Battambang and Khmer weddings: Another adventure

One of my Khmer friends from work asked me to present a contemporary dance duet at her wedding. She was having two -- one for her family in Battambang and one in Phnom Penh. I asked one of my students, Dara, to perform with me, and this week, we went to Battambang for the first edition. Thus follows is an account of the occasion. 

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It starts in a bus station. Activity everywhere. There’s a window for tickets, and a window to send/receive goods, people sending things on buses because the post doesn’t actually work – though, really, this is the post. Where do you want it to go? The driver will drop it.

Every so often, a fine spray of cool water spouts from the ceiling like the fire extinguishing system in a museum, and people wait, for the bus or for their friends.

We (being me and one of my students, Dara) get on the bus. The drive is long and even longer for the fact that something in the bus breaks – I’m not sure what, but it causes the air conditioning and the karaoke videos to stop and the driver to drive with the main door open, slower than usual. I hear him on the phone and though I don’t understand, I know something’s wrong. Not good. I ask Dara to eavesdrop and translate for me. An arrival time of 6:30pm becomes 8:30pm.

Along the way we stop a couple times. Someone discovers I speak Khmer and reads the tattoo on my leg and suddenly I’m a celebrity and the ladies are asking for photos. I tell Dara, “Barang speak Khmer, everyone wants a picture.” Mostly, I spend the time reading, or eavesdropping on Dara’s endless phone conversations.

Dara and I on the bus. 

We get to Battambang, and find our way to a hotel, and then food. Dara spends the whole time on his iPhone. Oh well – he’s a teenager. I watch the girls run around and wonder when the food is coming.

Dara digilently on his phone. 

==

The next day starts at 5:45am. Dara and I, bleary eyed, try to get ready in time for our pickup at 6am from the hotel. An Uncle and Aunt of my friend are waiting to take us to the house, where a tent has already taken over the street and music is blaring. I’m led inside to change into the Khmer traditional clothes I’m being lent. My friend Leak is there, unable to turn her head, a competent gay guy confidently turning her into a goddess.

An Aunt has been assigned to keep me company. The guests are arriving, sitting in the row of chairs along the tent. The ladies group together, either bleary-eyed like me or looking, as wedding guests do, thrilled at themselves and their fancy outfits, all of them in brilliant colors. I can see the family resemblances across the faces. The older women are in special chairs, mostly in brown, calm and smiling. The men are at their own end, looking somewhat subdued in their plain colors, button up shirts and trousers.  

Me in my traditional clothes and the Aunt in charge of me. 

The wedding itself lasts over six hours. There are at least five or six different ceremonies, starting with the parade of gifts. The Aunt in charge of the Barang hands me a silver platter with a box of sweets on it, and everyone, some sixty strong – each with their own gold or silver platter with fruit or sweets – goes on a parade around the block, the musicians, the parents, and the groom in front.

My "gift."

The parade to start the ceremonies. 

No one is more beautiful than a woman on her wedding day and Leak is no exception. Over the course of the morning, she appears in at least six different outfits. Each ceremony – hair cutting, tying of bracelets, exchanging rings – is separated by a change of clothes. The guests mill about as any guests at a wedding, wondering how long the ceremony will take, except here there is food to eat, breakfast and lunch. The close relatives vanish into the room off the tent every so often to perform their duties of giving gifts or whatever it may be, then return and wait at the tables. The musicians sit to the side and play, not watching anything – but it doesn’t matter, because the MC has a microphone and the speakers are cranked.

The bride and groom and all the gifts. 

Beautiful Leak in outfit 3 or 4. 

The relatives are so kind, including me in the ceremonies, finding places for me to sit, and commenting on my outfits – I change once. They love that I’m wearing traditional clothes, and tell me I look beautiful. I’m the only barang around and everyone is curious, but very kind.

Dara vanishes sometime in the morning and after lunch the early morning is catching up. The mother of the bride sends me off with a different set of Aunt and Uncle and a packed lunch for Dara. He eats and I sleep, waking up a full hour later and thinking I only dropped off.

We – or that is, I do, and Dara decides to come with – decide to go off in search of coffee. I look up the main coffeehouse in Battambang and off we go. It’s very close – the city is small, and quiet. The buildings – at most three stories high – seem very short in comparison to Phnom Penh. I wonder where all the people are.

We run into someone we know – the guy who heads Krom, which Dara’s sisters are part of, and his daughter, and they join us for coffee. We spend a lovely time chatting.

A little bit and a walk to an ATM later, it’s time to go to the wedding reception. Yet another Aunt and Uncle come to pick us up. We are ushered to the artists room, where the same competent gay guys are hanging out. They want to know if I’m planning to do any more makeup. I say I don’t have any, and suddenly I’m ushered into a chair, and one starts painting my face like an artist. When he’s done, he starts on my hair, and some half hour later, the transformation is complete.

Getting my face painted. 

Ready to dance. 

Leak arrives in a rush and says there’s a problem with the music as she’s ushered into a new outfit, this one a long beautiful white dress. This prompts a rush of activity. Dara runs off to deal with the sound people, and when he gets back, we are asked if we can dance now. I ask for ten minutes to warm up, which is granted. The MC is given our names, I triple-check Leak actually wants me to say something, and then we are out the door.

The stage is tiny and we are way off the music, waiting for the end of the first song much longer than usual, so we improvise – Dara is right there with me, thank heavens. It’s not perfect, but the reviews are fantastic. The groom tells me that everyone stopped eating and paid attention when we danced, which makes me happy.

We eat and there’s dancing. The father of the bride gets roaringly drunk and starts feeding people shots of whiskey—including me, three times, the mother of the bride protecting me.

The party winds down around 9pm and an Uncle – I can’t remember if he’s the same or not – sends us back to the hotel. Dara decides to leave early so I give him the share of the generous gift Leak slipped me and send him on his way. Tomorrow the family wants to take me around Battambang, so I have to change my bus ticket in the morning to leave in the afternoon instead of the morning.

It was a crazy day, but testament to the work I’ve put in to make this place – in all of its uncertainty, frustration, and beauty – a part of me, and me a part of it. Here I am, in Battambang, part of a wedding, a family, on the outside and inside, doing what I love, with a good friend by my side. I would say, that’s a win. 

Why am I here?: The ups and downs of life in Cambodia

I suppose it would happen in any country, to anyone living anywhere, abroad or otherwise -- though perhaps especially for expatriates like me. Every few months, you start to wonder what you're doing here, because the things you think you want morph, the things you think you came for vanish, and in between there is a whole lot of gray to deal with.

It's not as though there are not opportunities in Cambodia -- in fact, there are so many that I'm working close to 50-60 hours per week between three jobs and my extra projects, which include a number of performances to dance in and create.

But it just doesn't look like I thought. Most of my recent frustration has come from my attempts to start "Pandaemonium Dance", which I had pictured as intense training and rehearsal with a number of dedicated dancers, building up to a variety of performances. I spent a long time worrying about the fact that I have no paid opportunities yet and not wanting to waste the dancers' time, and yet thinking they would be there to build the thing up with me.

Except, as artists do everywhere in the world, that's not the case. As the producer/creator, you are always the one who cares the most, and the others are there because it is one opportunity among many and they don't want to miss anything, so they do everything 50% instead of throwing 200% into one thing to build it and see it through.

What does that mean? It means that every week, some dancers are missing because they have other shows, other rehearsals. Saying they are free to rehearse at a certain time -- which they all did -- does not, I've discovered, mean they actually are. That time is not "blocked out" of the schedule as it is with mine, and if something else arrives, well, they try to do everything and if they can't, they say yes to the new one and send me text messages apologizing profusely for not coming.

That's all well and good, but they still aren't coming.

It's frustrating because of course I want it to be as essential to them as it is to me. When I say I'm doing something, I do, and come to every single rehearsal unless I absolutely cannot -- and if another thing comes up, I say I can't do it, I'm already working on something else.

But that is not the case with everyone and everywhere, and in the past few days, I've had to go back to that old question -- what do I want?

