Drinking from this fire hose
To appease my thirst
To all who have been following my travels with any measure of interest: apologies for my latent post. I’ve been trying to put into words for weeks now my thoughts and ponderings here, but somehow words have failed me.
And so, this Sunday morning I drag myself out of bed and open my laptop to try to express the past few weeks in my head.
Before I begin into ramblings about our vacation in Malaysia over the Cambodian New Year, I will tell you a story about a new acquaintance.
My housemate and colleague Soe is a Chinese-descent immigrant from Burma (Myanmar). An internet wiz who studied in Singapore, he has ended up in Cambodia as a political refugee. He’s 23 years old and he can, effectively, never go home.
Over the past month, I’ve asked him about his story and listened hungrily in bits and pieces. His English is great, having lived in Singapore, but according to him interacting with Western people is a rather new phenomenon for him, so I hope he enjoys our 20-question sessions as much as I do.
It goes like this: I barrage him with questions about his situation, What happened? Which avenues through the UN have you tried to take? What did you do politically, exactly? That’s all? So it was non-violent, right? How do your parents feel about you living in Cambodia? Do you want to go home? Do you miss Burma? What that a rude question? Should I stop now? Can’t you apply for refugee status in Australia/ UK/ Canada/ U.S.? Can I try your tofu rice? You want some of these noodles? Do you think western women are strange? Etcetera, etcetera.
He replies, always smiling, ever emotionally evasive (as is the way) to my questions. I think the only question he has ever asked me about my life and travels amounts to: I’m going down to the noodle shop, have you eaten lunch yet?
When I began this journey, listening to others’ stories was one of the vehicles for learning that I was most excited about. Now, living and working in a house with folks from Cambodia, England, Colombia, Russia/Israel/Uzbekistan/Canada, Germany, the U.S. and Burma, I am constantly challenged and intellectually fulfilled by the stories I get to hear.
This, in tandem with the daily happenings: waking at 5 a.m. to teach/learn from my eager, respectful students or in the evenings passing by the woman who has laid her deformed child out naked on the street corner next to her tip jar or seeing the photos of the Pol Pot genocide post-torture photos while thinking only that these could have been the faces of my students Ratana or Sovanna or Phary just 30 years ago or getting ripped off everywhere with prices 4 times higher than normal and twice as much as many other places in Asia… this is what I have not yet found the words to write about.
The daily reminder to focus outward instead of inward and through the non-self ironically come to peace. The sheer audacity and hypocrisy of my being here to give and get… the potential inefficiencies of NGOs and the entitled mentality many Cambodian NGOs and tourists have fostered in the Khmer people. The widespread corruption and lawlessness of the Cambodian psyche and government. The mental struggle of long days of teaching and then, effectively working another office job that I thought I was escaping from in leaving the states, for free, and then the self-chastizing realizations of my own selfish desires and behavior.
Again and again, challenged to re-think, to question the world and to recognize the impermanence, irrelevance and sheer audacity of not only the world at large, but also my life.
“These people fail to realize that it is on the inside that God must be defended, not on the outside. They should direct their anger at themselves. For evil in the open is but evil from within that has been let out. The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart.” – Yann Martel, “Life of Pi”
And an internal reminder, in the form of my mother’s voice, which tells me: go easy on yourself. Be gentle. Take a deep breath.
In the email from my father: I can’t tell whether you love it or hate it there, but you’re drinking from the open fire hose.
In encouragement from friends, family, colleagues: Keep going, we’ll be reading your next post, we miss you.
And so, on this note, I realize that this post has been more about my internal journey than any vacation to Malaysia.
Malaysia was: Indian, Malay, Chinese, Hindi, Islam, Animism, Buddhism, Petronas Oil Towers, shopping, tropical islands, PADI open water certification and roti canai bread. I’ve posted my photos below.
This post is about explaining how the water from the hose tastes, while still keeping my mouth open wide enough to hopelessly try to cool the fiery landscape of my heart. And I have no photos of my heart.
To all, with love and gratitude for reading.
Heartstrings snapped and frayed
Waving in the wind like grain
We are on our way
