Back Home

I've been putting off this post mostly because lately, I've been too scatterbrained to hold a single thought in my head for more than a few seconds. Being back home hasn't been as much of a shock as I was expecting it to be, but now that I've been home for over a week, my new mindset is starting to become quite clear to me.

The past week has mostly been spent babysitting my brother's new Rottweiler puppy and my old dog, Soda. Since I can't really focus on reading or drawing like I normally would, it has been tough finding things to occupy my mind or even time. I think the hardest part has been the feeling that the past nine months were merely a dream. Since my current surroundings are so familiar to me, it feels like I never left.

When I drove my car for the first time it felt like I was 16 again, but within minutes driving felt normal. I learned to live without a lot of  the snacks I used to find essential to life, so I haven't been craving certain foods as much as I thought I would. The expectations I set for coming home were so grand and spectacular that when reality set in, I felt and still feel disappointed.

My sense of time is distorted because of the absolute shit weather, but it finally appears to be getting better. Between the cold and all the dead trees I keep feeling like it's November or December. Whenever I text my friends I still operate under the assumption they won't see it for another eight hours.

Playing the drums has probably been my most effective therapy for boredom and the feeling of being lost. Yesterday I learned how to play the beat to Taylor Swift's "Shake it Off." One thing I've noticed is how much friendlier people in Cambodia were. I would constantly smile at strangers and receive one in return, but here I don't dare. People look away as soon as eye contact is made.

My biggest hope is to keep my experience close with me as I continue my journey through life. I'd rather not get sucked back into the hyper-competitiveness and selfishness that I think American culture perpetuates. Don't get me wrong I will always love this country, but I no longer view it as perfect as I once did.

I'm already planning my next overseas journey and I hope to have countless more. When I'm old and decrepit, sipping lemonade in my rocker on the porch, I hope to inspire others to travel the world and open their minds. 

Happy Birthday Dave

Awhile back in the month of November, I met who is now my closest friend in Cambodia, Dave. When we found out we were from towns a mere 20 minutes apart, there was an instant connection and within a few weeks we were losing our tarantula-and-scorpion-eating-virginities at Bugs Cafe.

Today is Dave's 60th birthday, and we decided to celebrate last night by going to the first place we met for drinks, a Mexican Place called Maybe Later. While I had no idea what to get him, I decided a cake would be the best gift. I went to the bakery across the street from Joe to Go and picked out a small chocolate cake with HAPPY BIRTHDAY held firmly in place by a creamy layer of frosting. The woman at the counter then said, "Name?" and I proceeded to write down my name on a tiny slip of paper.

When the bakery was finished boxing my cake, I left to retrieve my bicycle which was parked at Joe to Go. A few of the staff members were gathered around my bike, wondering if the cake was possibly for them. Leak, one of the waitresses, looks into the tiny plastic window of the box and asks, "For you?" I then looked into the box as if there was a severed head inside and realized they put MY name on the cake. Turns out the woman wanted the name of the birthday cake recipient. I figured it would be a funny blunder and decided to roll with it.

I tied the cake to the back of my bicycle in bitch black darkness, with nothing but my phone light to illuminate the night. I could see and feel the mosquitoes swarming around, so I quickly fastened the cake to my bike rack with a pillowcase I rolled into a makeshift rope. Once fastened, the cake seemed like it wasn't going to be flung off, but I couldn't help but worry the entire ride that I was going to drop the cake. A cake with the wrong name is funny, but a flattened cake with the wrong name is just depressing.

Luckily I made it to Maybe Later with no issues, and Dave rolled up as I was untying the pillowcase. We sat down and I told him that he would laugh when he saw it, and before we knew it we were engaged in a very interesting conversation with the people sitting next to us; the owner, Will, and a random woman, Lilly, who came for dinner. I would need another blog post to describe Will, as his backstory is extremely complicated yet fascinating. To make a long story short, he came to Cambodia to right his father's wrongs, as his father was stationed in Cambodia during the Vietnam War.

Maybe Later is a restaurant where every employee is an artist, and the point of the operation is to rebuild the art community within Siem Reap. Every inch of the walls are painted with beautiful imagery of skeletons sharing drinks, cactus-es, and other south-of-the-border imagery.

Lilly was a graduate student studying anesthesia, and her humor and frequent cursing provided an energetic dynamic to the conversation. We talked about the hospitals in Cambodia, whether drummers were good in bed, and golf ball sized kidney stones. After she decided to call it a night, I brought out the mislabeled cake.