Every time in Cambodia when I think my mission is to "help" or to "teach" and that my knowledge is somehow invaluable or essential, I get lost and I have to realize that it is not. These artists are busy. They are good. And they will find their way -- or not -- regardless of what I do. I am not the Doctor or the Know-All, End-All.

It's a sobering thought, but the only way out is to go back to that simple question. What do I want out of being here? Why am I still here, a year and change down the road, and why shouldn't I just leave, as I consider doing every few months? If all these things I want, in life, love, career and etc, seem so very far away, where can I go to find them?

I actually still don't know the answer to those questions and probably never will, but I do know that for whatever reason, I'm not ready to leave this place yet, and I can't picture it.

So I'm having to go back to what there is and go from there, and follow my own heart, do things because I want to and not because I think someone else needs it. And be willing to let my vision of what it is I thought I was doing here to change. As an example, the past week I started judging for a Kpop dance contest on CTN, which is fabulously amusing, but that is not at all what I thought I was coming for -- a TV personality on Cambodian TV, WHAT??? But there it is, and it's fun, and though it is not the artsy fartsy production/creation I had in mind, it is here and happening, and I have to follow it.

Life is complicated, and so is this country, but for better or for worse, I am here, and learning by the day -- and maybe, in the end, that's the real and only reason to be here -- and maybe it's reason enough!

Home of the brave and the blowhards

When I was a little girl, the fourth of July was one of my favorite holidays. Of course I loved the fireworks, but I remember one year at a big party and fireworks show, and they sang "Proud to be an American." I put my hand over my heart and I cried, because I did feel proud.

Times have changed. I have grown up and lived over two years (11 months in France September 2010 - July 2011 and Cambodia since July 2012) abroad. I have watched the disastrous reign of Bush and partied in the streets when Obama was elected. I have read and ignored and generally pretended I know nothing of the country where I grew up and still holds my citizenship.

As I have mentioned, I do not much like politics, anywhere in the world, and especially these days. But I have to say that I have been utterly and completely disgusted by the recent political situation in America.

I knew it was a mess before, with the Republicans heading down a dangerous fundamentalist path and flatly refusing to negotiate anything that even so much as hints against their own agenda, and the liberals flatly refusing the same thing (though I tend to agree with the liberal agenda much more often than the Republicans, I have been quite dismayed by both party's complete unwillingness to even consider listening to each other.) I did not agree with Obama's hardline on Syria. I do not like the US foreign policy period.

Let me put it this way: that the Republicans have shut down the government because they didn't get their way is a disgrace to democracy.

But it's more than that.

This is personal.

I have watched my father struggle with the healthcare system over the course of and continuing over two serious accidents. I have heard of how my deathly ill sister was refused at a number of clinics because she had no insurance, and my financially struggling sister ready to spend 300 dollars out of pocket -- no small change -- simply to get someone to look at her.

My sister Darcy ended up in the hospital for two and a half months while my family struggled daily with social workers to figure out how to get her the care she needed.

And now, here we are. Maybe it is expensive, maybe the system will be flawed, but in Obamacare I saw an opportunity for me and my family - none of us with health insurance, no way to afford it, and all sorts of reasons why companies would deny us -- to get valuable coverage.

But because some blowhards have decided they disagree and are completely unwilling to negotiate or even consider that the system now may be broken -- and it is, I assure you, broken -- the government is shut down, and the whole country is suffering. I see no end in sight or even any sign that anybody would rather have a functioning government over getting their way.

No.

I am not proud to be an American. Not anymore, and not now.

Cambodia is going to be fine

The longer I stay in Cambodia, the more I understand about what it is to live here, especially in the energy. I believe whole-heartedly in ghosts, because energy is powerful. Walls, rocks, places, hold energies and history, and I think that at some times there is such a flash of energy that it remains -- perhaps why violent deaths sometimes result in ghost sightings and stories.

There is an energy in Cambodia, and I didn't really even understand that until a friend and I were talking about it. She was in Thailand for a week and said now she thinks it's important to get out of the country at least once every few months because the energy here is heavy.

She's right -- there is a heavy energy here. Going to Sihanoukville or the islands, while relaxing, doesn't cut it, because it's still Cambodia and it still carries the weight of the genocide.

At the immigration office we're working on a separated family case, and between the sisters who have grown up in America and the sister left in Cambodia (born some years before the Khmer Rouge), the difference in their faces and eyes are incredibly striking. The one in Cambodia has years and  years of care and worry and hard work etched into her face, very little education and far too much hurt for her time. Those in America have wide, lively eyes and smooth foreheads.

Sometimes it gets frustrating -- actually, a lot. Corruption has been built into this country's government from the beginning and it is so entrenched now that it's hard to see even the start of the path out. Poverty and corruption are institutions and it affects all daily life. With the recent political stalemates, it highlights the problem even more.

One of my friends said it best -- more often than not, instead of being the "Kingdom of Wonder", Cambodia is the "Kingdom of Wondering What The Hell is Going On."

And yet.

Today I went to go see the circus. If you believe the internet, there is no circus school in Phnom Penh, only in Battambang, but there is a circus, a program of the Royal University of Fine Arts. Circus apparently dates back to the Angkorian times as there are bas-reliefs in Angkor Wat showing people tightrope walking and juggling.

The maybe ten performers were aged somewhere between ten or twelve to maybe late teens or early twenties, all but two male, and they were good. They attacked their work with focus and determination, with all the panache, showboating, and theatricality required for circus. They were choreographed, decently rehearsed, and actually very impressive.

When I left, I had this thought: Cambodia is going to be fine. It's going to be fine because there is a whole younger generation of people who are passionate about what they do and willing to take the time to invest themselves in it.

My brain afterwards was trying to be a cynic about it, saying that the system is so skewed that all that optimism and passion could get squashed -- a very specific google search that finally admits the existence of the school is full of how it might get shut soon and how the artists are not sure if they can actually make a living doing this.

But I can never shake that feeling, whether with these young performers or other dancers and artists I've met. They are not sure, but they are passionate and willing -- so it seems at least -- to take the risk. When they talk afterwards their words are unsure, but when they are performing their eyes are on fire.

It is not now, and change is a very, very slow, ardous, and ugly process. My mind can think of a thousand ways for things to go wrong and very few for them to go right. The passion of youth to be stamped out by the status quo and the old entrenched institutions and all that.

But whatever my mind thinks, my heart sees these young artists and believes unshakeably that in their hands, Cambodia is going to be fine.

Violence is not the answer

There's been some crazy things going on in Phnom Penh. Demonstrations and protests against the total sham of free and fair elections have turned dangerous with police brutally dispersing, or unnecessarily blocking key arteries to keep people from going home, or, in the case last night, standing by as a number of masked thugs slingshot marbles and beat sticks on peaceful protesters.

I don't much like politics, and I don't really like talking about them. Any conversation descends into an us vs them dichotomy, thems is wrong and us is right. So I'm not going to say much more about it and won't spend on long this post either.

Today the new Cambodian "government" was sworn in, 68 seats of the ruling party with the opposition boycotting in protest of the unfair elections. The King was there and read some statement that mentioned none of the violence or the strange fact that half the seats remain painfully empty.

Even worse, a number of major countries -- including the US and France -- sent representatives to the farce of opening a democracy. The US Ambassador to Cambodia was there, smiling, putting a rubber stamp of approval on a government that uses corruption as a way of life and cares about power well before the needs or desires of its own people. Someone said on Twitter, and I couldn't agree more -- those who sent representatives today are a disgrace.

It's not just Cambodia, though. In my own country, the government is raring at the bit to start another war. The two parties refuse pointblank to have anything to do with each other, including discussions or, perish the thought, try some attempt at compromise. And in the meantime, America sickens -- and literally, considering the utter catastrophe of a healthcare system.

There is even a well-respected (by some) American institution with widespread membership whose explanation for the fact that thirteen people were shot in a military base is that "there weren't enough good guys with guns."

While here, armed thugs shoot people with marbles and beat them with sticks while the police passively look on, and in response to the incident, explain "they were trying to do something, but we stopped them, we didn't do anything wrong."

