The phrase I want is, I don't know.

Yes. I know. I haven't blogged in two months. What happened is that I completely ran out of time. I worked all day every day for two and a half months, very barely held myself together, and then hopped on a plane to the other side of the world, where I spent three most excellent weeks with my family.

And then I flew for something like 25 straight hours, and I returned here.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

The place that I found myself referring to as "home" while in Denver, Colorado. The place that populated my dreamscape for much of those three weeks, where projects and opportunities await. And the place that is currently just too far away, and full of confusion.

I'm fairly sure at this point that I don't want to live in America -- I'm a citizen, but it's not "my country;" however, it is where my beloved family is. I have skype, but skype does not compare to physical presence, and three weeks a year is a very short time to share.

But I am not there. I am here. I am here, where projects are falling down around my ears. I am here, with no real idea of where my career is leading me. I am here, where despite it all I feel so settled, and ever since my feet touched down last week, people all over the city have welcomed me back with staggering warmth. I am here, alone and independent, and my family is over 13000 kilometers away.

You could say it's confusing.

I'm inclined to think that I probably shouldn't even be talking for another two weeks -- the last time I left home, I spent ten days in Paris, which is a very happy place for me, and it still took a couple weeks to settle back into Cambodia.

Is the jet lag, the culture shock, the unsettled energy of the city, the shock of returning to work from vacation?

Most likely.

All I can say is that I've quite lost my way, but somehow I'm here and that's all I know.

(I'll try to get back to blogging, now that my life is not being devoured by work quite as much.)

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. 

Walking sideways on the edge of the world

(by the time I return, I think, I'll have begun to flip right side up,
enough to find my own people equally upside down, 
and will have to find the way to walk sideways, 
on the edge of the earth). 

I wrote that awhile ago, near the beginning of my stay here.

On Thanksgiving night, I had a wonderful meal with good people, with all the staples and the good stuff, good conversation. I very much enjoyed myself.

But the food was too much. I'm not used to eating that kind of food anymore, and I felt kind of bloated. I wanted rice the next day, or fruit.

The next morning, I was on skype with my family, looking at the apartment and wanting to join them, but --

Sometimes I do feel kind of like a stranger in both worlds. I can already tell how strange it will be to be back in the US, even for a visit, and how the poem is making itself true. I'm flipping, and I don't think here will ever be fully right side up, just sideways enough to make things back home look pretty sideways too.

I guess it just comes with the territory of living in a culture that is so different. Staying where you come from is a lot less complicated than navigating the unsettling culture shock, tiptoeing around home that is not home. Looking at where you want to be and knowing that because of where you have been, what you remember it as will not be the same when you step back in, both you and the place itself changed.

This week was a violent mix of brilliance and stress, beauty and exhaustion, feeling under-appreciated and feeling heartily blessed, and the two have mixed badly, like oil and vinegar being forced to co-habit. Although I still have much to do and many things to accomplish and deal with and sort out and wait for the world to turn in the next week, I'm trying to take some time off this weekend.

Waiting until everything stops spinning around me -- or at least, to just let it spin and not spin with it for a time, until I can jump back in.

Things are changing, or I'm noticing what has always been

I'm still a spectacle.

It is not unusual for the inhabitants of a tuktuk full of Cambodian people to openly stare when I bike past, or for one to poke their friends and point. I wonder sometimes what they are saying to each other, if they are making fun or just remarking. Heck, white people in tuktuks stare too and comment to each other, and I wonder about that too.

Sometimes I think it's amusing. Mostly I just find it annoying and somewhat perturbing.

And yet.

A kid in Brown café smiled at me the other day. I don't know why he did, as he was almost certainly gayer than Christmas, but he was there with a friend and when I left, he offered me the most stunning smile.

In town for the Youth Arts Festival, my students from Siem Reap have started, as far as I can tell, a contest to see who can get the most hugs from me. They smile and wave and generally cause an uproar whenever they catch sight of me.

At the opening of said Youth Arts Festival, I found people I knew everywhere, the heart of the arts scene here, and was truly disappointed that I wasn't able to talk to all of them.

Again to my surprise, I think I've been adopted.

I don't really understand how it happened, but honestly -- it's wonderful.

EDIT: I just used the tag "home" for this post. In fact, the toughest thing about being here is how far away my family and friends are, and I can't just go for a visit whenever. But somehow, as places tend to do, whether or not I have anything to do with it, I used the tag because I think it's becoming true.

Oh yeah, I'm staying a while

You might have noticed, if you've seen me recently, the necklace I always wear. It's a Maori hook, from New Zealand. Bone, in the shape of a fish hook.

