, all the ingredients are there in perfect ratio.


At this point, I pull out my pad and paper and start to take assiduous notes -- what's that vegetable? fry for how long? but can you substitute...? -- while the others are in a flurry of chopping, peeling and pounding all around me. As at the market, the flow is remarkable. At any one time, there can be 5 to 10 pairs of hands in the mix yet it seems like the old adage about "too many cooks" just doesn't hold true here. There are 4 dishes going on at once, and the person peeling the shallots seems to know just how many to do and where they all belong. Neighbors come and go, lending a hand, squatting to pound some fish, falling seamlessly into the action for a few minutes before heading home to cook their own meal. There's gossip, laughing, tasting, scolding, and then miraculously, there's lunch.


We spread a mat on the floor, dish out the rice, and partake. Generally the eating portion is done in a fraction of the time it takes to prepare -- no longer than 20 minutes, and then the dishes are swept away, the mat rolled, and each one to her house and a nap. The cooking is obviously the main event of our "small parties," the eating merely a polite afterthought.


I'm going to miss this camaraderie that came from chopping, frying, and learning alongside all my friends.

Things I'll miss: #3 Raja

My little kitty has new parents now. The lovely Muoy and her fiance John have adopted Raja and she left to live with them on Tuesday last week. It was a difficult transition, but Raja's beginning to settle into her new life now, eating and drinking and back to her usual playful antics.

Though I came my kitty in a manner somewhat against my will, I grew to love my feisty feline companion and miss her like the dickens already. My favorite thing was when she would crawl up on my while I was sleeping and fall asleep across my neck like a thick furry scarf.

Bye Raja!

Things I'll miss: #4 Going to the market

Market set-up in the wee hours of morning

Chicken lady

Beansprouts, tofu, and noodles

My home goods vendor

Marketing was scary at first in Kampong Cham. My first week in the city, I subsisted largely off of packs of dried ramen, not out of laziness, but because I couldn't muster the courage to get myself to the market. My first Saturday alone in my house, before I had my bicycle or motorcycle, I ventured out to catch a moto to the market. Would he understand where I wanted to go? How would I get back? Would I be cheated at the market? How would I endure the staring and the titters? I headed downstairs, out to the street, only to scamper back inside and boil some water for another noodle lunch.

Sunday was a little better. I managed to wave down a moto man outside my house and made it all the way to the market. That first day, I bought (what else?) some more dried noodles, some eggs and some vegetables before my courage gave out and I retreated back to home base to plan my next mission.

Each trip I became bolder. My Khmer lessons centered mostly around learning words for food and for bargaining and as my vocabulary improved, so did my confidence. By the first month, I was bargaining for meat, finding flour, picking out coconuts. When I got my moto, I learned where to park and how to pay the attendant. I came to recognize faces and became a regular at certain stalls. I had a place for housewares, for chicken, beef, pork, fish, eggs, tofu and beansprouts, veggies in the late afternoon.

Beside my staples, I was always discovering something new. The market had all kinds of treasures -- huge sacks of dried lentils, gooey, steaming coconut cakes, dried flattened bananas, sausages brought in from Siem Reap, dried fish in at least 30 different forms, stinky shrimp paste -- and these things changed month-to-month. You only had to seek out the fruit stalls to see the degree to which the market was ruled by the seasons. My first months were ruled by juicy yellow mangoes and rambutans. Then came the custard apples and famous bright red longans. Pumelos began to pop up with more frequency around July and pomegranates appeared soon thereafter, followed by tiny orange tangerines. Through it all, dragonfruit, bananas, and pineapple were mainstays.

Going to market was a ritual that made me feel part of the thrum of Cambodian life.

My eyes loomed large during my first visit to the Lucky Supermarket in Phnom Penh. Neatly packaged apples in styrofoam and plastic wrap, a-la Trader Joe's. Ice cream and yogurt and Prego pasta sauce and Cornflakes. Olive oil and Camembert and lunch meats, all within the confines of the one air-conditioned building. An entire chocolate section. Dark, light, hazelnuts and almonds. More than almost anything else in Phnom Penh, the supermarket was a place that brought me back to the Western world, with all its dazzling choice and convenience, and with all of its air-conditioned, odorless sterility.

And now I'm back to that world for good. Farmers markets are the closest I'm going to get to recreating the market experience, and they don't really come close.