I will say this once, and I'm not going to change my mind: violence is not the answer. It was never the solution to begin with, and trying to stop violence with violence only perpetuates the bloody cycle. Any rhetoric, religious or political or otherwise, that ultimately leads and endorses a violent conclusion, is not the answer either.

Violence has become the rhetoric of everyday life. Hurt them before they hurt you. It's in our games, our media, our politics, our religions, and the result is a rotten fruit.

It is not the answer. Not then, not now, and will never be.

Protection from the overbearing west, or covering your eyes?: Why I'm teaching ballet here

There is an ongoing debate going on in Cambodia right now about arts and culture -- to evolve or to preserve. And on the side of evolve, there's another split as to how. They agree that it's okay to change and move forward, but as to how -- with what influences, etc -- is the question.

Essentially it all boils down to the question, how much of the west is too much? For the preservation side, any is too much, but even on the evolve side that can be true. The west has done enough. Cambodians should evolve from their own culture, and the west should stay in its own place. 

This week I found myself in the middle of this debate as a result of my decision to teach western dance history in a workshop at Cambodian Living Arts. I prefer not to say who the debate was with or how it came up, but the basic question was this: if we're encouraging contemporary Cambodian dance that is still based very much on Cambodian culture, then we should be careful about showing/exposing the dancers to too much western dance so they don't get a certain idea fixed in their head. 

Now here I have to say, I have no idea what the best way is, obviously. I have only what I think, and while I do feel pretty strongly about it, I can't say I'm right and end of discussion, as no doubt the truth is more complicated. 

But what I think is that there is nothing more important than education. There is nothing more important than being exposed to as many things as possible, ideas that challenge what you feel, what you think you believe. Personally, I've watched a lot of dance. I like maybe 10%, and I really love maybe 5%. But the more I watch, the more I understand what it is I respond to, the ideas I really appreciate. 

Now, if it were to be the sort of thing where someone comes in and says, "This is Martha Graham. This is what dance should be. The end," that would be a different story. But I can never say, this is what dance is, this is what it should be. Those ideas are constantly being challenged, and the most revered characters in dance history are those that broke the rules, that did things completely different from those that came before. 

Why is it that we westerners are allowed to steal from every other culture, and yet when it comes to Cambodians learning about the western forms, suddenly it's seen as the overbearing west? 

Isn't it true that looking at the western forms -- and any other cultural forms and dances -- that they might understand what makes Cambodian forms unique and special, and being able to really exploit those areas? 

Besides education -- learning history, context, seeing what ideas other choreographers are playing with -- what about teaching other techniques? This has been a different side of the debate in the past. I am planning, as part of my dancers' training, to teach basic ballet and basic contemporary techniques. I want to do this because I think there are certain tools of movement -- like strength, flexibility, and balance -- that ballet is really good at offering. Graham technique is excellent for core strength, another useful tool, and other techniques I've learned are really good for strengthening and learning to use the back, yet another useful tool. 

But in doing this, am I squashing the Cambodian side? Even if we never actually perform a lick of ballet onstage. Pilates might be okay, but ballet? Too western? Of course I don't know the answer to it, but I do believe that as a dancer, the more tools you have in your pocket to help you move in different ways and adjust to different styles or think of different ways to move, the better. What I know is ballet and contemporary and that's what I can teach. 

Does all of this make me a blind, overbearing westerner? 

I know that sounds like a sarcastic question, but I mean it honestly, and the answer is, I don't know. Maybe it does. But I just can't let go of the idea that it's important to know what's out there, what other people are doing and why, because I'm quite convinced that the more you understand the other, the more you understand yourself. 

It has to be done tactfully, in the sense of showing -- this is this choreographer, they were trying to do this -- and not lecturing. But there is no need to shelter these dancers. Let them look, let them learn, and let them decide for themselves what it means to be Cambodian. With the education behind them, it will be a much more informed decision. 

I don't know all the answers, but I just think that covering your eyes does not help you see. 

Losing the thread, or rather the words

I wonder if there is a moment in any new experience or immersion such as this -- such as Paris before it -- where words become completely inappropriate. When taking the time to find them, to place them together in strings of meaning that may or may not encapture that which you are living, is too long and cumbersome and in the end it doesn't say what you wanted anyway.

Maybe it's just the busyness -- that around a year of building, of negotiation, the seeds that were planted and watered and cared for are suddenly exploding out of the ground with the sheer joy of being free. Or maybe it's the craziness of someone working too many jobs and adding too many projects, and when I do have a moment to breathe, I spend it mostly playing silly games that do not require thought, or analysis, or negotiation.

Either way I've noticed the weeks flashing by and I think about the blog, but often find I have very little to say. Are there still cultural differences to be noted and learned from? Of course. Daily, hourly. Each moment of being here is a negotiation. But it's hard to put those into words, because they must be lived, and breathed.

It's funny, this blog has mostly been about life, about the fact of living here. Dance is referenced and mentioned -- as it would be impossible not to -- but often in the context of a job, like CTN, or a mention that it happens. But there is very little here about the conversations I have very regularly about dance, about my vision of it, the negotiations that take place around that subject.

In some ways I guess I feel like the blog was intended to track the cultural side of things, the adventures and challenges related to that, life as it tumbles along and my thoughts from the wake of it, and maybe dance philosophy wasn't exactly part of that.

I guess what I'm saying is, lost inside this existence where words seem very clumsy and time-consuming, I wonder what this blog is for -- it's certainly not written for a wide public audience, maybe just more for myself to keep a record of this time as it was happening. Looking back to things is cheating because then you have hindsight, and perspective that now lacks, and sometimes I like to look back at previous posts -- to find solace in the fact that SHE didn't know what she was doing either, or to see how far I've come, or just marvel at this crazy journey I've been on.

But there are things to be said. There are remarks to be made, things that have struck me as beautiful or profound. I suppose I'll try taking the Pixie Dust Chronicle into a new direction -- not just long, in-depth studies, but remarks, things I notice, short posts about one thought or conversation.

I'll wrap up this mostly useless post with a story: I met someone the other day who is doing some very beautiful dance/theater work in Siem Reap with three Cambodian girls (www.newcambodianartists.com). He was telling me about one day when the girls were doing an improvisation, and one surprised him with this kind of feral, tigress kind of thing, low and open and very, very daring especially for a Cambodian girl. They took a long time to get back to it the next day, but when she at last got there, he asked her how she felt in that moment.

She said this: "I felt very alone, and I felt like I could dance very well."

I thought it was one of the most beautiful and perfect things anyone has ever said about a performance.

គ្មានការរំាជីវិតគ្មនន៍យ: Actually, it means something

I've been spamming the heck out of my Facebook wall tonight, so I decided just to write a short post about it because I've been so up in arms -- and sort of surprising myself in the process.

The background is this: this week, for Saturday concert, I was told that there were no slow songs to dance because the singer had their own team of dancers. At first, I just accepted that, hey, whatever, but when the concert came on tonight, I found I wanted to watch it. If the dancers are good, I thought, no problem, but if they aren't, I'm going to be upset.

It was a singer that's been on quite often, some big star, that was featured, but the thing was, he sang two slow songs, and no dancers were present. There was a group of dancers doing a traditional dance, but the longer the concert went on without slow dancers, the more agitated I got, and when he finally came on with dancers, it was for a disco song.

The dancers weren't bad and he had clearly rehearsed with them, which is actually something I've been wanting to see from the stars, so there was that. But what about the slow songs? Where were the dancers? And if they weren't performing, then why, I demanded of the television and my flatmate ad infinitum, weren't we invited?

I was actually quite ticked off about the whole thing -- the having their own dancers, the lack of slow dancers, the lack of my dancers, everything. It wasn't reasonable -- hell, they're a giant corporation, they can do whatever they want, and he's a big star, he can do whatever he wants.

But then I had to step back, and I realized something kind of surprising: I care about this job.

I know. All I do is complain about it. But when it comes down to it, I'm proud of the work I've done and the improvements made under my watch, and whatever happened with CTN or the singer meant nothing, but it touched on my pride (That's my stage you're taking away from me...).

