Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Sunday, December 17, 2017
What I Learned From Riding my Bike
Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to learn how to ride my bike without holding the handlebars. Whenever I saw another kid riding their bike with no hands, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world, and if I learned, I would be cool too. There was one problem though. Whenever I let go of the handlebars, I would instantly lose my balance, and would latch back on to the bars. Frustrated, I gave up the pursuit and rode around like a normal kid. Looking like a dork who used the handlebars.
Fast forward to now, and I can ride a bike with no hands. I even have the ability to take turns without holding anything. I feel like I am one with my bicycle, and only through practice was I able to learn how. I would let go of my handlebars for one second. Reset. Another second. Reset. Next time two seconds. Reset. Until I was riding down the street and able to reset when I wanted to.
This experience taught me a little something about persistence, and the widely known idiom, "practice makes perfect." As a child I was never very persistent. I would give up if the task did not come naturally to me, but I have learned that anything worthwhile takes time and effort to master. In this case, it was riding a bike with no hands. I've learned that if you want to learn a new skill or talent, all it takes is time and practice, and you will be able to do it.
Walking on my hands, playing the drums, drawing, twirling drumsticks, using Premiere Pro; these are all things I wanted to learn how to do, but the only way to learn them would be to practice. Over and over again. I think it all starts with a mindset. Instead of thinking "this is impossible," or "I'll never be able to do this;" it is better to think in terms of "I may not be able to do this today, or even tomorrow, but eventually I will."
Right now I am working on a video project for TGC, and I need to learn how to use Premiere Pro in order to finish the project. As anyone who has ever used Premiere Pro probably remembers, Premiere is an extremely intimidating and daunting program at first glance. But instead of letting that discourage me, I just think that within a month's time, I'll be using the program like a pro. And the same philosophy can be applied to just about anything. You just need to be willing to invest the time, and effort.
This may all sound obvious but I feel too often we get discouraged by things we don't know how to do. But by the laws of nature the more you do something, the better you will become. We just need to find the will to be persistent in our endeavors, and to keep picking up that guitar or skateboard or whatever else it may be.
Fast forward to now, and I can ride a bike with no hands. I even have the ability to take turns without holding anything. I feel like I am one with my bicycle, and only through practice was I able to learn how. I would let go of my handlebars for one second. Reset. Another second. Reset. Next time two seconds. Reset. Until I was riding down the street and able to reset when I wanted to.
This experience taught me a little something about persistence, and the widely known idiom, "practice makes perfect." As a child I was never very persistent. I would give up if the task did not come naturally to me, but I have learned that anything worthwhile takes time and effort to master. In this case, it was riding a bike with no hands. I've learned that if you want to learn a new skill or talent, all it takes is time and practice, and you will be able to do it.
Walking on my hands, playing the drums, drawing, twirling drumsticks, using Premiere Pro; these are all things I wanted to learn how to do, but the only way to learn them would be to practice. Over and over again. I think it all starts with a mindset. Instead of thinking "this is impossible," or "I'll never be able to do this;" it is better to think in terms of "I may not be able to do this today, or even tomorrow, but eventually I will."
Right now I am working on a video project for TGC, and I need to learn how to use Premiere Pro in order to finish the project. As anyone who has ever used Premiere Pro probably remembers, Premiere is an extremely intimidating and daunting program at first glance. But instead of letting that discourage me, I just think that within a month's time, I'll be using the program like a pro. And the same philosophy can be applied to just about anything. You just need to be willing to invest the time, and effort.
This may all sound obvious but I feel too often we get discouraged by things we don't know how to do. But by the laws of nature the more you do something, the better you will become. We just need to find the will to be persistent in our endeavors, and to keep picking up that guitar or skateboard or whatever else it may be.
Monday, December 4, 2017
On the Short Story Written by My Brain
About a fortnight ago, I had what is now the third installment of a recurring dream. Rather, the theme is recurring, and the content changes ever so slightly with each iteration. In each subsequent chapter, my dream-self is aware the previous dream took place, and the story slowly develops whenever my brain decides to write a new chapter.
The first chapter started off with a POV shot of me in my Mazda 3, shifting rapidly through the gears as I reflected on how fast my fellowship passed by. When I woke up, it took me a moment to discern my dream from reality, as this dream will soon manifest itself into reality.