Things I'll miss: #5 Clouds

In my opinion, Cambodia's landscape can get pretty boring. The majority of the country is flat as an ironing board (the coast and the Cardomom Mountains excepted). The rolling green rice paddies set before a background of tall palms, dotted with cows, and houses perched on stilts -- it can go on and on with little differentiation from Siem Reap to Battambang to Kampong Cham. The people are what give the country character -- the children flying kites or splashing in muddy orange waters, the motorcycle man carrying piglets to market, and the teens in uniform riding in a straight white and navy-blue line 20 km to school.


And then there's the clouds. The clouds redeem the countryside in their unrelentingly, always changing beauty. There are the crisp white cumulus that hang above the paddies, set against the swimming-pool blue skies. The fast-moving wisps that tear overhead before a storm, and the dark grey sheets that drape blanket-like foretelling lightening.



There are the shockingly vibrant clouds at sunrise over a Sra Srang pond in Siem Reap and the mellow pastels of sunset over the river in Kampong Cham.


I'm not sure what meteorological miracle produces the startling effects, but whenever I reached my threshold of plastic pollution or motodup catcalls, I knew I could rely on a view of the sky to calm my nerves and make me appreciate this country.

Things I'll miss: #6 Coffee and condensed milk and grilled pork and rice for breakfast

Rumdourl and I went out for our last breakfast together on Monday morning. Grilled pork and rice at the restaurant just beside my house. All those months living there, and I had never checked it out, mostly because in all the time I've walked or ridden my bike past by the place, I've never seen a single female sit down to eat. But Rumdourl assured me that this place was yummy, so we braved the testosterone and ordered our rice and my coffee.

Sure enough, there were more than the usual share of curious stares. Rumdourl knew half of the people there -- a fact that never fails to surprise me given that Kampong Cham isn't a tiny town (supposedly over 60,000 people) but that didn't stop them from ogling unabashedly and giggling in their somewhat disconcerting leering, but nervous sort of way.

But really, all this is beside the point of what I'm going to miss. Breakfast has always been one of my favorite meals and Cambodians are much the same. If we have an appointment in the field at 8, we arrange to leave at 6, to ensure ample time for a roadside stop for breakfast. And even if we're running late, everything can be postponed to accommodate an hour for a steaming bowl of kway teiouv noodles, khmer donuts with coffee or garlicky pork rice.

I'll miss the food itself -- rice, meat and pickled veg is pretty atypical as western breakfasts go -- but what I think I'll miss more is the mentality that prioritizes breakfast and body over productivity. Sure, it can be irritating when you're running late for a training, but I admire the peace and patience it takes to ignore (or at least postpone) so-called obligations to take care of primary functions first and foremost.

Things I'll miss: #7 Storms

Storm filling up the river in Mondulkiri

One night back in April, I woke up to bright flashing lights in the window behind my bed. Half awake I squinted my eyes out of the window, but the screen-obscured view did little to tell me if it was from ambulance lights (seemed unlikely) or a strobe, or aliens (my number on hypothesis in my semi-conscious state). Totally curious, I groped for my glasses, wrapped myself up in my bedsheet (more for a sense of security than to protect from cold) and headed out to my balcony. Outside the entire sky was flashing, lighting up a wall of dark grey clouds from behind every 10 seconds. My first view of sheet lightening.

Storms in Cambodia are gorgeous. You can't ignore the negative aspects - damage from flooding, downed power lines, the aftermath of pools of waters where mosquitos breed - but the storms are also part of the cycle that sustain a way of life. The rice crop, the fish yield, they all rely on the crazy wet season. It's lovely being inside in a Cambodian downpour. The metal roofs amplify the sound of the rain so you can't hear music from your laptop speakers, let alone hear yourself think.

Things I'll miss: #8 Pumelo, dragonfruit, and longans

Pumelos are my favorite fruit. Especially the small sweet, juice ones from Battambong that are slightly pink in color (opposed to the larger, drier variety from Kampong Cham that looks green and tastes better with chili and salt). You can get pumelos in California, sure. But there's something about buying it from a lady in pyjamas who peels off everything but the base, so that the white pumelo sits up jaunty-like in its bright green base, beckoning to you.

And then there's dragonfruit, which seems like it has to be cousin to the kiwi. I didn't understand the appeal at first -- its bright exterior seemed to belie its bland white insides -- but then I chilled it and started eating it for breakfast with yogurt and a little bit of mueslix and I was hooked.

And finally longans -- not those white things in syrup you find in cans at the 99 Ranch market -- but the real deal. Red and brown and bumpy with a ridiculously sweet and fragrant juicy inside. Perfect plump packages of goodness. YUM.