But beyond that, it actually touches on a much deeper thing in me, which is that I love what I do -- dance, and creating dance -- beyond all reason.

The tattoo on my leg, and the title of this post, reads "Without dance, life is meaningless" and gets a lot of funny looks. People read it at stoplights and kind of laugh or give me weird looks. Sometimes, with a bit of a teasing voice, they'll ask if I like dancing. But what I want to say is, you don't understand. You don't get it. Dance is in my very bones, above anything else in the world. If my family asked me to stop dancing (which they never would, but just to prove a point), I'd choose dance first. If a man ever asked me to stop dancing, I'd choose dance first. Without dance, I am lost.

But not only do I love what I do, I take pride in it. That's why, although I'm not required to be at CTN for the live concerts, I'm always there, because I want to see it -- and not just the clips in the background you get on the television. I need to see the whole picture, how the space works, which parts work and which don't, and I get upset when things go wrong. It matters, and matters deeply, that I do my job well, and never stop improving.

All things considered, the poor singer probably didn't deserve the wrath I was sending his way, but along the way I learned a pretty important lesson about a job that some months ago, I was considering running away from.

Duly noted, universe....

Hello, I love you, let's get married...or not

The time has come to chit chat about an area of life where Cambodia and America have very little to do with each other: love, dating, and marriage.

I'd like to start with a disclaimer: It'd be easy to read this as saying one thing is better than the other and therefore it's stupid to continue and really now. I don't mean for it to be that. I'm just trying to lay out some things I've noticed, and if I disagree with something, it's because I come from where I do, and believe what I do. It doesn't mean it's wrong.

So let's start with this: Cambodia still has a tradition of arranged marriages. From what I've seen, it's not uncommon for a relative to meet what they consider as a potential mate and introduce the two. A marriage a month or two months later is not uncommon either. Even in the case that the two are boyfriend and girlfriend, it's the parents who talk and decide if they'll be engaged. Monks are consulted and depending on a number of factors, a lucky day for engagement and marriage is decided.

Marriage is a very important thing, and most people are married fairly young -- especially women. Twenty-five and single is not a good thing. Marriage -- and children -- is the ultimate goal.

Perhaps for this reason, or some other factors I'll get to, things get serious very quickly. Love happens abruptly. I know a number of expats who get frustrated with dating Cambodians because on the first or second date, the latter has proclaimed their undying love (hence the title of this post).

I've actually noticed this when it comes to friendships as well. In general, I have the feeling that most people here have a fundamental aversion to being alone. It might be the family focus, the fundamental unit of existence. But being alone is a bad thing (and let me tell you, I know a lot of people in the west like this too). It means loneliness. It means listening to your own thoughts, which go into a lot of bad neighborhoods.

There must always be at least two. Simple things, like going on an errand or something. There are always two. While, for example, it is perfectly normal to see an expat alone in a cafe with their laptop, you almost never see Cambodians alone. They work in groups.

Anyway, back to the friendships. Awhile back, I met a Khmer woman outside of the ballet school. We had a short conversation, small talk, and she asked for my number, which I gave. I didn't think much of it, but then she started to call. She wanted to talk, wanted to know what I was up to, if I could come hang out. I don't have much time, but undeterred, she would call multiple times a day, and when I'd say maybe I could meet up next week (a normal time frame for me), she said she missed me.

I found it completely bizarre, and a little uncomfortable. When, on my birthday, she convinced me to go eat something, and I told her I had maybe twenty minutes then I had to get back from work, she thought that was too short, but yet, when we were there, in person, she was so shy. She wanted to drive around Koh Pich, but I said I had to get back to work, and when she called, I said I couldn't talk.

I didn't think she was a stalker, or dangerous. I know that, for Cambodians, it's perfectly normal to call your friends at least once a day to see what they're up to, what's going on. Still, I had to back off from any kind of contact, because it became very clear to me that we were just unable to relate on the most basic level of what we expected from such a friendship. For me, the thought of missing someone after speaking with them for some five minutes was utterly foreign. I have very little time, and I wasn't going to hop on a moto and spend hours not talking with someone I barely knew.

That's the thing -- talking. I've learned that it's pretty normal for couples to not know that much about each other -- for wives not really to know what their husbands do or how much they make. That just baffles me, coming from the communication culture.

I wonder sometimes if the tendency I've noticed in people my age to "fall in love" very, very quickly stems from the desire to insert love into the arranged marriage situations. Now, their world is fill of love songs in which the singer is either proclaiming their undying love for their girlfriend or boyfriend, who has usually either cheated or left them. I wonder if it's their way of making sense with the traditional marriage and the modern love, or if it just comes from that fear of being alone. Whatever it comes from, I've seen it enough to know it's a common thing. There's not much between "stranger" and "best friend" or "future spouse" or "love of my life."

There's a young couple that always goes to one of the cafes I do a lot of work in. I think they come in every day. It's always just the two of them, and they cuddle next to each other and watch videos or something on a laptop or a phone. After a couple hours, they'll get on their separate motos and go home, presumably. I wonder how long they've known each other, and when they'll get married -- because I assume, that's the next step.

It's easy to see why, then, cross-cultural relationships are so hard. I would never say never, but let's be honest: this is the girl who doesn't want to think about tomorrow, let alone next week or next month or next year, the we-are-together-right-now-for-as-long-as-that-lasts. I don't want to have to know if we'll be married or not, and no, you do not get to say you love me if you've met me once. That's not possible, you don't know me, I don't know you.

I've seen it work on a few occasions, so I know it's possible, with a hell of a lot of negotiation. But again, it's not that one side is better or not, it's just completely different views, with completely different cultural expectations. I think love can -- and does -- transcend all of that, but you've got to find two parties willing to walk the tightrope and meet in the middle of the chasm.

And as a last note -- in the cafeteria at CTN, the older woman who always works there came over to chat briefly today.

Question number three was, do you have a boyfriend?

The Politics, and the Life Behind

As I'm sure you've noticed by the subject of my blogs lately, questions of time, place, and identity have been very predominant in my thoughts. I'm sure there will be more posts about it as I think more, mulling things over, turning over thoughts like stones.

There's a lot of talk these days. A lot of talk and posturing, armored vehicles with men in helmets inside, political games and wracking up tensions and fear. It's kind of the same thing in America, too, only without the armored vehicles, though I'm sure those are around somewhere too.

From the outside, that's all you see. From the outside, the only thing I see of America is blowhards and shouting, outrage and the media. The headlines cover the calamities, the wrongdoings, the mess of this and the mess of that. Similarily, my parents say the only thing they hear about Cambodia, if they hear about anything at all, is the politics and the election and the tensions and etc.

On Sunday, my flatmate took me to a little place called the Alley Cat Café. It is indeed tucked down an alley, a hole-in-the-wall space that opens up right into the alley. When we arrived, all 5 tables were full, though a space for two was found at one, and stuffed against the wall was a guy playing a guitar and singing. The food is Mexican and it's done well, not the sort of fake burritos I've found elsewhere, and the guy with the guitar was singing original songs with clever lyrics, and the patrons were there to listen and enjoy.

It took me back to several places in the US, to underground live music venues in New York, to the excellent Mexican restaurant in Denver I've been to several times with the family, to the neighborhood pub by my parents' apartment. Places where people go to hang out, to drink, to eat, to enjoy the music, to talk and laugh. Places that have nothing to do with the media or the talking heads, when life is about what it is and nothing more than that.

At the Alley Cat Café, I felt perfectly at home and comfortable. I had never been before, but I knew it already, and the memories attached were all good ones. It reminded me once again that the outside perception is very rarely the whole truth. In talking to my parents, they mentioned that the fuss and furor of the politics affects their daily lives very, very little. "Maybe our tax rates change a bit," Mom said.

Likewise here. Maybe things are about to blow up and maybe things will change and maybe they won't. But I can say this much: since the election, my daily life has not changed at all. Yes, of course I'm a foreigner and not inside everything, but as far as I can tell, life goes on much as it did before, no matter what the talking heads shout about.