I explained how I misunderstood the woman at the bakery, and as I expected, Dave and Will thought it was hilarious. Will had a lighter on hand and began lighting the candles, and shouted, "We need birthday singers!!" Dave literally pulled his shirt over his head while we all sung happy birthday, and he wished that no one would ever sing him happy birthday again.

Once the singing was done and candles out, we decided to give each staff member a piece of the cake. All the cooks came out with grins from ear to ear, and I could see the appreciation in their eyes as I handed each one of them a piece of the cake. Will must have expressed his gratitude for what we did a hundred times, as he was beyond thrilled to see his staff sitting together and enjoying some delicious birthday cake.

It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling as well to make so many people happy in one night, and I was more than glad I picked Maybe Later to be our restaurant of choice. One of the artists had me write my name down as he is going to create a graffiti piece for me, and I can't wait to go back and see what he did. It turns out that a cake was the best present I could have given Dave, as it brought an entire restaurant together for the celebration.

Souvenirs

As a souvenir guy, I usually spend the first part of a trip obsessing over which trinkets and objects will make the best souvenirs to bring home. This obsession with souvenirs is so pronounced in fact, that most of my gifts for family and friends were picked out and purchased within the first month of me being here. Over the course of my adventure, my view of souvenirs has changed quite drastically, but I am sure as hell happy I got the shopping out of the way early.

I've realized the best souvenirs are not the ones you buy in little shops at the night market or on the side of the road, but the items you carry with you every single day. Maybe it's an ID card you hung around your neck at all times, or a journal you've poured your thoughts into day in and day out. Seemingly trivial items that weren't intended to be souvenirs are the best souvenirs out there, and for me, these items will be my most cherished trinkets.

The copy of First They Killed My Father (which I finally started) that I purchased from a land-mine victim, the hilariously adorable drawings of "Teacher Dan," and the trove of videos I shot will all be precious mementos that will transport me back here, whenever I decide to free them from whatever storage bin they will surely end up in.

I must say even with my new take on souvenirs, there is one souvenir that I will always proudly display. And that souvenir is a Royal Selangor Pewter statue of beloved Star Wars villain, Boba Fett. Most of the souvenirs I bought for myself will end up as gifts for others, as I've realized more stuff is the antithesis of happiness. In my opinion, learning to live with less and appreciating one's relationships and surroundings is the key to a happy and fulfilling life.

BioLab

Part of my routine consists of visiting a small co-working space by the name of BioLab. It's a cozy environment in which I read the news, draw, or work on things for TGC. I have now been coming to BioLab for seven months, and I've witnessed the establishment undergo a mountain of changes within a relatively short amount of time.  

One of the main walls used to be open, with only a few boards separating customers from the elements. Whenever it rained, everything (including customers) would receive a wet sloppy kiss from Mother Nature. I would sometimes see people frantically scrambling to move their laptops and meals before they met the Cambodian monsoon. All new chairs with cushions now stand in the place of the old unforgiving chairs, which would require you to get up and walk around if you were there for any more than an hour. 

The biggest change however was the staff. The entire staff, with the exception of maybe one person and the owner, has changed over twice. Whenever I come to BioLab I almost expect to see a new face, as it seems new staff members come and go on a regular basis. Like myself, there are quite a few other regulars of BioLab, that I usually see whenever I'm there. But they too, have changed.

A tall, thin woman who I presume is European and a slightly heavyset French guy were at BioLab virtually every single time I was during the early days. As of late, whenever I come in for dinner it is a ghost town. With no signs of my European friends. If anything it was a clear indication that I had been here longer than I normally feel I have been, but today something interesting happened. 

The French guy, the tall thin woman, and even a former staff member were all here at the same time. It felt like a little BioLab reunion, just as I'm approaching the final months. As I approach April, I am starting to appreciate things that once bothered or aggravated me. I left school this evening just as all the other schools were letting out, and I was caught in a massive traffic jam of little children, cars and motobikes. 

Instead of wanting to run down everyone in my path, I wanted the jam to last longer. I admired all the children in their white and blue school uniforms, walking conjointly through all the chaos. I laughed as I raced other motorists within inches of me through the ever-changing maze of people. And I took a moment to appreciate how all of this was unfolding in the orange glow of the Cambodian sunset. I cannot yet tell you what exactly I'll miss about Cambodia when I'm gone, but the free-for-all commutes will surely be on the list. 