Things I'll miss: #9 Cows

Cows doing their cow thing on an island in the Mekong

Outside the door of the office, in the path of my bicycle on the way to work, on the side of the road, out near the river. The cows are everywhere and I'm going to miss them. When Jaime came to visit, he said the cows here seemed statelier than in the US. I have to attribute this in part to the fact that they are not bunched together in massive feedlots, giving off noxious methane fumes, but rather roam around picturesquely in 2s or 3s posing in front of beautiful pastoral views of rice paddies or rivers. Plus, I'm of the mind that many animals up close (because you get close when you're about to ram on with your bike) are rather noble.

There's a horse trail behind my house in Fullerton, and a few ostrich farms, but no cows as far as I know. So here's a parting moo to my bovine friends.

Things I'll miss: #10 The Khmer Language

Consonant practice

I gave up my Khmer lessons back in September, but I still pick up new words every now and then, generally food-related, like how to ask for sticky rice at the market. I love surprising people by going beyond your usual "Hi, I'm from the USA. I like mangos." to asking about their family and their work and other advanced-beginning sorts of topics. Even when I tell people I've been here 9 months, they're still amazed that I've picked up enough Khmer to ask them the number and age of their children and explain what I'm doing in Cambodia. There's the joy of talking, and then there's the letters, which are so beautiful that just practicing them was like meditation. So many signs are in English here, but I'm delighted when lettering is in Khmer -- even though I can't understand it (I gave up before I made my way through all the vowels) it's pretty to look at.

It's going to be sad to go back to the States where only a small number of people even know what Khmer is. I will have to take some trips to Long Beach to practice.

My Singaporean Homecoming

Back in October, I took a trip back to Singapore for the first time in about 9 years.

As a kid, I traveled to Singapore with my family six or seven times. I can remember general impressions -- tossing around sweaty in my singlet trying to get to sleep; going to the zoo; swimming at the fancy club; my Kong Kong toasting me a slice of bread topped with cheese and sugar or running out to pick up oily chicken rice wrapped in a banana leaf; family members taking us out to fancy meals and giving me red packets; watching terrible Singaporean dramas; going to Sentosa; getting mosquito bites; munching on fried bananas; handing out gum to cousins I didn't know I had... all, in all, a great experience.

I love being half-Singaporean. It's always seemed way cooler than just being half-Chinese. Singapore's exotic, the land of beautiful stewardesses and orchids and canings. Whenever I hear someone with the quirky slightly British, totally distinctive, Singaporean accent with its liberally sprinkled "lah-s" and "aiyah-s" I feel a warming in my soul. But my love for all things Singapore is sort of an uninformed infatuation, rather than a deep passion bred by understanding. So though I thought my heritage was spiffy, I never really felt Singaporean (my aiyahs are forced and I hate durian).

So that's why I was a bit surprised when my recent trip made me feel like falling straight into the bosom of my motherland. Hanging out with my cousin Aidan and his friend Alex, walking around Singapore and eating at the hawker centers -- I felt at home, like I belonged. I was a little embarrassed because I didn't know the proper name for anything and I didn't ever know the protocol. But still, I felt like I could fit in here, like other people were like me somehow.

I was sitting at the kitchen table playing dominos with my aunties and uncle and Aidan and Alex. I had one leg hanging down, and one foot up on the chair, leg bent up against my chest. I sit that way without noticing, but my auntie noticed and told me that that was the way my great grandmother sat. Then one of my mum's childhood friends took me to her mum's house for lunch. Her mum remembered my mum from when she was a teenager. She kept calling me beautiful and telling me that I was a "simple girl" just like my mom.

The city is full of hapas -- half this and half that. In a way it's annoying because being a half-breed is just par for the course here, but it's also weirdly comforting. And then there was the food -- the chili laden, deeply flavored multiethnic food. I figured out why I love to add so much spice to everything I eat. It makes complete sense when you come from a food tradition with such exuberant smells and tastes. So many things to eat and drink that I associate with childhood and comfort -- pineapple tarts, ovaltine, chicken rice, satay, kuay boluh, char kway teow, paratha, chrysanthemum drink, milk tea, barley water, fishballs.

It's strange to think how differently we experience things as we grow up. When I was young, going to Singapore was like going to another planet. Yes, these were my relatives, but I barely knew them. But going back this time, I felt like in some indirect, but powerful way, this country helped define me. Even down to some of its more repressive elements. Perhaps that's why I never had a penchant for flouting authority (or maybe it was growing up in conservative Orange County?)

The casual dress, the obsessive academia, the love of food -- they all spoke to me; so when my cousin Aidan suggested that I move out for a year to take another Masters degree or teach English or do random anthropological research related to food, it sounded like an amazing idea. I've since revised my initial enthusiasm -- for someone who hasn't grown up there, the heat of Singapore simply saps all my life force -- but though it probably won't happen next year, I'm not ruling out the possibility of coming back.