As far as my own place in all of this, that's another question. I've been particularly thinking about where I see myself and where I want to be to do what I want, something that's not quite as clear as I thought it was.

But that's a conversation for the next post. In the meantime, I'll leave you with the thought that the outside is madness and black and white, but inside, life goes on.

Waiting for the world to turn, or running madly to catch up

The title of this post is a paradox, because my brain is full of them.

I suspect that most of it has to do with the time of year. Anywhere in the world, it's been the same season for a few months now and it feels like high time to move on, to whatever it is that comes next. It's the same problem as I have with February, or used to. Last August was tough too, if I recall.

Then, it was about culture shock. This is about the continuing and constant dialogue of time, place, and identity that is particulary present when you live abroad.

The expiration date on my latest visa extension -- my fourth Cambodian visa -- is February 2014. I don't know why, but somehow the date really threw me off. It means that 2014 is only -- and less than -- six months away, because that's how long my extension is for. But that number seems totally wrong. For some reason 2014 seems like it should be farther away than that, and it almost feels unfair that in fact it's more or less right around the corner.

That's the time part of the equation: I feel like I want time to move, but the fact that is does, and is doing so in great leaps and bounds, is somewhat terrifying. It's not as though I don't have enough to do -- in fact, sometimes it's too much -- or that I don't have things coming up and plans being made. In many ways, the upcoming things are abstracts, strange concepts that mean something in the future, while in the meantime there is a heavy amount of daily. From one place to the next, from one thought to the next. Second by second, hour by hour.

The city is quiet these days. There's talk of elections and investigations and the Prime Minister gathering the armed forces in case the opposition rallies, and the media talks and talks, and in the meantime life goes on, as it does. Election propaganda has all but vanished, just a few banners here and there to remind of what happened. Otherwise, life goes on as it does, as it always has.

I've been missing Colorado a lot recently, which I find really strange. Those mental conversations always end with, yeah but what would you do there? to which I have no reply. Then I'll read something about the latest bone-headed move by the Republicans, the latest healthcare crisis, the latest outrage over something, the latest this or that that exemplifies all the reasons I don't want to live in America, but then that mental conversation ends with, but Colorado isn't "America" as a whole.

It's a conversation that has no resolution and probably won't for a good long time. As I've discovered often, things aren't simple, black or white. It's never going to be America or Cambodia or France, one is good and the others bad, I want only to be one place and not the others. The truth is much more complicated than that, and can't be stuffed into separate boxes.

I was rereading some old blog posts, and found one that I'd written just at the beginning of my stay in Paris. I knew I was going to Paris to get lost (literally and figuratively) but it was when I was just starting to understand what it really meant. The thoughts I was having then are different from those I'm having now, but the feeling is much the same. This is what I wrote --

Oh, I thought, staring at this beautiful world going by, the blue sky above. This is what it's like to be lost; to have utterly no idea what's coming next, what it may look like, and to have no other place whatsoever to be except for exactly where you are. To have no real place to call "home" besides where you've left those you love, and to only be here, wherever the hell here is. 

Maybe that's what this is, seeing a mess of plans in the abstract future and floating uncertainly in the ever-fluid present, unsure if the abstracts are what I want or where I want or how I want, and yet going forward into them because I have no real better ideas.

Does this sound melancholy?

It's not meant to be. Being lost is disturbing and uncertain and when you have time to think about it, as I do today, it gets very confusing. During the week, there are moments when I'm exhausted and frustrated, and moments of joy and laughter, moments of gratitude and moments of wanting to flee. It just is, and continues every second.

In the mean time, there is work to be done. There are words to be written, moves to be created. I'm rethinking where I want to go and how I want to get there, and finding very few answers, but a shit ton of questions.

Running Away from the Elections, and the Backpackers: A trip to the coast

As some of you may or may not know, there were just elections in Cambodia. It's the first time since the Khmer Rouge that the opposition party, the Cambodia National Rescue Party, has had significant support, and the campaigning season has been crazy, with huge rallies for both sides anywhere you look. While it is common knowledge that the ruling party had the election rigged, suddenly it became much more of an issue. In the weeks leading up to the vote, the embattled leader of the CNRP, Sam Rainsy, who had been in self-exile (that or face a long prison term in Cambodia for phantom charges), was granted a royal pardon by Hun Sen himself, and returned to the country.

The vote is over now and both sides have claimed victory, with reports of serious voter and poll fraud and both sides pointing fingers, and calls for investigations and recounts and all sorts of crazy things.

That's a story for another post, however, and what I mean to say is, this past weekend when the vote happened was the perfect excuse to get out of the city. My flatmate has been itching for a vacation for awhile anyway, and I thought that sounded like a brilliant idea, so on Friday we hopped in a taxi and headed south.

The road to Sihanoukville is very well taken care of -- and it needs to be. The main cargo shipping port is there and if the trucks carrying the shipping containers can't get there, the whole economy stalls. So instead of the very suspect and pot-hole filled road to Siem Reap, the road to Sihanoukville is smooth and paved.

The town itself is sprawled on the hilly coast, somewhat badly organized and winding. The second stoplight arrived recently, and the roads are mostly paved these days. It's developing quickly, but slightly too fast for itself and kind of haphazardly. Still, my first impression was that it was charming, with the hills and the one main street.

After getting everything organized for the rest of the weekend, we headed down to Serendipity Beach, down a short slope and then sprawling to both sides in boardwalks and restaurants. To the left, the sand beaches and restaurants, paroled by a few dozen women and children selling manicures, bracelets, and a waxing service that somehow ingeniously uses dental floss and baby powder to remove hair. To the right, the bungalows, a boardwalk of small beach-side bars and a number of huts built into the sleeply sloping hillside, which is where we stayed the first night.

Where we stayed the first night

Very happy to be away from the madness!

It was lovely -- except, of course, the booming bass music from across the beach, where the backpackers apparently partied until past 5am, right about the time the rain started and more or less drowned out the end of the party. By that time it was about time to get up anyway, and we were on a shuttle bus by seven, heading to the shipping port where a ferry would take us out to the island. It was a quiet enough ride until all the seats filled up and we stopped one more time to pick up a large group of still-drunk British backpackers, whose first words upon getting on the bus were, "Sorry guys, we're drunk as shit."

They were covered in paint (paint!) from the previous night's party and filling the bus with loud, inane chatter, including announcing very loudly that the people sitting down didn't appear to be enjoying their banter (really, ya think?). Needless to say, when we all saw that they were occupying the top level of the boat, we immediately went to the bottom level.

The boat ride to Koh Rong, our final destination, is supposedly two hours but actually closer to two and a half or three -- so long. When we arrived, a chipper expat hopped on the boat to inform us that there would be a briefing about the island's "activities" at the nearby guesthouse, but sensing a backpacker trap, my flatmate and I jumped off the boat as soon as possible and went peeling away from the backpacker area of the island, filled with dorm rooms and "As long as you're still drinking, we're still open" signs.

I have yet to really understand the bungalow phenomenon, let alone the concept of an "upscale" bungalow, but the place we went was supposedly upscale -- I guess that means you pay for privacy, your own hut, and no backpackers. The bungalow was tucked up into the gently sloping hills, a short walk from the large hut that doubled as common chill out area and restaurant, and the beach.

After some food and getting checked in, we headed straight for the beach for some sunbathing, though I forgot to check that my sunblock wasn't actually water-resistant, and after two and a half hours, I woke up from a nap to discover that I was seriously burned -- actually, as the day went on, it got worse and worse, developing into a very painful red. Whoops.

Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits. 

The third day, second on the island, passed in peace. Mostly, I sat on a rock in the shade and read, or stared at the water. Later on, when it was dark and nobody was on the beach, I took the recommendation of a friend and went for a late-night, unclothed swim, which wasn't nearly as terrifying as I might have thought, deep water and darkness not being my favorite things in the world. I discovered that the sea there has the special phosphorescent algae that lights up the water when you move your body.

