"Oh, that'd be great for them": Things people don't need to say

When I was putting together the funds and logistics for the Tari festival in November, I heard something fairly often from my western friends:

"Wow, that'll be a great opportunity for your dancers!"

I get why people might say such a thing. I imagine that if the same situation had been taking place in New York with American dancers, I'd probably hear, "What a great opportunity for you!" instead. But from my perspective, it was a strange thing to hear: the three dancers I was working with were already very accomplished, well-traveled performers who have been dancing and performing professionally for multiple years. The "great opportunity" in my mind was for me, and I was just happy they'd agreed to be part of the project. 

You can of course argue that it's a great opportunity for everyone involved and I'd be likely to agree with you, but what I mean to call attention to here is the difference in how some people viewed it and talked about it. It's one of those cultural stereotypes we tend to carry with us, and worth it to point out. Because the dancers are Cambodian, people tend to assume they don't have great opportunities like that. While that's sometimes true, it's also just as often not true. 

It's one of the reasons that, when setting up my Indiegogo crowd-funding campaign, I tried really hard not to mention or at least not make a big deal out of the dancers' nationalities, instead focusing on the cross-genre creative process aspect. The project wasn't about getting Cambodian dancers to Malaysia, it was about putting together a production from a cool starting concept. 

The trip to Malaysia broadened all of our horizons, and we all learned and grew from it, me no more or less than them. 

It might be semantics, but worth having a think about. 

The glitz, glamour, and flourescent lights

Cambodia is poor, you say?

It is. This is true. But there are also people here who are rich, filthy rich, with Lexus cars and slick iPhones (often more than one), throwing down hundreds on bottles of whiskey at ritzy nightclubs. I don't know where they get their money. Corruption money? Business? I couldn't tell you.

I'm not entirely sure if the glitz and glamour people -- such as the stars who come through CTN - are filthy rich. I do know they are all dripping with fancy electronics, stylists and entourages following them around with the latest (mostly Korean) fashions, carefully painted faces. The image is everything.

The world of glitz and glamour in Cambodia (and of course it's not exclusive to here, it's just where I've experienced it) lives apart. It has its own places, attitudes, fashions, crowds. I kind of flit in and out of it, with my job at CTN and the people I've met. Case in point -- this past weekend, I was asked to perform at the launch party for the 100th issue of Ladies Magazine, apparently the number one lifestyle magazine around.

The event took place in the "Fashion TV Lounge," in Naga World, the only casino. The Casino itself is glitzy, but the lounge is even sleeker, all mirrors and colored lights, TV screens and modern white tables. A host of girls in Little Black Dresses ferrying  bottles of vodka around. This:

Walking in, there was a stop for the paparazzi, flashing lights, the backdrop with all the sponsor names (and mine, for that matter -- the gig was free, the publicity was my payment). People arrived fashionably late (an hour and a half or so), boys in bedazzled blazers with no shirt underneath and enough hair gel to hold up the leaning tower of Pisa, girls in sky-high heels and fancy dresses, everyone walking in with their eyes swiveling to see who's there.

Honestly? The whole charade leaves me a little cold. It has for awhile, at CTN, watching the stars strut in and primp and fuss, then go lip-sync or, sometimes even worse, actually "sing." The dance groups do the same thing, the boys spending far more time on their outfits and makeup than warming up or, probably, rehearsing.

I think it's because I can't help but feeling that the whole thing is just a cover, a pretend world of silver and gold. It's like this: when it was time to warm up, I was led past the gilded toilet doors to the staff only door, and inside, it looks like this:

Here, the illusion is shattered. The lights are harsh, the tile stark. The girls limp and mutter about their feet as they go off for more alcohol. As they step through the door with now-full shot glasses, they change. They smile. Nobody knows their feet hurt.