The Singapore skyline as seen from the Flyer

Home Alone

Cambodians with their hard-core family values are always shocked when they hear I'm here alone, and constantly asking whether I'm lonely ("op sop?"). At first, the answer was honestly no, there was too much to do and see and cook and think about, but after I came back from a brief jaunt with my family over in the USA, I got a little sad, and sometimes a lot sad -- especially when I didn't keep busy.

I think, though, that even worse than sadness or boredom, is the self-indulgence and egocentrism of living without the norming influence of other people (especially in a place where unannounced visitors are pretty improbable). That's why I think there are certain stigmas associated with living alone that I think are entirely justified. The appearance of Raja the cat circa month 3 doesn't necessarily make things any better -- crazy cat lady is something that still scares any misanthropic tendencies straight out of most young women.

Hermits run around naked in the deep woods and eat snakes and tubers and maybe even psychedelic mushrooms they find lying around. I refrain from the drugs, but I've been known to lie around without a scrap on reading a new book (or, let's be honest here -- watching 4-5 episodes of Gilmore Girls in a row) and eating my refrigerator empty on a Sunday afternoon. No wonder Mr. Sambath noticed the 9 extra kilos. And the #1 problem with this type of behavior is that it's addictive and the further you let yourself go into the antisocial, self-centered spiral, the more difficult it is to dig yourself out. When you become irritable when company's coming because that means you have to put your clothes back on, that's when you know it's gone too far.

The physical seclusion aside, emotional and mental solitude are also tough. Even when I venture out with friends here, it's very difficult to get critical input or opinions on what I'm thinking. I have recently been reflecting on my experience here and considering what I want to do next when I come back and all the ideas floating in my head seem exciting and possible, but also maybe trite and crazy (?) and what I really need is a sounding board.

Me and Raja, home alone.

America Idol(ized)

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me to become a co-facilitator of the American Club at the American Corner here in Kampong Cham. The American Club, for the curious, is funded by the American Embassy* and has the unabashed goal of trying to bring American culture to teenage Cambodians. Students get access to the American Corner -- internet-connected computers, an extensive library of books, magazines and videos in English -- as well as funds for field trips and a qualified youth coordinator (my friend Kosal) in exchange for their rapt attention to all things American.

Needless to say, I was skeptical, but my curiosity and concern outweighed the qualms and I showed up on a Sunday to figure out what this was all about.

My first Sunday in attendance, the students were frantically working on presentations for a special visit from a representative from the American embassy the next week. The 40+ students were divided into 4 groups, and each had chosen a topic of special interest related to American culture: the elections, the Statue of Liberty, the Grand Canyon, and the top 10 solo artists in the US. Kosal asked me to visit each group as the so-called "expert" on all things American, so I got busy chatting with each group and answering their questions best I could.

The total disconnect between these kids' reality and their imagined concept of America is stunning, and only exacerbated by these activities promoted by the club. America, for them, seems to be a homogeneous mass of folks** interested in pop music, beautiful outdoors scenery and freedom.

The next week, Kosal gave me an hour and I organized an activity that compared Cambodia and the US in ways that I hoped would challenge and broaden their concept of both my country and their own. The game show questions included things like:

-- Approximately how many children are born per woman in the US? How about in Cambodia? a) 1 and 3.5 b) 0.5 and 4 c) 2 and 3 d) 1.5 and 5***
-- True or False. The US is one of the worst countries in the world in terms of carbon dioxide emissions that cause global warming.
-- Approximately what percent of people work in agriculture in the US and Cambodia? a) 10% and 60% b) 5% and 79% c) 3% and 90% d) 0.6% and 80%
-- What place did the US 15-year-olds rank in math out of a study of 30 developed countries?
-- What is the growth rate of the Cambodian economy? What is the growth rate of the US economy?

Anyway, I think it was somewhat successful because the kids were surprised, but it didn't even scratch the surface of the strange uninformed relationship of most Cambodians to the west.

Cambodians' insistence (at least in the NGO sector) on making the westerner into God, and their seeming rejection of their own culture is supremely sad to me and it seems closely married to the rampant materialism I've seen here. Western countries have more -- more tall buildings, bigger cars, better celebrities, more TVs and cell phones and computers**** -- and this makes their ideas and values and culture somehow superior.