The next chapter was nearly identical, except for the fact I knew I had dreamt the previous car scene. In the second chapter I was fully aware of the fact I had a previous dream about being in my Mazda, reflecting once again how fast my time in Cambodia passed me by. It felt even more realistic as I was at home, thinking to myself the dream had become reality. But alas, I woke up.
The third (and currently final) chapter in this book of dreams was unique in the sense there was no Mazda; yet I knew of the times I had dreamt about it. I was walking around a surreal, dreamlike version of home, filled with the desire to drive my Mazda and live out the dream I had had what felt like many times before. I'm excited to see what the next chapter will bring, as there is nothing quite like a dream you are sure will come true.
It is hard to wrap my mind around the fact I am past the halfway mark. In my mental timeline, December is the end of an era, and January will start anew. At the time of this writing it is December 4th...and I still cannot grapple with the fact the fellowship will be over in a few short months. The adjustment period is long over, and there is nothing left but to do as much as we can with the strong footing Sydney and I now have.
I realized that many of the things I abhor about Cambodia, I will miss when I return to the states. Instead of complaining about the communication issues that simply wouldn't happen back home, I laugh. I laugh because they won't be there when I go home. There are many situations which are irritating in the moment, but if you just take a second and think about its impact a week, or even two hours later, you can laugh rather than get upset. If you stub your toe now, a week later you won't even remember it happened. And if you do, you'll most likely get a nice chuckle out of it.
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Black Mirror
If you've never seen the Netflix original series, Black Mirror, I suggest you go and give it a try right now (after reading this blog post of course). Put simply, the show is about the dark side of technology, set in a world not too far from our own. The show gets its name from the black screens of phones and televisions that resemble a mirror when turned off.
One of my goals during the fellowship was to break away from technology, or at the very least, my phone. I have always prided myself with being below average in terms of phone addiction, yet I still fall victim to checking it during inappropriate times. Accessible WiFi and internet cafes have made it extremely easy to keep my device connected, and part of me wished the opposite were true. A recent trip down a YouTube rabbit hole led me to some interesting talks by Simon Sinek, who discussed the problem of modern cellular use in depth.
The attention problem is just as pervasive in Cambodia as it is in America. Whenever I go to a restaurant, I can place a hefty bet that when I look to my right or left, someone is going to be on their phone. The worst is when a group of two, three or even more are all on their phones. It makes you wonder what the point of going out together was in the first place. Cambodia is still playing catch-up in terms of the technological game, but in a matter of a few short years Facebook has already captured the attention of Cambodia's youth. People always seem to be checking their digital selves in the black mirror.
Since arriving in Cambodia, I have been extensively working at improving my artistic abilities. For the past three months, I've made sure to draw, or simply create every single day. For "a small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labors of a spasmodic Hercules." - Anthony Trollope. In order to inspire and cultivate creativity for my artistic endeavors, I need to allow for an incubation period, or a period of time for all my thoughts to come together in new and interesting ways. If I am constantly bombarding my brain with new information via a Facebook feed or other digital nonsense, there is no incubation period. There is no creativity.
In describing how his brilliant mind worked, Albert Einstein cited "combinatory play," or the blending of various ideas and disciplines into brand new ideas which were greater than the sum of its parts. This combinatory play however, required an incubation period, an allowance of oneself to be bored for a change, in order to produce meaningful ideas. In today's world we never allow ourselves to be bored, and because of this we lose sight of what's going on right in front of us. We don't give our minds a chance to make sense of the millions of stimuli we encounter on a daily basis.
I have been working on creating a personal logo for myself, and the process has been challenging. I had a breakthrough however, when I decided not to take my phone into the bathroom while I conducted my business. Having nothing to do except think, the idea for a logo I actually liked came to me in the moment, after I stared down at my watch and took a careful look at its intricate design.
This idea of work and creativity brings me to my next point, flow. Flow is the state of mind when you're simply "crushing work." Ideas are coursing through your neural networks, you're typing at 100 words a minute, you're laser focused, this is flow. In other words, you're "in the zone." But whenever we see that little banner pop up or feel the buzz of a new message, our flow is ebbed, and it can be near impossible to get it back on track. A simple solution is to just put the phone away.