Then it was Monday and time to go back to an uneasily quiet city, but in between Koh Rong and Phnom Penh was a long and rainy boat ride and a longer drive. I was not looking forward at all to the boat ride, as it was a rainy and windy morning. However, I took my towel up to the less-populated upper deck and found the ride to actually be very strangely enjoyable. I realized that the rocking felt much like riding an elephant in Siem Reap, which was quite comforting, and the wind in my face was refreshing, watching the rain move in and out, obscuring the shore and the islands from view. It did get kind of cold when the rain started, but a good samaritan lent me an extra towel to hide under.

The weekend was not really a stop so much as a pause, but it was very welcome. Sleep comes early as there isn't much to do after dark, unless you want to head down to the backpacker area and drink yourself to oblivion (clearly that was high on my priority list). Time moves impossibly slowly when you have nothing to do, and by the end I was glad to return and get back into the swing of things -- though I admit that trying to think again on Tuesday morning after four days of staring at the water and not thinking was a bit of a struggle.

And next time, I'm going to be a bit more careful on that stupid sunblock...

Meanwhile, back on the ranch

Although my first anniversary in Cambodia has come and gone, it's been such a crazy month that I haven't spent a lot of time reflecting on how my perspective on the country has changed since I arrived -- or my perspective on where I fit into the picture and how. There is a time for reflection, of course, but I'm not sure if now is it -- sometimes, I think, it doesn't matter what's changed, just where you are now, and where you want to go. 

I have been noticing in the past week I've been thinking about America a lot. Some of it has been plain old homesickness, mostly for the seasons. I missed winter, and now I'm missing summer, the long days and the Colorado blue skies. I've been missing baseball, fresh salads, and going for walks in the mild evening air after dinner. 

It's gotten me thinking how, after a year living abroad (in a very, very different country) has not only changed my perspective on where I am, but where I come from. I know being back in the States in March was a really crazy experience in a lot of ways. It's not that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and the things that made me want to leave seem less negative, nor that all I can see now is what's wrong. 

In fact, it's more that I just look back at it, and see it. The politics as a steaming cesspot of extremism and furious people who believe they must always be right (on both sides, I mean, but it's true that the conservatives in America these days are being downright scary), the media in all its sensationalist and outrage-mongering glory, and the absolute travesty of the healthcare system (and the mind-blowing resistance to fixing it) -- but also, I find myself appreciating the quality of education (but not the system itself) and the self-made man attitude that is still pervasive. The "work hard enough and you can" mentality.  

With my current struggle to figure out where funding is supposed to come from for a budding dance company, I've been thinking about national arts councils and support systems, like the National Endowment for the Arts, however much the budget is getting cut, at least it exists. Real theaters, art museums. 

Sometimes, it's just the simple things -- like sidewalks, clean streets, and some semblance of order in a crazy world. Sometimes the things I miss are the things that freak me out when I'm home, like supermarkets and wide streets. 

There's also my increasing feeling that my home, Colorado, is not America, it's Colorado. America as a whole is not a place I want to spend a lot of time in, for much of the above reasons. But, Colorado is somewhere I could probably deal with. Of course, I have to remember that Colorado is still in America, and the back and forth continues. 

The point I think I'm trying to make is that things aren't simple. There is the Big Stuff going on that I am not at all a fan of, and small things that both totally throw me off for a few days when I'm there and become little beacons of comfort when I'm not. It's kind of confusing, really, to know that there are a lot of things I really disagree with as far as the direction the country is going, and yet somehow it's still home, and thinking of going back eventually to live with my family is not at all a bad thought. 

I'm currently in a week where I'm not feeling at all sure what future Cambodia holds for me, and if it is, actually, where I can make things happen. I'm questioning a lot of things, including how much I need to be questioning, and generally speaking, these days I'm not sure at all where I would be better off. So, I'm just trying to look at what's here and what's there, in all fairness to each place as where and when and how it is. 

And in the meantime, I guess I don't have to be sure. I have ideas and there are still pathways here I haven't explored, and I would not want to leave before fully exploring all of them just because someone didn't make it to the summit on the path before me. I don't need to know how long I'm staying or where I should be, just make the best of the time that I'm here, follow each opportunity to its fullest extent, and decide what to do after that. 

Year 23, Year 1: Luck and blessings

I suppose it's technically year 24, as today I am 23 and entering my 24th year of life. I suppose it should also be year 2, as I have just finished year 1 in Cambodia and year 1 of Real Life not in school.

Whatever year, it's new for me, and my overwhelming emotion for the day is gratitude.

I make some luck for myself, but I'm also on the receiving end of a ridiculous amount. I can't take credit for a lot of it, and I don't dare ever take it for granted. I'm overwhelmed by the love and support of my friends and family, by the fact that I get paid to do what I love and somehow my dreams are coming true, day by day and second by second. Every day is a blessing and a gift.

As for one year in Cambodia -- I'm excited to see what the next year can bring. This is the longest I've been anywhere away from home, and have had a tendency before to build half a life and then leave it and go onto the next thing. Now, I'm taking the time to build something here.

Tonight everything is sunshine and roses, but of course this whole year wasn't all fun and games. As you saw from my blog posts, especially in February, this year has challenged me in more ways than I thought was possible, and pushed me further than I thought was possible. It's been a struggle, and some days I got up to fight and some days I just buried my head.

But I don't want to talk about that today. That is that and now is now, and now I am blessed beyond belief.

Let's see what fantastic stuff comes up in year 23....

Finding the next Khmer Michael Jackson -- The pop music industry in Cambodia

I've been working for Cambodian Television Network (CTN) for a little over six months now, and over that time I've seen a lot of pop singers coming in and out. I've been listening to the music, watching the performances, and generally observing.

I previously spent a lot of time complaining how all the songs sound the same. That's not quite true, as I've since learned to discern the differences, but it is true that, like most pop songs, there's a formula -- 2-4 counts of 8 for an intro, a verse of 4 or 8 counts of 8, a chorus of the same, a 2 to 4 counts of 8 solo, and then another verse and two choruses to the end. There are very, very few that veer too far from this. The one time we had a song in three, my dancers freaked out.

Roughly half of the singers actually perform their songs live (it just occurred to me if I'm really supposed to be disclosing this...but, I doubt it's much of a secret). A good number seem quite unsure of the songs, and when they do sing live, aren't exactly sure when their entrance is. Once on stage, they remain stuck more or less in one place with their microphone. The girls are usually in such tight dresses or such high heels (or both) that doing anything else would be dangerous. If there are two of them, one in awhile they'll change places.

In the dressing rooms, they're nice enough, even the bigger stars. They always have an entourage, or at least one person (usually I guess it's a younger sibling) to do their hair and help them with their shoes. They borrow makeup sometimes, liberally splash white powder on their faces (like everyone else, including the MCs), and sit quietly with their smartphone/tablet until it's time to sing.

So all of this was observed, and then the switch went, and I got curious. One of the singers performing last weekend was singing live, with a really great voice, and I went looking for songs on the internet. He's one of the bigger stars here, but I can only find three songs. And that's when I started asking questions. Who are these people, where do they come from, how do they get where they are and why don't most of them seem to know their songs, how do they make money, and really, what's going on here.

Turns out, most don't seem to know their own songs because they aren't their songs at all. There are a few large production companies/recording labels, and they write songs. Since there's a formula that works more or less, they follow the formula. Or, they'll translate a foreign song into Khmer. Then, they'll hire a voice to record the song, and release the album as a compilation. Then, they'll trot the singer off to perform on various television stations/events.

The singers themselves are paid for the recording and for the events. They are all of course screened for lookability. But they don't do anything themselves -- not the music, not the lyrics, and no dance. I'm sure there are some exceptions, but I haven't found them yet. Some bands -- like Dengue Fever and the Cambodian Space Project, which aren't really pop -- have recorded albums but the pop singers don't, or not that I know of.

In short, the pop singers are good-looking cardboard cutouts with a voice. It would be easy to point fingers at this and announce that Cambodians only know how to copy and therefore they wouldn't have any ideas should they have creative liberty over their music and careers, and probably just prefer to look pretty and get money.