One good thing that comes of this: the shame in this seemingly undue adulation has pushed me to be especially critical of how we in the States do certain things (in education, in environmental sustainability, taking care of the poor in our own communities, etc.), which in turn has fostered a powerful urge to get on home right quick and help to clean up my own country's act before coming to another country to help them with theirs.

* Interestingly, I visited the embassy the other day and it's no surprise that this clean, huge, imposing, impossible to penetrate building was the face of America in foreign countries.
**Speaking to this point -- some of the students didn't believe I was American at all, given that I'm half-Asian and have black hair and all
*** Do you know?
**** I purposely omit better access to medicine, better schools, etc. because I honestly believe that it isn't these symbols of prosperity that impress -- why don't the Cambodians idolize the Scandics?

Interweb Braindump

It's been 17 days since I got the internet in my apartment.

Less than 2 weeks after the new JICA volunteer Fukimi told me that she had wireless in her apartment, Voila, I'm connected once again to the world. Specifically, now I'm able to do things like video-chat with my favorite people at a mutually convenient hour -- something that was difficult to do previously since most of my friends & family are 14 hours away, and though local internet cafe advertises 7am to 9pm, the reality's a bit more limited.

I went to visit Kizuna Internet, the local Online reseller, where the sweet young guy walked me through all the details in Khmer-nglish while his mother and sister undertook a friendly interrogation about the purpose and the probable duration of my sojourn here in Kampong Cham. A week later, I was back in the office handing over a couple of crisp Jeffersons (in exchange for a receipt and a bag of those good-quality rambutans). Two days after that, Kizuna boy and his moto trailed me and my bicycle back up to the apartment where he efficiently clipped the telephone wire to attach the DSL line and configured my modem all within the lunch hour.


My Family DSL package, compliments of the Online company entitles me to unlimited hi-speed access from 7pm to 7am on weekdays and all weekend. Surprise surprise, I've noticed myself slowly start to mold my schedule around the new presence in my life. Each night around 7, I plug in my router, and first start up the iTunes downloads for the night -- an episode of Grey's Anatomy (don't judge), 3 new Ted Talks, NPR's Most Emailed Stories, and some foodie podcasts. Then it's straight to Gmail, then to Blogger, then on to the tasklist I've compiled for the evening, which looks something like this:

-- respond to all emails
-- post new blog post + pix
-- upload new fbook pix
-- get picture of urban cambodian school, CD-rom, and "rural Cambodia" (creative commons)
-- research green school architecture
-- look into Global Giving commission for KAPE
-- d/l examples of good local NGO websites for Channa
-- add new reviews to goodreads

My internet tasklist is a new invention of mine that came of having to ration my online time when hitting up the local internet shop in the old pre-DSL-at-home days. And as much as I love the new flexibility of having internet in my house, I'm happy I spent those first 5 months without because it helped me to internalize some things that I only halfway intuited before:

1) The internet's a tool -- amazing for some tasks, of negative value for others. (Think: distraction, distorted perception of the world)
2) Internet use, like a lot of things, is subject to diminishing rate of return.
3) Growing up with the internet really has changed the way I think and work, in many very good ways and in some that seem not so good.

The first two ideas are pretty straightforward and not so controversial (unless of course you find yourself in a certain cult of tech-worshippers). The last also seems obvious at face-value, but it was the most surprising for me when I actually started considering just how much information access affects the way I personally think and work. For example...

3a) Easy access to data all-the-time, any-time means that I tend to undervalue the importance of actually filing facts away in my mind. This includes both personal facts -- what day is my best friend's birthday? check Facebook! -- and general trivia. This second lacuna is constantly brought to my attention here in Cambodia; for example, when a group of high school students asked me questions like -- How deep is the Grand Canyon? What year was the Statue of Liberty built? What percentage of people in your country live in urban areas? I find my fingers itching to reach out to a keyboard and perform a simple search. And it simply baffles them when I shrug helplessly and more than a little ashamedly and admit that I just don't know.

I think this is the same condition that makes it so rare for any of us these days to memorize or recite poetry, or to remember famous quotes. Why remember when Google can remember for you? When the internet is for all intents and purposes, a repository of facts that plugs in to your brain, your brain itself can dedicate itself to being something less like an encyclopedia and more like a supremely complex computer that takes random facts and (in the best cases) fits them together into something new.

What (if anything) do we lose in this relationship, though? There seems to be something hollow about this kind of mind -- one's put in mind of these competing images: a giant pulsing cerebrum hooked up to an IV drip of information versus a glowing green brain sprouting from the ground, an organic product nurtured by sun and soil and all that other nice stuff.