As of late I have been extra cautious of my phone usage. I never take it our during meals with others. I leave it behind when the situation doesn't call for it. And I allow myself time to be bored. I look out into the world and see what is happening right in front of me. I believe the issue of phone addiction is deeper than just addiction.
In our digital world we have an unwritten social rule that you need to respond immediately to everything, which keeps us shackled to our devices. More and more people are answering emails off the clock and are distracting themselves from real-life conversations with digital ones. The world is simultaneously more connected than it has ever been, and more divided than it has ever been.
So this Thanksgiving, put those phones away, and talk to the people around you. Don't worry about that email or text message, it can wait. The people surrounding you on Thanksgiving are the only ones that truly matter. Take it from someone who is 8,000 miles away from the people who truly matter.
One of my goals during the fellowship was to break away from technology, or at the very least, my phone. I have always prided myself with being below average in terms of phone addiction, yet I still fall victim to checking it during inappropriate times. Accessible WiFi and internet cafes have made it extremely easy to keep my device connected, and part of me wished the opposite were true. A recent trip down a YouTube rabbit hole led me to some interesting talks by Simon Sinek, who discussed the problem of modern cellular use in depth.
The attention problem is just as pervasive in Cambodia as it is in America. Whenever I go to a restaurant, I can place a hefty bet that when I look to my right or left, someone is going to be on their phone. The worst is when a group of two, three or even more are all on their phones. It makes you wonder what the point of going out together was in the first place. Cambodia is still playing catch-up in terms of the technological game, but in a matter of a few short years Facebook has already captured the attention of Cambodia's youth. People always seem to be checking their digital selves in the black mirror.
Since arriving in Cambodia, I have been extensively working at improving my artistic abilities. For the past three months, I've made sure to draw, or simply create every single day. For "a small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labors of a spasmodic Hercules." - Anthony Trollope. In order to inspire and cultivate creativity for my artistic endeavors, I need to allow for an incubation period, or a period of time for all my thoughts to come together in new and interesting ways. If I am constantly bombarding my brain with new information via a Facebook feed or other digital nonsense, there is no incubation period. There is no creativity.
In describing how his brilliant mind worked, Albert Einstein cited "combinatory play," or the blending of various ideas and disciplines into brand new ideas which were greater than the sum of its parts. This combinatory play however, required an incubation period, an allowance of oneself to be bored for a change, in order to produce meaningful ideas. In today's world we never allow ourselves to be bored, and because of this we lose sight of what's going on right in front of us. We don't give our minds a chance to make sense of the millions of stimuli we encounter on a daily basis.
I have been working on creating a personal logo for myself, and the process has been challenging. I had a breakthrough however, when I decided not to take my phone into the bathroom while I conducted my business. Having nothing to do except think, the idea for a logo I actually liked came to me in the moment, after I stared down at my watch and took a careful look at its intricate design.
This idea of work and creativity brings me to my next point, flow. Flow is the state of mind when you're simply "crushing work." Ideas are coursing through your neural networks, you're typing at 100 words a minute, you're laser focused, this is flow. In other words, you're "in the zone." But whenever we see that little banner pop up or feel the buzz of a new message, our flow is ebbed, and it can be near impossible to get it back on track. A simple solution is to just put the phone away.
As of late I have been extra cautious of my phone usage. I never take it our during meals with others. I leave it behind when the situation doesn't call for it. And I allow myself time to be bored. I look out into the world and see what is happening right in front of me. I believe the issue of phone addiction is deeper than just addiction.
In our digital world we have an unwritten social rule that you need to respond immediately to everything, which keeps us shackled to our devices. More and more people are answering emails off the clock and are distracting themselves from real-life conversations with digital ones. The world is simultaneously more connected than it has ever been, and more divided than it has ever been.