Like me. I didn't really want to be there. I was tired, a little sick, extraordinarily stiff due to the return to ballet after a summer off, and chiefly concerned with returning home to finish my book. But I am a professional. So I did my makeup, stretched my aching muscles, and then stepped onstage and danced like there was no tomorrow. No one knew the difference.

I think that's what I mean about the glitz and the glamour leaving me cold, because as far as I can tell, it's a world meant to cover and hide blemishes, where image is all important, and if it cracks for one minute, you're lost. I don't mind playing dress up, playing in the spotlight, sure. But I want to know what's beyond the mirrors and pancake makeup, what matters at the end of the day if all the prettiness and money vanishes.

Who are you, when you leave the glitz behind, and step into the flourescent lights.

Out of budget: Working with Cambodian dancers

Disclaimer: The following is reflective of my reality and does not necessarily apply to all Cambodian contemporary dancers.

I've noticed something recently. Actually, I noticed it at the end of last year, but have only been able to articulate it recently.

When I was in Malaysia for the festival, I was talking with the choreographer of the Korean group and asking him how he got started. He said that he had just gathered a group of friends to start training every day, and then found a producer along the way to hunt for gigs, and now whenever they perform, he pays the dancers. Otherwise, he doesn't. He said, "why don't you do that in Cambodia?"

The thing is, according to my experience, such a thing would be completely impossible in Cambodia, as I have yet to meet a dancer who will voluntarily go through training/rehearsals without a firm guarantee of a performance or payment. They might agree to something in theory -- such as my dancers did in the fall before our performance in October -- but in reality their commitment to such a thing is very minimal and I always felt like I spent more energy getting dancers into the studio than actually creating.

Don't get me wrong: as an artist, I absolutely agree that art should be valued and that the idea that artists love what they do so there's no need to pay them is both disturbing and dangerous.

However, I also believe that being an artist also includes a practice of training and self-development, a practice of questioning oneself and abilities. You can't just slap the title of "Dancer" on yourself and leave it at that -- there is always more to learn, always room to improve. The second I decide that I'm a good choreographer and that's that, I stop learning -- and I stop being an artist.

It feels to me as though the Cambodian contemporary dancers have looked out to other countries and seen artists being paid, and as such are demanding the same (which is perfectly legitimate by the way), but have missed the other side of the coin -- the endless hours of doing things for free, or paying to do them, to become better artists and dancers.

For example: my dance partner and student, Dara, recently told me that he would not join the festival in Malaysia in November (a very big festival with lots of groups and fantastic exposure) for less than $200. I had already offered 50-100 and all expenses paid.  His reasoning was that it was his second time. There was no thought in his head -- at least, as far as I can tell -- about what he might gain from the festival. Only the money. Regardless of the fact that 99% of the dancers in Sibu -- and probably that again for the next one in November -- have several years worth of training on him.

Yes, I'm angry about it -- I'm trying desperately to be reasonable about it, and questioning if I'm the one being ridiculous here. But Dara was really the last dancer here I really wanted to work with, and I'm out of options.  I am a young choreographer -- it's going to be a while before people pay me enough so I can pay dancers at the rates Dara is asking. The dancers here are out of my budget, and the disinterest in experience and professional development is the chief factor in making me want to leave. Even Cambodian Living Arts, which remains one of the coolest organizations I've ever worked for, recently nixed an idea for a second choreographic development workshop because of the "lack of hard skills" offered in the workshop goals.

Yes -- I want to leave. There is nobody left I can afford to work with, and I know that there are many other places full of dancers who are hungry to learn, hungry to gain experience, and willing to board a train without seeing the destination. Those are the people I want to find -- not the people who simply hold out their hands and say, "Okay, but how much are you paying?"

I'm not getting on a plane tomorrow. But my focus has shifted, and over the course of the next six months or more, I will be looking to move onto a place where I can grow as an artist, surrounded by other people with the same vision. At this point, I don't see it in Phnom Penh.