Gee, that doesn't sound like anyone I might know of in America...

I'm getting off track. It would be easy to say that, but probably as wrong as announcing that all Americans eat hamburgers on a daily basis. From my experience here, and from the few conversations I've had so far, it's not necessarily a question of not wanting, but not knowing where to start. Not even knowing what tools you need to begin.

One of my friends has a band, and they write music. But where to record? How to record? She has no idea. The pop singer I thought was talented apparently used to be a construction worker. It probably never occured to him to sing, let alone make an album.

I have one Cambodian friend who is incredibly intelligent and an inquistive mind. She asks questions about everything, knows her own culture and it flaws, and has ideas about it. I was talking to her about this, which is when of course I thought, what you really need is an independent record label, with a studio and a crew of musicians. Then you need to find a singer who's willing and interested in taking a risk, get a songwriter on board and lock everyone up for several months and create a kick-ass, unique, original album, and then get it on the market in any way possible.

If the album is good, the independent ARTIST industry will explode. I capitalized artist because that's what's needed. Not singers, artists. I asked my friend about a million times, and each time she said yes -- that singer is out there. Probably more than one. Much like my students at CLA who had no idea where to begin in making a dance, but with a few tools in their back pocket, created some of the most innovative and interesting dance I've ever seen, there's a singer out there who wants to take control of their career, who doesn't just want to sing the songs they're given.

I think I have enough to do, but I want to find someone to make this happen. It's not just the traditional arts scene that needs to be nurtured and given artistic liberty, but also the modern and pop scene.

And I'd like to meet that singer who wants it enough to make it happen. Sure, some do just want to look pretty and get paid (hey, I wouldn't mind that either!!!). But I'd be happy to take the bet that many want more, but couldn't even imagine where to start, and so follow the system.

Any takers???

NOTE: I want to add something here -- I want to make it clear that I don't believe the singer in question also needs to be a songwriter. I'm just envisioning a place where they just start, however small or big, to take ownership of their music and their work as an artist.

Further thoughts on the expat condition

Since my last post I've been thinking and observing, and wanted to take the time to expand my thoughts a little bit. The previous post was a very visceral emotional reaction, one that quite surprised me with its force, and since then I've been trying to attach words and concepts to decode what was actually going on. From that, I've been trying to figure out why -- why, that is, most expats think/behave as they do, and why my vision is so completely different.

I want to add a disclaimer here -- the following is quite scathing and I have to note that not every expat follows this. I know some who are different, and some who, if they don't agree, at least more or less get where I am coming from. Maybe this is not what people are actually thinking, but it's what I see.

So last time we had the grand issue being most expats only view Cambodians as lazy, stupid, annoying, and generally making life difficult. Something I've noticed is that the vast, vast majority of their interactions with Khmer people involve the Khmer in an inferior position, most often offering a service the expat requires or requests.

In that regard, the expat is constantly in a world where they are asking for something, and if it is not given promptly, accurately, and straight-forward, then it is annoying and frustrating and blamed on the person responsible for doing the serving, the Khmer. Even in volunteering, teaching, or what have you, they are in the higher position, responsible for teaching the inferior how to do something they don't know how to do yet. If they do not understand, accept, and promptly assimilate the training, then it is annoying and frustrating and blamed on the person responsible for learning, the Khmer.

As an example. Someone I know has a few Khmer staff. The guy is nice, but he micro-manages to a fault. He wants things now, responses upon receiving things, and things returned in very certain manners. Everything must be double-checked, edited several times, etc. Of course, that's just the way he works, and I'm not faulting him. In his own country, they do things like that.

I've talked to the staff. If you tell me to do something, I'll do it, one of them said. I won't necessarily do it right away just because you asked, or tell you I've done it, but I will do it. You don't have to keep telling me.

But the expat doesn't understand. Isn't it obvious that their way of doing things is more efficient, more professional, and generally better for everyone? Actually, no, it's not obvious. It's one more detail added to a pile of stupid details that really don't seem to add anything if you don't know, if you haven't had the years of training, years of discipline in a culture that prides itself on efficiency and detail. No, it's not obvious at all, and even once it's been explained, it takes months, or years, for the effects to truly be seen and understood.

But the expat doesn't spend years. They come for a few months and then leave, having seen no real progress and made their judgments.

There's another barrier I've noticed : the language. The vast, vast majority of expats do not speak it, barely a word besides "turn right/left" and "hello." If they get to hello. So they sweep into places where they expect to be served, not bother to learn a word of the language, and then have the gall to complain about being misunderstood, as though they are entitled to always have someone with perfect English and understanding of their culture to respond immediately and understand everything.

Usually, just saying "How are you?" or just a word or two more is enough for Khmers to say to me, with surprise and delight, "Oh, you speak Khmer a lot!" That dismays me. How are you is the easiest thing in the world to learn. "Sock sah bai." When I take the time to greet the staff at the places I go and ask that before I get around to saying anything about what I actually want, everything changes. We relate differently. We are equals now. They are not as flustered or uncertain, jumping to do something, anything, quickly because that's what the expat wants to see, even if they don't really understand. Therefore, in the end I am rarely misunderstood.

But once the expat makes their judgment, it is made, and everything they see reinforces it. Inside is a bubble, where everything should work just like it does back home and on the edge are these really annoying, hovering creatures that mess things up. And to them it will always be like that, no matter how hard one tries to enlighten the poor Khmers.

We've talked about this before. Yes, the country is messed up. Yes, it's corrupt, and poor, and badly run, and the government is...well. Yes, that is all true, yes there is a lack of education and professionalism and training.

But come on. I want to say to the expat in our examples above, open your mind a little. Try to think, for a second, that this is Cambodia. You are in their country. You are not entitled to be here, and have no divine right to make things all better because come on, clearly the west just knows how to do it better. Your way is not necessarily the only way, or the best way. It might be a good idea to open your mind and heart to this country as it is, to the people as they are, as people. Learn a bit of the language. Have patience. Try to see Cambodians beyond the maid, the waitress, the hostess, the guy behind the counter, and as people, like you, doing their best.

It's completely changed my experience of the country, and for the better.

And if you can't, then maybe it's best if you go back to the place where people speak your language and think just like you, and stop the arrogant "but they need our help" trip. I'm being quite serious when I say I think that would be better for everyone.

Hey, those are my friends you're talking about

I get this question a lot from expats : What do you think of Cambodia?

Usually it’s said with a little smirk, a smile or a sort of knowing look in the eye, because they know what you’re going to say. It’s what everyone says, among expats. It’s the only story you hear, just with different variations, but for the most part it never changes.

They like the weather and they like how easy it is to make money and live. But the people?

All I ever hear is how Cambodian people make life difficult. How they have no ambition, only play around on their cell phones and never work, never learn, resist passive-aggressively, and generally speaking the country would be better off if Cambodian people were not as they are.

There are exceptions, but they are exceptions, few and far between. I can count them on a few fingers, the people who have positive stories and outlooks, who are not convinced that the people of this country are either lazy, stupid, or just generally annoying and frustrating.

Most people, when pressed further, will admit that they don’t really think Cambodians are stupid, just uneducated, and they know there is a difference. But either way, there’s nothing to be done. There’s nothing there.

Let’s be clear: Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge regime took a culturally and industrially advanced country and razed it to the ground. They killed the culture, the education, and yet still even now the tribunal has not yet officially established that what happened was “genocide.”

Let’s also be clear: the formal western professionalism and training and discipline does not exist, if it ever did, it is gone, vanished, lost. The education system is pitifully funded and the teachers have not been formally trained. I’ve asked a couple people what they are studying, because everyone is in university and studying something (that’s 60 percent of the country population under twenty-five). Banking and finance for one, and I wonder – to work where?

Where can he work with that? In a bank in Cambodia with the other thousands studying the same thing? What if he wanted to get out? You go anywhere else with a degree from Cambodia right now and they laugh you off. Another guy is studying tourism, with a few million others. That might get him a little further, but not much.