A kiwi recently told me the origin legend of New Zealand, that the founder discovered first the southern island, then threw out his fish hook and snared the north.

It's a symbol of abundance, and good luck, but, he said, it's more about finding home -- especially finding home wherever you are. Hooking the other island.

I've worn it pretty much nonstop since my mom gave it to me in March this year. Right now, it's making me think about home, and being where you are.

It's been three weeks and change since I arrived in the charming city of Phnom Penh, the usual time for vacation, when everything is still new and exciting and interesting. The shine blinds you everywhere you look, and I charged into it like a bull into the sunset and leaving the Princess behind in happily ever after.

But now it is week four, when things are settling in, work is starting. Not as many meetings, not as much going on, not as much to deal with. Now is the time when I'm making a routine, when earning money is becoming not a priority but really essential to me staying here.

It's part of the adventure, of course, when you start to realize that this isn't a vacation, and even if you knew it all along it takes some time for your soul to get the memo. "Knowing" things doesn't necessarily mean you believe them, if you'll permit me a confusing explanation.

I don't want to say it's bad -- besides not believing in the word or the concept itself, I think it's just one color among thousands. But it is a transition, and I admit to finding myself a bit adrift this week.

What can I tell you? The adventures, while I'm sure they are still happening, don't feel like adventures, they feel like life. I spoke about choreography at a Phnom Penh expat staple called Nerd Night, in a shady club in the Red Light district turned auditorium for an evening. The bartenders couldn't believe all the people whispering to order beers so everyone else could hear the speakers, and the girls who 'work', all prettied up, played on their cellphones, bored out of their minds.

The black light made all the reds neon-orange and the whites shine clear, and the disco balls played tricks with the lights. All while a few passionate people stood onstage and presented about a topic, using 20 slides, 20 seconds each slide.

Or maybe we can talk about how the fruitseller, sort of my friend now, convinced me to buy a somewhat mysterious fruit that took me several good minutes of searching on google to identify as a papaya. For the dollar I paid for it, I suppose it isn't too much of a waste to throw away; as much I am somewhat opposed to the principle of doing such a thing, it tastes horrible to me.

Driving is always an adventure but I've learned to drive just as badly as the locals and get along just fine. I'm logging the kilometers on that bike, a one-speed pretty little piece of work that goes only so fast as I pedal, and is a real pain in a headwind, as has been happening much too often for my taste recently.

I've learned my way more or less around the city, I still can't speak Khmer but have picked up a few more phrases. I'm busy trying to convince my students that having a finished solo on the second day of an entire week dedicated to creating them is not quite what I'm after. I'm teaching English here and there, and my newest challenge is dealing with a cute, but hyperactive, four year old who has a speech delay and a mother who wants a native speaker to talk to him.

Maybe I'm imagining it, but on my usual routes the guys who hang out along the streets seem to know me, because while they still stare, I don't get the same yowls as before. Maybe they're learning, like my soul, that I'm staying for a bit.

Well, I am. I've been craving western goodies and snacks, which I'll indulge. A few things to remind me of home, until where I am is enough -- and as it will.

As it is already becoming.

Re-opening Pandora's Box: Going Back to Paris

Let's call a spade a spade: in case you haven't heard, the eleven months I spent in Paris last year was hands down the most transformative experience of my life. However many months removed -- eight, I think -- I'm still figuring out exactly how transformative and what the ramifications are.

I probably couldn't tell you exactly what happened. All I know is that I spent a good several months after I came back trying to reconcile the person I had been and the person I had become. It was like staring in a mirror and having no idea who the person looking back was.

Well, I'm going back. Five weeks to the day, to be exact. And I'm not quite sure what to think.

Of course, I'm excited. I've been told by numerous sources that they have never seen me so at home as when I was in Paris. I found something I wrote about halfway through my time there: I don't know if I love Paris, but all I know is that I fell into living here as easily as breathing. There are people I haven't seen in months, and the culture, the city, the food...

But I also know that when I left, I left some incredibly powerful energy behind. And honestly, I'm not sure -- and I'm a little concerned -- about what will happen when I reopen that existence. It's not anything I can prepare for. Hell, I tried to prepare for the culture shock, but found myself facing a monster whose face I didn't even recognize.

Of course it won't be the same. A lot of time has passed since I left, and I've changed again. But I do wonder.

And then there are times when I don't worry, and I just remember how completely and ferociously alive I was, and I can barely speak for impatience.

I may have to amend the title of this post. I'm not going back to Paris.

For a week, I'm coming home.