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....
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
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?
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?
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
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 --
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.
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.
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