The Whirlwind

Now that there are only a couple short months left to be spent in Cambodia, the whirlwind of emotions has officially risen over the horizon and is barreling straight for me. Re-acclimating to my life at home, leaving behind the many relationships I have forged, and trying to get past the electronic resume gatekeepers have all been keeping me awake at night as of late. As much as I tell myself to just enjoy the remaining two months I have, I can't help but search for jobs or worry about how that moment will feel walking into my house for the first time in nearly a year.

For most of my life, I have always known what's next to come. When I graduated high school, I knew college was the next step. When I graduated college, I knew I would be traveling to Cambodia. When I leave Cambodia however, I don't know what's next. It is as liberating as it is terrifying. The fact the next chapter has not been written gives me enormous freedom, but as anyone who has ever perused a large menu knows, too many options can be extremely overwhelming.

When people told me this experience would go by fast, I never envisioned it would feel this fast, but now I am beginning to feel as if I have been gone for years. My little brother just adopted a new puppy, and I'm missing out on all the interactions between him and our older dog (whom I miss terribly). By the time I get home he'll be three times bigger than he was in the first videos I saw of him. Major changes like this make me feel like I've been gone longer than I have, and I have to face the fact that life goes on with, or without you.

Children as Bosses

Six months as an English and art teacher have made me realize something. While I formally answer to the executive director Judy, or Principal Dara, I mostly answer to the kids. As a teacher, my professional bosses are those that manage the school, but I would argue that my true bosses are my students. Without my students, I'm out of a job, much like a celebrity is nothing without his or her fans. The students have the power to turn a class into a power-hour jam packed with learning and fun; or an excruciating hour of headaches and frustration during which the clock seems to be frozen in time.

This dynamic became especially clear to me today when one of the students asked me to sign her name on the social program sign-up sheet, since karate class was about to start. One of the other students noticed I was signing her up, and asked me if I would be joining. After starting my digital art class, I am at the school seven days a week, and was greatly looking forward to the public holiday during which the social program would be held.

Instead of giving her an excuse, I told her the truth that I was planning on using that day for relaxing. Upset, she repeatedly yelled "You don't want to join with us!" as she stormed out the front door. From this little encounter I learned something about children. They don't give a shit about your problems. Not one. They don't care if you're sick. If you're tired. If you work seven days a week or even eight for that matter. Kids lack the experience necessary to understand things from an adult's point of view, and generally lack appreciation.

No matter what Sydney and I do for them, it never feels like enough. The kids don't realize how much work went into acquiring the computers for the digital art lab, so it can be aggravating when they complain about them being a tad slow, or when I catch one of them watching YouTube. The lack of appreciation at times can be difficult, as the kids just want more, more, and more.

As I left the school this morning the last thing I remember was that girl's disappointed eyes looking back at me, trying to figure out why I said I wouldn't be joining on Wednesday. So now I am torn. Do I stay at home and enjoy what will effectively be my last day off until April, or spend it with a bunch of yelling screaming kids I see every single day? Either way, I hope my bosses don't fire me.

Phsar Leu Market Photos

Catch a glimpse of a real, authentic Cambodian market. Complete with severed pig heads and runaway fish!

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1TaN3LW1EC8Gy1noMls_TEQ8Um2cabStj

From Russia with Love

When I was embarking on my return trip to Siem Reap from South Korea, I expected a smooth ride back without any delays or problems. The standard airport procedure is all I thought I would have to suffer through. Check-in lines, security lines, boarding lines, take-off, landing. The usual stuff. Little did I know this would be the worst travel experience of my entire life. But, along the way, some silver linings managed to reveal themselves in the midst of this holiday storm. 

I arrived at Incheon Airport in Seoul three hours before my plane was supposed to take off, but instead of checking in early, I would be waiting in line for the full three hours. The check-in line snaked around multiple check-in areas and was comprised of hundreds of irritated travelers. When I first walked through the airport doors I was flabbergasted by the sheer amount of people waiting to simply check-in. 

The line was so long it had to be broken up multiple times to prevent foot traffic congestion. The look on peoples' faces when they realized the true length of the line they were about to become prisoner to, was that of sheer frustration and amazement. People were blaming the airport staff, when in reality they had absolutely nothing to do with the rampant delays. Luckily my friend Sam was there to wait with me, so standing in line wasn't as terrible as it could have been. 

As we were about to approach the check-in desk, we were shuffled around to a new line. And then another line after that! A man with a laptop came up to me and Sam (speaking Korean) and told us that my transfer flight would be taking off a mere hour after my first flight landed. I figured I could make it work, so I agreed to keep the current schedule. After we finally made our way through the line, I said my goodbyes to Sam and I went to security. 