Someone described it to me as realizing this country is deeply intellectually and emotionally hurt, and that is true. Most Cambodian people I’ve met are emotionally much more immature than their western counterparts. But where have they learned? Their parents are scarred, and there’s a void of emotional coaching. Emotions aren’t discussed, treated, talked about—it’s Asia, for one, and why would you? There’s too much hurt there.

It is also true that there is a general lack of energy and ambition, and certainly a general lack of the cut-and-dried western professionalism I and my expat counterparts grew up with, were drilled with since childhood. Smartphones just got here, and everyone is always on them. There is no real professionalism training. The teachers are late. There aren’t role models for that.  

What I mean to say is, the genocide is over now. But the country, and it’s people, even those who never experienced it, are scarred by it. That is the truth, and there is truth to the expat stories.

But there are times when it is all I ever here, and I just get tired.

Because I’ve met young people who think differently. I’ve met Cambodians who are passionate. I’ve seen sparks, I’ve watched people push themselves, and be proud. I’ve talked with people who don’t like what they see.

Yes, of course, they do stuff that bothers me, like answer their cell phones at inopportune times or come late to important things.

But I see potential. Someone told me right now there is nothing, maybe the kids who are in high school right now. Yes, but I would also add those in university. The kids my age.

They aren’t going to change the country in two weeks, or two months, or two years. Does any country change so fast? Time takes time. They don’t know how yet, they don’t have the tools, and maybe they won’t ever. But at least a few of them will make sure their children do, however that happens.

The older generation cannot physically overpower them forever, because they are dying. There are so many young people, and there is potential. They don’t know it yet. They haven’t grown up, hit walls, fallen down. They haven’t had the hard teachers, the tough training. The survivors of the genocide are farmers. They have no education to pass on, and the young people now have to figure it out themselves – all while being bombarded with modernity that no one has ever taught them to use or abuse. They are faced with an enormous, fast-paced world, with very few tools to deal with it.

And yet.

Beyond all the potential or no potential, the future and the past, there are these few simple facts:  I work with Cambodians on a daily basis. They make me laugh, make me smile. They’ve comforted me when I’m upset, I’ve comforted them. They make me angry sometimes, yes, and frustrated. But we’ve talked, laughed, shared jokes. Sometimes we just shake our heads and say, yeah, it just doesn’t translate.

Essentially, I’ve found them to just be people, trying like the other five billion people in the world to be happy, and these are the stories I never hear from the expats. It’s always about how life is being made difficult, or how the country is messed up, but not about people being people, people you can talk to, people who worry about their health (like anyone else), who don’t know if they can really do what they want (like anyone else), who get upset with each other (like anyone else) and wish things were different (like anyone else).

Those are the stories I live with every day. Not good,  not bad, just life, like anywhere else, with anyone else. Yes, in a completely and totally alien culture, but people like me. And when all I hear, day after day, time after time, is how frustrating, annoyed, uneducated, difficult, and generally upsetting Cambodian people are, it really gets to me.

When it comes down to it, the fact of the matter is that those are my friends they’re talking shit about. My friends they are putting down and dissing. Yes. Sometimes I do want to throw things at them. And so? Do we understand each other perfectly? Absolutely not. And so?

At the end of the day, those are my friends, and hearing them constantly put down hurts, as it does tonight, and the reason I took the time to write down these words and send them out to the world. The expats can have their reality, but I'm not part of it. 

I'd like to keep it that way. 

The Phnom Penh Traffic Drinking game

I wanted to find a fun way to explain to you just how stupid the drivers here can be. I've said before there are no traffic rules, at least, none really observed, and driving a moto makes me realize that seriously it's very surprising how there are NOT about a thosand accidents per second.

So here is my Phnom Penh traffic drinking game. To be played only in the back of a tuktuk, safely far away from the wheel or handlebars of any moving vehicle. Since Angkor draft is the way to go here, we're going to go with that -- take a drink or empty the glass.

Take a drink every time:

--A moto cuts across oncoming traffic on the red light to turn left

--Anyone suddenly cuts in front of you to turn right, with no blinker.

--A pedestrian starts walking across the street at the very second that the light turns green.

--Anyone is on their cellphone while driving.

Take two drinks every time:

--Any two vehicles make physical contact at a stoplight, handlebars or wheels or what have you.

--A car turns left from the right turn lane or right from the left turn lane.

--A moto drives on the wrong side of the road after turning left before cutting across all lanes of oncoming traffic.

--A car swerves to the wrong side of the road, with oncoming traffic, to pass a slower moving vehicle.

--You see something truly ridiculous on the back of a moto, such as a dead pig, a few dozen live chickens, four people plus a baby, twenty cartons of ramen noodles, etc.

Empty the glass when:

--Some hotshot jackass goes through traffic like a slalom course.

--You get stuck for ten minutes at an intersection because everyone is trying to get through at the same time and only later realized that the tuk tuk and the car at the middle can't squeeze past each other.

--You see something exceptionally stupid not mentioned here, such as a guy on a moto approaching a busy traffic circle and using both hands to tuck his cellphone back into his pocket.

And the bonus, if you happen to be on 278 and see the young, handsome Khmer guy dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, riding on a piece of crap motorbike with flowers on the handles and a boom box on the back and selling noodles (while singing), take a shot. Gotta love showmen...

Bless you if you're still standing.

A moto of my own

Goodness knows I've been talking about it long enough (if not on this blog then to those who I talk to on a regular basis and they've been hearing about this for a few months now.) I've been spending close to 12 dollars a week on motortaxis ("So, 4:30 on Friday you go to CTN?") and relying on the goodness of my dancers' hearts (sometimes an iffy proposition) to get around, but that only takes me from point A to point B. Adding point C is not an option without some hassle.

I've been wanting one for a long time, and slowly building up the funds and the courage to do it, snitching a friend's moto to practice and generally psyching myself up. I don't know if I was ready or not, but either way, when I showed up to work on Monday and discovered no one there for yet another holiday that I forgot about (in my defense, this was an American holiday and how the heck should I remember those if I don't live there???), I knew it was time.

I got the resident handy man/driver to come with me and we found our way to the used moto bazaar near Olympic Stadium and got accosted by everyone wanting to sell us something. He explained, and we were led into the midst of everything, passing rows and rows of motos to the back, where The Moto was presented.

An old Honda Dream, 450 starting price, something about Japan and a warranty involved (something of which I am still doubtful.) My compatriot hopped off his bike and began the inspection, looking at the engine and the battery and goodness knows what else, while I was escorted in grand fashion to a plastic chair to sit and watch the whole process.

It was a good bike, I was informed, the push start still worked and it wasn't dripping oil, there was still a warranty involved and all in all, they had already discounted from 500.

The haggling began. We didn't work too hard or throw any fits, which could have brought it down much further, but in the end they agreed to 420 and I signed the paperwork. Registration doesn't really exist here, as with driver's licenses (they do exist but nobody has them, at least not for motos.) They put some gas in, and then it was mine to drive away (I'd bought a helmet the day before.)

Just like that.

I discovered that night that the main light was out and warranty or no warranty they had me pay for it to get fixed, and the brakes could use some tightening, and every so often when I try to start it makes weird clunking noises and refuses to for a few seconds, but other than that, I have taken it all over Phnom Penh and beyond, up to rehearsal and to CTN and in circles to pick up and drop off things and add meetings and ---

It is sheer freedom.

I drive pretty slowly and intend to keep it that way, just for my own sake. I worry about the occasional strange clunking noises, because I already can't figure out what I did without it. I don't have to keep anyone else's schedule. If I decide I need to stop and get something, I can, and I do. If the boss (one of them, at any rate) needs me to come in and help out in a slight emergency, I don't worry about the extra biking. If I need to pick something up halfway across town and return it to work before going to rehearsal, I can. If someone wants to meet in Tuol Kork before rehearsal, I can make that happen.

I love it, and it's just in time too, as the next month promises to be just as insane as the past couple weeks, which have left me with no time to turn around, a period of intense transition and energy and creation (and the destruction that comes with it) -- but at least, when it comes to the actual traveling from one location to another, I got that covered now.

Yahoo.