Finding the path, and the dance

Today marks the end of seven weeks on the 100 days of dance project and the halfway point. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to post this there or here but decided on here -- the other place is just for the pictures. I wanted to write this, however, to talk about the interesting fact that the 100DOD project comes at a time in which I'm feeling less and less confident in the amount of dance actually happening here.

We are now in the fifth month of the year, inexplicably (where HAS this year gone, anyway?). In two short months, I will celebrate my two year anniversary of living here, a full year and a half longer than I originally planned. Clearly something has kept me here -- but that "something" continues and will most certainly continue to evolve.

One of the reasons that I originally decided to stay longer in Cambodia was because I felt like there were an incredible amount of opportunities in dance. Because contemporary dance is so new, I felt like there was huge opportunity for me to do some very cool things, things I wouldn't get the chance to do elsewhere.

That is all true, and remains true to this day. I choreograph for national television on a weekly basis and have had the opportunity to choreograph and perform for numerous occasions. That in itself is huge.

However, I'm beginning to understand something: there isn't actually that much contemporary dance here, and very few trained dancers. The main power is Amrita and apart from that, there isn't much. Some of the Amrita dancers have their own small groups -- mostly with other Amrita dancers -- that perform in clubs or at other special events. Of the five dancers I was working with briefly last year, I realized that three of them were already established artists and were extraordinarily busy -- a mix of singing, classical dance, classical singing, their own contemporary groups, etc. Another was in the same boat, except in the hip hop/pop singer universe. As such, they were completely unreliable and managed to come to the absolute minimum of rehearsals required. It was only one -- Dara, who remains one of the most talented dancers I've seen to date -- who I was really able to work with.

Another reality -- and I don't think this is just Cambodia, but all over the world -- is that people talk a lot. Things seem more doable here because it's cheaper, but the fact remains that a great majority of the projects I was so excited for this year fell out from underneath my feet. People -- including me -- have big ideas, but then something happens or something comes up, and they just don't seem so doable anymore.

I can't deny, however, that Cambodia is growing ridiculously quickly (the amount this city changes on a daily basis gives me whiplash), and there are great opportunities. But it is interesting to me that in a year in which I feel much less certain about what I can do here is when this 100DOD project came to mind -- a project designed, in fact, to showcase the amount of dance.

Maybe in some ways I needed to remind myself.

I'm also not rushing for the airport. What's keeping me here is not necessarily the promise of fantastic opportunities, but the simple fact that Phnom Penh is home. Somehow and inexplicably, it is. It's chaotic and messy and completely corrupt and crazy, but it's comfortable (I don't know how that works either).

Instead of focusing on Cambodia, now, however, I'm looking out -- to international dance festivals in the region for the moment, maybe in the broader Asia region later. Whenever I get my showreel together I'll start trying to get some residencies or short term work with companies. But in the meantime, keep Cambodia as a base. A place to settle -- for now.

And as this 100 days of dance project has shown me...there's still plenty to do here.

#100DaysofDance -- go check it!

Right.

So something got into my head, and I decided to start this project, called #100daysofdance (v. Cambodia).

Basically it goes like this: I love dance, and I live in Cambodia. In fact, I live in Cambodia because of dance. So I decided to marry the two, and out came this idea to take one dancing picture a day, tell a short story about why I took it, who's in it, etc, and do this for 100 days.

I got so excited about it, I made a whole new blog to accommodate it: 100daysofdance.blogspot.com.

Check it out, share it, enjoy it! This blog will go dormant while this project is happening (more so than usual that is), but be sure to check back when the 100 days are up!

Cheers.

Beyond the Borders: Musings on the expatriate life

Across the world, for whatever reason, millions of people are living outside of their homeland, just as millions are living the same hometown in which they grew up, maybe the same as their parents, and their children.

People immigrate for all sorts of reasons: the promise of a better life, forced circumstances, a job, a family, the need for adventure, whatever it may be. Over Christmas, when I was in America, I found myself thinking about this phenomenon, which is so daily -- but really, it's interesting to me, why some people leave their own country for other shores. 