3b) An obsession with what's been done means learning from what's coming before, but also possibly relying too much on past models and dampening innovation. With every new idea I have -- a business idea, an opinion of a book, a philosophy -- I find myself compelled to find out what other people have done and what other people think. This has a couple of effects. First it reduces the number of times I have to "reinvent the wheel," which seems more efficient (e.g. finding a checklist on how to perform an energy audit to "green a school" means that I don't have to make one myself). But it also happens to reduce the number of times I have to "reinvent the wheel," which often makes for a superficial understanding of the wheel in question (e.g. energy use at schools) and also might make me lazy and likely to settle for what's out there rather than innovate.

3c) Related to 3b, a depressing (and I believe, incorrect) feeling that everything worthwhile in the world has been done already and it's a lost cause trying to have a new idea AND the conflicting feeling that the world is full of so many opportunities that it is impossible to choose which one to pursue (check out Barry Schwartz's Paradox of Choice, or the recent NY Times article "The Benefits of Closing a Few Doors")

Good Advice, Good Mentors

Lisa -- educational consultant extraordinaire
Lisa and I have actually never met in person, but she's been a fantastic sounding board over the past few months as I've been adjusting, coping, learning here.

"No matter what you do, I am certain that you will be contributing, so become an advocate for yourself. If there is something else you want to do within the organization, ask them how you can make that happen. [...] Maybe it's time to be a little selfish and think about your own goals.....like I said, I am certain that when you are doing what you want to be doing, you will probably be contributing even more."

Chris -- brilliant education innovator & co-founder of the African Leadership Academy
Chris and I met in 2005 working on a project with Linda Darling-Hammond in the Stanford School of Education. A personal hero.

"If it makes you feel any better, I spent 5 years after college with basically no idea what I was going to do and chalking up random experiences – and then all of the sudden it came together and made sense and I have relied on each of those experiences in my current capacity. So. . . I think you will be fine."

Yoli -- passionate advocate of youth and overall awesome person
Yoli took me on as an assistant in 2005-06 on a project called ADAPT at McClymond's High School in West Oakland. Beautiful, authentic and passionate and completely inspiring.

Diana -- social entrepreneur in Cambodia; founder of Bloom Bags
I've never met Diana, but my half-Singaporean self feels a strange kinship :) My dream is to start a social enterprise as well, but back in the States, and I love her ideas and her passion.

first 7 tenets of her Bloom Manifesto:
"1. We believe in the right of all people to a decent life, free of poverty and with access to education

2. We believe you will be enriched helping the poor

3. We believe workers should always be paid a fair wage

4. We believe if you knew the truth, you would not be an accessory to the exploitation of workers

5. We believe exploitation is evil

6. We believe in the power of good over evil

7. We believe in the power of the individual to bring about change..."

Barbara -- Kingsolver, that is. Author of (among other things) Small Wonder
Perhaps it's just the case that my open mind's just the perfect size and shape at the moment, but her essays struck a timbre in me and shook me down in a way that will definitely shape the next few steps in my life. Oh, to write like that.

Life ADD

8:54 p.m. this Monday night, it's post-shower and I'm slathered with skin-so-soft, sprawled out on my bed like a beached porpoise.

Despite an unfortunate interruption of my shower -- suddenly no more water from the showerhead, or the faucet, or in the other bathroom, OR THE KITCHEN SINK -- I was finally able to rinse off some of the suds by emptying out my water filter. I guess all the effort put me in a contemplative mood.

The brief period of mourning over losing my friends is coming to an end and I'm starting to get busy again. I realize that my habit of wanting to do everything (KAPE work, BSDA, this new American club, photography, cooking experiments, parties, travel, blogs, emails, reading tons, figuring out what to do with myself post-December) often means the peanut butter gets spread too thin. I, for one, HATE my bread with too little spread. Yet (to draw out the analogy in an agonizing fashion) I not have figured out how to achieve a balance -- more peanut butter (energy! motivation! passion!) spread over a smaller slice. (I could go on to talk about cutting empty carbs, but that might be going too far).

Writing seems to be essential to keeping my sanity; emails, to keeping my connection with the outside world. KAPE work's necessary for the salary, plus the experience I'm now getting with the video stuff. Cooking/travel/hanging out/taking pictures/reading are all just fun.

But where am I supposed to fit in my "life's work", my big project that will define my life and change the world? I'm always taking on these new small projects: Learn Khmer, make a video, keep a record of the books I read... but I seem sort of short on the follow-through. My attention span wavers after about 3 mos (maybe 6 mo to a year for things that are less monotonous) and I'm on to something different. I've been searching for something to inspire me, so I can dedicate my life to its pursuit, but it seems to me that life is just so full and varied that I'll always be distracted by something new.

