Kitty's growing up

She's looking downright purty...

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.'

Bye Bye July (and August)

The blog suffered in the last month, but thankfully my posting frequency had a direct negative relationship with FUN over the last 5 weeks.

Jaime arrived on the 19 July and stayed for 3 weeks. No need to replicate the play-by-play from my journal, but here are some highlights:

Biking the big temple circuit, sunrise at Bayon temple & Indiana Jonesing around Beng Melea

Sunsets and a raucous all-day, all-night party weekend in Kampong Cham

Plus a 2-day dive trip in Sihanoukville -- including great coral and some awesome seafood spaghetti

And... unsticking an unstickable traffic jam and joining the road repair crew to rescue our bus.

Unfortunately, my camera suffered an injury and will be out of commission until further notice.

On 8 August, we headed out of Phnom Penh airport for Seattle. We finally made it after some $20 bowls of ramen and a 7 hour stopover in Taipei. My family met us at the airport. Jaime headed home to Bellingham and I had my first burrito in 4 months (heaven!) and fell asleep in the plush white linens of the swanky downtown "W" hotel.

Me, mum & dad, Cameron and Beck headed to Bellingham a couple days later for a rousing game of kickball and delicious brats with Jaime and crew. Then we headed out to the San Juan islands for a gorgeous week of biking, hiking and kayaking. It was the most exercise I've had in 4 months for certain, and it felt GOOD.

Needless to say, the trip left me missing the states, but I'm keeping myself busy and am settling back in nicely.

Won-weey, so won-weey

It's 8:01 Saturday morning and it's been a bit over half-an-hour since my lovely friends Clara and Nico left. So far I've washed some dishes, started some packing, fed the cat, discovered a big cut on my right foot.

But now, before I commence with moving all my stuff downstairs (my landlord recently decided to let my flat to a German woman and has decided that I have to move)... I'm going to indulge myself and give in to the sadness and the slow-moving violin accompaniment in my head.

Last night the three of us had a last hurrah at Frank's bar, with cocktails, a bottle of wine, and some beouf bouignon, just like France. This morning, I sent them off with coffee, omlettes and potatoes to Siem Reap. And now I'm sitting in my half-emptied house alone, contemplating what to do with myself this weekend, this month, and in life.

Being by myself generally suits me just fine. I must have a limited store of social energy and all my solitary time lets me bottle it up in reserve for times when I need to be at my scintillating best. But having just come off of a three-week tour with Jaime, a flurry of merry-making with my new French friends, and ten exhilarating days hiking, biking, and generally living it up with my own family, this sudden isolation is startling and sad.

Sure, all good things must come to an end, but why must they all end at once and so abruptly?

(on a random note, the folks at the Expat Women Blog Directory asked me to submit my blog to their site. It's weird to consider myself an "expat" still. For some reason it conjures up images of old white men with Cambodian girlfriends. But anyway...)

Cook-off at Charthmei

My first attempt at simple video production -- showing a life skills class in cooking at Charthmei Primary School:

Ay, there's the rub(ber)

I want my children to know where things come from, how they're made, of what, by whom.

Revision: I myself want to know these things, and would eventually want my children to know too.

The other morning, I went on a whim with a couple of coworkers to visit a rubber plantation and factory in a district nearby. It reminded me of the (too few) times I have seen a cashew factory, a silversmith, large-scale brewery and how it felt to see how things are actually made.

A boy working on the rubber plantation.
He dropped out of school last year after 8th grade.

The rubber floats down long white tile tunnels and is
processed through this squisher thing

Then it's cut up and spit out into these rolling bins
and washed yet again.


Various treatments, and the rubber comes out in basic blocks.
This guy puts the blocks into a compressor... then they're squished and packed.