The security lines were somehow not nearly as long as the check-in lines, and I began to wonder where the hell all those people before me went. The lines were moving relatively fast, so before I knew it I was waiting at the gate. When I got on the plane I thought to myself that half the journey back was nearly over. And then we sat on the runaway for over an hour...

This inexplicable delay caused me to miss my transfer flight, which set the course for the return trip from hell. During this adventure of mine I had come down with a terrible headache and body fatigue. I had no appetite, and could barely get myself to eat a simple granola bar. I was now in Shanghai, fully prepared to spend the night in the airport as I had to wait over twelve hours for my next flight. 

I happened to look down at another passenger's ticket to see if they were also heading to Siem Reap, and sure enough the flight number and destination matched mine. I took a mental note of this family, whose accents led me to the conclusion they were Russian. 

After searching aimlessly for my next location in the gargantuan Shanghai airport, I ended up outside what I thought to be my check-in area. My next mission was to find WiFi, as I had to tell my boss that I would be arriving a day late. As it turns out, you need a Chinese phone number to access the WiFi at airports. I learned this after going to multiple cafes and buying items I couldn't eat to try and access their WiFi. I even asked a Chinese stock trader if I could use his computer to send an email, but I couldn't access Gmail. 

Feeling as if my sickness had reached its peak, I slowly made the trek back to my check-in area and sat down defeated. I was afraid to leave the airport, as I didn't want to get lost and miss another flight. All I could think about was getting back to Siem Reap, and if I ever would. I used my "before I know it" tactic and sure enough, here I am weeks later writing about the experience, but in the moment it felt as if I would never make it back. 

Earlier in the night I tried waiting for a taxi that was supposed to take me to a hotel. Unprepared for the weather, I waited in the blistering cold with nothing but a sweatshirt and cargo pants for about half an hour. When the taxi still didn't show up, I gave up and went back inside. I was now committed to staying in the airport, until an airport employee with just enough English to communicate with me saw my sullen face. After a long debate about how I didn't want to pay for a hotel or leave the airport, I reluctantly agreed to take his shuttle to a hotel. 

The shuttle arrived within minutes, and I hopped on this tiny bus with the only spoken language being Chinese. As the bus drove further and further away from the airport my stressed-out mind started to wonder if I was being kidnapped, or taken somewhere where I'd never see my family or friends again. As we pulled onto this road covered with garbage and rubble alongside a river, I thought for sure my fears were not just paranoid delusions. But as we rounded the corner, the hotel's glow filled me with a sense of safety and security. 

When I got inside I was able to message my boss and alert him to the fact I would be arriving a day late. One of the hotel employees brought me to my room, where I instantly froze. The windows were left wide open, leaving the room and bed encapsulated in a frigid night air that would last until morning. I downed some NyQuil, and went to bed fully clothed, trying my best to get warm. 

I woke up several times throughout the night, but eventually made it to morning, where a return shuttle was waiting to take me and several other travelers back to the airport. Things started to turn around, as I made it back to my check-in area I was so reluctant to leave. The bus driver tried asking me in Chinese which terminal I was supposed at, and I couldn't answer. I just hoped miraculously I was in the right place. I nervously waited in the check-in line with nothing but my passport and an odd piece of paper I had received the night before, supposedly stating I was all set to take the next flight. 

The woman working the check-in counter gave me some interesting looks, which led me to believe I wasn't getting on the next flight. But sure enough, I got my boarding pass and rushed to the boarding gate before something bad could happen. It was here I was greeted by the Russian family I had met previously. This was such a sign of relief, as I knew we were headed to the same place, and the fact we were at the same gate confirmed I was where I was supposed to be. The family consisted of a father (a bear of a man with a thick Russian accent), a mother, and young daughter. The daughter wore these bright pink rain boots that would become a comforting signal that I was in the company of people with a common goal -- to make it to Siem Reap! 

After we boarded the flight and took off, the man next to me started making conversation. He resembled my college art professor, Fernando, to a startling degree, so I found it easy to converse with him despite the language barrier. I showed him pictures of my students in Cambodia and was able to make a new friend on the short ride. When the plane landed, I was fully prepared to wait another eight or so hours for the next flight, but my new Russian friends luckily saved the day. 

When I got off the plane I came to a fork in the road. Left for transfers, and right for domestic arrivals. Since the flight was domestic, I thought maybe I should go right. But then again, I am transferring eventually, so maybe I should go left. By the grace of the airport gods I chose left, and walked up the ramp into the airport. I was fully under the impression I had to wait for my next flight which wasn't scheduled to depart much later in the day. The Russian woman then tried to explain to me that we were supposed to get back on the plane we just left, and then we would wait the five hours for the final flight. 