Not that I pretend these feelings are original, I know a few 20somethings of my generation with similar angst, but that only makes me feel marginally better.

In this respect, seems like I need to lock myself into some pattern (med school?) that forces me to stick with something for awhile. Perhaps passion at first sight of my true life's path is a bit much to ask and I need to stick things out a bit more rather than hope for an instant "click" and quick gratification.

On the other hand, what better time to explore than when you're young? I only feel like I'm losing time -- like I should have done more exploring and less "achieving" when I was still in high school and college. Alas, something to think about when I have children of my very own.'

Thankful for choices

WARNING: Reading any further may expose you to cliche & Jess-style angst. Watch out.

So I suppose it would be strange if it were otherwise, but in the past few weeks I've really noticed how being here makes me thankful 100x over each day for things I used to take for granted: to have an amazing education, to travel, to have brilliant friends who do amazing things, to be financially independent, to feel like I have the same opportunities as a woman as I would as a man, and to live somewhere where it's considered culturally acceptable (in our circles at least) to live with a significant other before marriage.

Recently, I've felt embarrassed about all the choices that I have available to me. More specifically it's difficult to explain to people here that I had the security and financial means that allowed me to choose to give up a comfortable (relatively well-paying) job and life to travel and do something simply because it moved me... because I was interested in learning about something and somewhere new... because I wanted to be challenged... because I thought I might be useful here... because I had an itch to travel.

This isn't something that people here totally get. Though people at the office are a bit more accustomed to foreigners coming to work (mostly volunteers), more often than not other folks want to know right off the bat: "why are you here?" To many, my title, "Technical Advisor," means "high-paid" and "important," and so many assume that I'm here for the money and it's commonplace for someone to ask how much I make. Foreign advisors make magnitudes more than their local counterparts, so relatively speaking, this job makes me a rich woman. From my perspective, of course, this job makes me no such thing. I haven't quite settled on an explanation that can satisfy.

Anyway, I have more thoughts but I'll spare you all for now.

One-week anniversary!

It's my week-plus-one-day anniversary of living here in Kampong Cham, and it's high time for an update...

So far, I've been settling in nicely. My first two nights, I stayed with Kurt, who I find is actually a volunteer and ex-advisor at my NGO, and not the director as I somehow got into my mind. He has a beautiful big house a little ways outside the main town on the new national route 7 (or big road to Phnom Penh).

Now, I've taken care of most of the basic necessities: shelter, water, food and even have a few other goodies like transportation, a mosquito net and a toilet brush!

I'm living on the top story of a 3-floor house "behind the old prison" (basically a small ruin of a wall) on an unpaved, unmarked road which also serves as home to a few other foreigners (mostly NGO workers, a few hospital volunteers, and a couple of Bible-thumpers across the way). Brigitte, the Dutch woman whose role I'll be taking over, currently lives next door, and the new volunteer Elaine will be taking over her place. My landlord is awesome -- he's a nice grandpa with 4 daughters and 5 grandchildren and he speaks some English. The house is a ruckus, with "servants" and family coming and going all the time. I also just found out there's a Korean girl (a nurse) who lives in a small room downstairs.

The apartment is 3x bigger than my place in San Francisco and quite nice. Outside, there's a big iron gate, standard for most houses, that gets locked at night. The front driveway is tiled with lots of potted plants. To get in, I walk back to their patio (where they're often cooking in big pots outside) and enter through their house to the staircase and then up the two flights to my pad. My kitchen has a refrigerator and running water and an ancient rice cooker that may work. Brigitte's been donating some house supplies to my cause, so I have some basic utensils and plates, and I picked up a couple of knives and other sundries at the market. I also had a water filter brought from Phnom Penh which makes my water taste like rocks, but hopefully does away with the girardia, etc. Obviously, the kitchen's most important, but as for the rest of my house: I have two bedrooms (so please, don't hesitate to visit!), two bathrooms, a living room, and an awesome balcony with a porch swing and a view of the small lake. I do have the option of air-conditioning, but so far, I've made-do with the ceiling fans and frequent showers as I hear a night with the AC can run $8.