I was thinking about it for a number of reasons. The first is probably that it's been a year and a half now that I've lived in Cambodia. The second is that I knew that trip to the States would be the last in awhile -- the ticket is just too expensive and I can think of some other places to use extra money. Although I don't necessarily see a long-term future in Cambodia, it had become quite clear that I no longer have any interest in living in America. 

Of course, my beloved family is there, and I would spend time in Colorado for their sake -- but not to live. Living is different. 

So why did I leave? It's not the easiest question to answer because right now, I can say that, simply enough and for whatever reason, it's just not my country. It's not "home". It's familiar, but not home. But that's not why I left when I did -- I left and came to Cambodia because someone asked me to come here and teach. 

And so I did, and that's that. It's just that living abroad has agreed with me, and now I can put words to it. 

It's not always easy. I'm quite convinced that "cultural DNA" is a thing. I spent my childhood -- a very, very impressionable time -- in America. All of my cultural references, societal rules, history, background, etc, was programmed into me from birth to adolescence. In Cambodia, there are very few common "genes". It's the West, not the East, third world, not first, and those are just the big labels. 

As you can see from the progression of posts on this blog, sometimes I don't understand, sometimes I really have no clue why I'm here, sometimes I feel like an unwelcome and unneeded observer, sometimes I'm ready to pull all my savings from the bank, buy a one-way ticket to wherever I can afford, and flee. Some days it's just too far and my family is gone and I'm alone on the other side of the world.

And on the other side, sometimes everything is so rewarding, sometimes I'm accepted and welcomed more than I can believe, sometimes I just can't imagine leaving.

It's a choice I make, every day, and when things go wrong, I always make myself wait at least a couple days. Talk to a friend or two. Just keep living, day by day, and I never regret it.

Sometime last year, I was talking to another friend, who said that people like us who travel a lot and live elsewhere start to belong nowhere. It's true, in a sense. I no longer belong in America, but nor do I belong here. Even in France, the place where I've felt more at home more than anywhere else in the world, I don't belong fully.

But I look at it differently. Now, these days, I belong everywhere.

For me, that's enough. 

A random collection of thoughts for a Saturday morning

Because I can't think of anything else to blog about and because I sort of want to pretend like I still update and run a blog.

Actually, I'm just not finding words easily these days. My journal notebook is busy collecting dust and I haven't dared to write anything remotely poetic recently for lack of anything poetic to say. In short, all my usual methods of pulling crap out of my brain in order to clear it up have not been working so well. Maybe that's why I can't sleep properly right now, and my dreams are insane, night-long epics that vanish in the daylight.

Okay it's not that bad, really, but I have noticed it.

Anyway, so here are your Random Thoughts for a Saturday morning:

1: In English, you have six question words: Who, what, when, where, how, and why. And then you have these: Someone (who), somewhat, sometime (when), somewhere, and somehow, but there is no somewhy. Why is that??

2: Even my doodles aren't as crazy as usual. My brain, last night:

3: People ask me a lot what's the craziest thing I've seen on a motorbike in Cambodia. But you know, that's an old story -- 4 people, a baby, and a stock of something, or a pile of half-alive chickens hanging from their ankles, or an entire pig, or an enormous bundle of bamboo, or a few hundred cartons of instant noodles. Yes, everyone sees that. 

But the weirdest thing I've seen in Cambodia is a random carnival ride on the side of the National Road. It was one of those things that's like a carousel but the horses are actually suspended off the ground and kind of fly out to the side when it spins. It was literally just on the side of the road one night when I was driving to CTN, with a couple of people riding it -- and next to it was a smaller version, for the kids I guess. A couple weeks later, it was gone. 

But how does that happen??!!! Those things are big, they can't just fit on a motorcycle. Where the crap did it come from, how did it get there, and how did it go away so fast???? 

I don't understand. 

Ponder that on your Saturday, my friends. 

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.)

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!

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....