Confused and unsure, I decided to just go along with it, and had I not, who knows how much longer I would have been stuck in China. Sure enough they were right, and I had only one more flight to go. The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful, with the only notable occurrence being the desperate attempts by one amazing mother to sooth her daughter's popping ears. Unfortunately when I landed in Siem Reap, I lost track of the Russian family before I could say my goodbyes. I was eager to get back in my own bed, so I left without sticking around for too long. 

The experience proved to me yet again the power of the common thread. The common thread transcends all barriers, including the formidable barrier of language. I found the experience rather comical considering the recent investigation into President Trump. But current political events and international relations matter not on an interpersonal level (at least in my experience). Especially with the intervention of a common thread. Without their help, I most likely would have been stuck in China another day, maybe two. All I can say is that I am grateful for having crossed paths with this family, and that I will forever seek the common thread in strangers I meet throughout my travels. 

Whether it be a common destination, university, or hometown; the common thread can turn an ordinary crossing of paths into a strong, forever-lasting bond. 

Digital Art Lab

Eight months after its initial inception, the idea for my digital art lab finally blossomed into a full-fledged program with schedules, time slots, computers and regulations. The project was a true test of grit and persistence, as there were many hurdles I had to clear in order to get to the finish line.

The idea originally popped into my head back in May, when I was taking Real and Recorded Time; a time-based art course taught by Fernando Orellana (to any Union students reading this, I highly recommend taking one of his courses). When I learned of the news that the digital art lab at Union would be receiving a total makeover in the coming year, the idea instantly came to me that the current computers could be used to create a digital art lab in Cambodia.

I became overly excited by the idea, and was soon having meetings with Fernando and the Chief Information Officer of Union. Everything was slowly falling into place. The idea was gaining traction, and I was able to secure the computers that were being replaced. While everything was moving along swimmingly, I would soon hit a snag.

Fernando came over to me one class and broke the news that the computers were being held by the department, as they have first dibs over where old equipment is allocated. Looking back he seemed more devastated than I was, because all I could think of was how to get the computers another way. Dwelling on the fact my first option gave through would be of no help.

I broke the news to the director of The Global Child and we figured the best way to acquire the computers for the new lab would be to purchase the computers in Cambodia, to avoid the astronomical costs of shipping. I didn't realize at first that this method would require a lot, and I mean a lot, of waiting. After several months of logistical coordination and talks with TGC's computer teacher, we received the donation we were waiting for and purchased our machines.

Thank god I had a native speaker with me at the store, as I don't think I would have navigated the conversation well on my own. A few minor issues came up with the computers once we made our deposit. First, the computers I decided to buy were falsely advertised, and it would cost an additional $45 per machine to upgrade the necessary components. Luckily, they upgraded the machines without charge in the end.

The machines were also supposed to come pre-installed with the Adobe products (a common luxury in Cambodia), but alas the store forgot. Someone had to be sent in after the fact, but once they came and went the computers were ready as ever to start creating. But my work was far from over.

My next challenge was deciding on who to let into the course, and when the class sessions would be held. Being the person that I am, I wanted to include as many students as possible, which meant each student would unfortunately get less time with the computers. I ultimately decided on letting any interested students in grade 12 take the class, since this would be their last year with me, and at TGC.

As for the two younger grades, grade 6 was not permitted to take the course as it would have been impossible for me to explain anything to them. Grade 9 students were allowed to take the course given they did not fail a class in the past month, and I opened up 3 sessions for staff members. In total, 20 people signed up for the class, and I neatly organized everyone into one or two of ten possible sessions a week. Part of me is kicking myself in the ass, as I have now added 10 extra hours of class a week to my already packed English class schedule.

But as of now, the class is running at full capacity and everyone seems to be having fun. One interesting observation is how much faster kids learn than adults. In the staff classes, I have had to walk them through literally every step of the way, whereas the kids seem to pick things up on their own. I was having a one on one class with one of the staff members the other day, and it took me an hour and a half to show them how to make a simple house. The same house would've taken the kids about 20 minutes I'd guess.

The class gave me a glimpse into how plastic the brain of a child is, and how rigid the brain of an adult is. This also became apparent to me when I gave English classes to the staff at Joe to Go. It is much harder to teach things to an adult than to a child, as an adult's brain has already finished developing and its neural pathways resemble paved road. A child can easily wander off the beaten path and create new associations freely. I am excited to see what my students will create in the next few months, as I am now racing against the clock to teach the material I have worked so hard to bring to TGC.