Across the street from my house is a food stall with delicious breakfast -- these small noodley things and vegetables with an egg on top -- a Khmer specialty, or so I'm told. I've eaten there a couple of times, and sometimes make do with a cup of tea and some Hob Nobs. The food here has been awesome so far. My first meal in the country on the way from Phnom Penh to Kampong Cham was tiny whole deep-fried eels with picked veg and rice, and a spicy pineapple & fish soup. I've also had the famous Khmer noodles twice: my third night, my coworkers got together at Brigitte's house and taught us how to prepare the dish which consists of a stock with ground fish, tumeric, lemongrass, salt, garlic, shallots, basil and much more, on top of noodles, on top of banana flower and tow gay. You top the whole shebang off with some lime (kroich ch'ma) basil and other fresh green stuff. Yummy!

My office was lovely enough to lend me a moto, and I bought a sassy helmet made in Taiwan. It's certainly a treat to ride around with the wind in your face, especially in the humidity and heat. The moto's an automatic, so I guess I can't qualify as "hard-core" just yet, but I think it's certainly a good way to get around and part of the Khmer cultural experience. Before I got the moto, I was bumming rides from office-mates on the backs of their motos, or paying $0.25 for a ride around town. Since very very few folks speak any English, my geographically challenged self had to quickly learn a few Khmer words, (Knyom roogh nugh kang krawee gook -- "I live behind the prison") and my way around town.

We had one day of relief from the heat when a big storm rolled in earlier this week. It was crazy to see the entire sky go dark, and then the deluge begin. There was lightening and thunder and everything cooled off for a brief while, then back to the sweat.

There are lots of things that are different, but on the whole, I've been pleasantly surprised with how easily I've been able to meet people, get what I need, and get used to squat toilets, roadside stands with sun-dried clams, and skin-and-bones cows wandering the road.

Tune in for more about the office, Khmer lessons, new friends, my first trip to the market (including my experience with Cambodian chickens), and KHMER NEW YEAR.

Here we go!

March 29, 2008

So this is it, here we go.

I'm sitting on the plane on my way from Taipei to Phnom Penh. There's about an hour to go until landing, and I'm feeling pretty well-rested, thanks to my trusty sleeping skills. I sometimes worry that my ability to sleep most anywhere, anytime verges on narcolepsy, but I can't complain when the same ability allows me to sleep through a 14 hour flight.

I'm looking out the left side window near the front of the plane and can see a coastline, and the outlet of a river -- perhaps the Mekong? We're getting closer to landing and I'm getting a little more nervous -- I still know so little about what to expect when I land; it's scary, but also exhilarating to live so much in the moment, taking things one thing at a time.

Mum and dad dropped me off almost 20 hours ago at LAX. I have many friends and family to thank for their love and support in the past few weeks, but especially mum & dad for helping me get ready for this trip and being excited and proud for me to go off and try something a little off the wall.

After I woke up from my first mini-nap on the flight from LAX to Taipei, I started to panic a little:

"Wait, what?" I thought. "Where am I going? And why? I had a beautiful apartment in a city I love. I'm going away from a loving boyfriend, friends, family, and a well-paying job for what again? Am I running from something? Am I chasing a romantic notion, am I trying to prove something, and if so, what?"

I guess I've gotten a lot of questions lately about what I'm going to be doing, why I'm going away at all, and why to Cambodia in particular. I've thought a lot about it, and written about it a little, and I guess if this is going to be the start to a log of my adventures over the next few months, it makes sense to talk a little bit about the impetus for the whole crazy thing.

Here's a little snippet from my original Fulbright application:

My whole life, I’ve excelled at things that were relatively familiar and comfortable. Google opened my eyes to what’s possible when you push the envelope and translate big ideas to action. Psychologists have shown that people can become addicted to success, and risk less because they are afraid of failure. I don’t want that to be me. Just applying for this grant has already pushed me in ways I’m not accustomed to - reaching out to strangers, independent study outside of a formal academic setting - and it’s not difficult to imagine how much more I would grow in 10 months.

As most of you know, I didn't convince the Fulbright folks, but even so, I think this was the most sincere part of my application and the fundamental reason why I'm on this plane.

I could go on and on about my particular selfish reasons, but staying true to my nature, I'll just write a couple down in a little list

-- Want to do something I care about (e.g. education)
-- General travelust -- particularly, liking the feeling of being a foreigner in a place and the exhilaration (and exhaustedness) of learning everything over
-- Want to test my boundaries; can I do this on my own?
-- Find out what's really important to me -- what do I need to live? In the end, not much I think
-- Like the idea of being somewhere where my skills and experience and time are relatively much more valuable
-- Want to get a little closer to understanding what life can be like in a "so-called" developing country and try to understand more about this morass that is development
-- Want time to think and not just be busy busy busy, without a real goal in mind
-- Though it can be lonely, I like "starting over" in a place with no expectations of what kind of person I am, what I should do, who I should be