I have a simple memory of a diagram in a magazine. I think it was made for children because I imagine clear language and bright colors. The diagram showed a picture of a house cut down the middle, with its insides exposed. Each room had its typical goods -- toasters and bananas and spoons in the kitchen, table and chairs and sofas and lamps, clothes in the bedroom, cars in the garage, garden furniture on the side patio. And then the diagram linked each item with its birthplace somewhere in the world. Growing up in the United States, in Orange County (a capital of consumerism?), I knew logically that things had to come from somewhere, but I never really wasted any time considering where, how, by whom.

Now it absolutely fascinates me to see these processes at work and wonder in awe at how much we have created and then wonder in partial dismay at how much that we've created is necessary and good.

I'm certainly no ascetic and I have a hard time going for broke with "green" "sustainable" "fair trade." It's partly a suspicion of catch phrases and key words, but I also have a hard time living my life to save the planet (maybe it'll change when I have children?). It's a goal too far removed from my everyday experience to mean much to me.

However, it appeals to my sense of beauty and authenticity, and some simple human empathy to try to buy quality things made in clean and well-lit places where people are treated like humans.

Early in the morning

Early in the morning, at first light, before the cans and bottles man comes rolling down the street, squeaking his dishsoap bottle horn and before the background sounds of moving and building and living commence, I like to get up and steal a few minutes from the waking day.

On my balcony, overlooking colonial rooftops and banana trees, this time of day is nothing but calm; nothing but promise and potential. The early morning breeze blows everything fresh and clear and new and magically, mercifully, my mind is quiet. My cup of tea is warm in my hand and my heart is full with contentment.

If my whole life could be mornings.

Still, it's reassuring to look on as the day is born. As people get out onto the streets to sweep and exercise; as motorcycles begin to whir by; as pots and pans and voices begin to filter in through the windows.

Exuberant, belligerent, demanding, the day begins.

Dance like no one's watching.

I just had to give a shout out to my new favorite nighttime activity (and exercise regimen):

crazy dancing.

I have been known to bust-a-move out in the real world. But despite my actually-talented-dancing-since-she-was-3 sister's tendency to half laugh, half gag, I've always had a special place in my heart for wild dance parties at home with friends or... all on my own.

Becky, this is for you.

Numbers and narrative

Here's a little snippet from a Cambodian newspaper about a local agricultural development project going on in my province:

"Mr. Lang Seng Houn showed figures that among 192 villages from five provinces, 14,300 families benefited from the project. the number of farmers who cooperated is 7,300, the living standard of 500 families changed greatly; 5,900 families experienced an average change, and 800 families got poorer. The number of women who have changed their attitudes and abandoned their old habits is 3,500, and the number of youth under the same category is 900. And 1,500 of the poorest families who sold their labor to have some income have changed their living standard and have become independent farmers; the livelihood of farmers in general is better. Generally, they can earn 80% more from the increase of the agricultural production and from the reduction of other expenses. They have stepped up the basis for this to retain the continuity of their production teams, and 718 teams have saved money - they have 6,000 families as members so that they are able to link their products to markets. Each family earns from Riel 1.4 million to Riel 2.6 million [approx. US$340 to US$635 per farming season] from their agricultural products; those are 427 families in Kompong Chhnang, Svay Rieng, and Kompong Cham. Their income is from paddy rice, from the breeding of chickens and pigs, and from the planting of vegetables and other crops."

I'm not against counting, measuring, or quantifying, but there's something about just numbers in the context of development (or in any social science, really) that's always made me suspicious, that inevitable makes me hunger after details, images, narrative. Two things bother me -- first, how easily numbers can be manipulated and subsequently distort the truth, and then, the way that numbers seem so inadequate to describe some experiences. I guess at its essence, translating the human experience into 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9, must reduce things at some level.

When I read this paragraph, I want to believe these families are happier, more stable and secure. An increase in family income of almost $300 seems unconditionally good. But still, it doesn't seem real unless I can also believe in the picture of fat pigs rolling around in the new pig sties; of the family of 8 who used to run out of rice by June and now has excess to sell; and the younger children who now go to school because their parents can survive without the money for their labor.

Soksabay to Ah-mah and Kong Kong