So this Thanksgiving, put those phones away, and talk to the people around you. Don't worry about that email or text message, it can wait. The people surrounding you on Thanksgiving are the only ones that truly matter. Take it from someone who is 8,000 miles away from the people who truly matter.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Tarantulas and To-do Lists
While I was still at home preparing to be shipped off to Siem Reap, I loved telling people that I was going to try a fried tarantula; a sick twisted idea to most Americans, but a delicacy to most Cambodians. Something about those disgusted reactions made me feel all tingly inside because I was willing to try something they weren't. I've played the scenario over and over again in my head. I see the crispy eight-legged creature and think, "oh that's gross," and then immediately dive right into that juicy thorax. But holy shit, actually seeing this "delicacy" in person is far more intimidating than I ever could have imagined. I have never been so afraid to put something edible into my mouth. And I use the term "edible" lightly.
I recently mentioned how I met another American, from Saratoga nonetheless, and he would be accompanying me on my other-worldly dining experience. We went to the Bugs Cafe, a semi-famous restaurant that serves tarantulas, scorpions, water bugs, crickets, and even bee larvae. For the first time in my life, I was actually nervous to try the restaurant's food. It took awhile to decide what to order (it all sounded so good...), but eventually we both settled on a fried tarantula and scorpion.
For what seemed like an eternity, we waited while our specimens were prepared in the kitchen only feet behind us. I could see the glow of the flames on the wall in front of me and could hear the sizzling and searing of different creatures. Part of me wanted to get it over with, while another part of me wanted to savor the moment. When our meals finally came out, the task ahead suddenly seemed much more difficult than the scenario I had played on repeat in my head.
We just stared at our plates. I'm not sure what we were waiting for, maybe a reason not to eat what was in front of us, so we welcomed the owner's offer to explain exactly what we had gotten ourselves into. With a sophisticated French accent, the owner explained how all the poisonous parts were removed (only 2 people have died), and which parts of the arachnids were the best, and worst. Once we competed our crash course, there was nothing standing between us and our plates.
For whatever reason, I decided to go with the scorpion first. I thought the tarantula was more intimidating, so I thought the scorpion would be a nice warm-up. I started by tearing off one of its pincers, and chomped down with some onion to provide a sense of comfort. The pincer was the crunchiest thing I had ever eaten, and it sorta felt like I was eating a hollow M&M that just wouldn't break. Once the pincers were finished (luckily there were only two), I moved on to the body. The scorpion's exoskeleton gave me another crunchy experience, but not nearly as crunchy as the pincers. I tried my best not to look inside, but I couldn't help myself.
The crunchy exterior was home to a stringy brown paste, and it tasted just as good as it looked. I cannot describe how it tasted, as there is nothing I can compare it to, but I imagine it was my first taste of something "gamey." As I was finishing the scorpion I could not wait until it was gone, and upon finishing I took a big swig of my beer while trying to keep it all down. I was now halfway done with my meal, and I had saved the "best" for last. In a lot of ways the scorpion resembles the first half of my fellowship. Extremely hard, gross, and in some ways I am joyous it is over.
The tarantula was in the form of a "donut," so it was covered in a light brown coating, slightly abstracting what was lurking underneath the comforting fried exterior. Eight long legs served as a gentle reminder that this was in fact a tarantula, and that is where I chose to begin. The legs weren't much of a challenge, as they were thin and didn't provide a great deal of flavor. The body was described as being similar to crab meat by our French host, and I was looking forward to giving it a try. I bit down on the body, taking the whole thing in one bite, and I was pleasantly surprised. It actually did resemble crab meat. The thorax was where I was really nervous, as this was the section of the spider that housed the organs and excrement.
As I watched Dave devour his thorax first, I took one last pre-thorax swig of beer and quickly ate the most intimidating part of the tarantula. Again, I was pleasantly surprised, as I think my grossness expectations were unrealistically high. We both felt accomplished and cultured as we washed out any remaining arachnid parts from the corners of our mouths, and most importantly we both conquered some pretty strong fears. At this point there is nothing I cannot eat. Balut, snake, scorpion, tarantula; I'm proud to say my once very basic pallet has expanded into territory most are unwilling to explore. The experience also put it into perspective that while one culture may adore a particular custom, another may despise or outright reject it.
After our bugs were finished, I learned more about Dave's experience working in Baghdad, and the inner-workings of US military operations abroad. He talked for hours about the topic, and I intently listened to every word. He later apologized for hijacking the conversation, and I made sure to express my appreciation for his sharing of such an interesting tale, and how the art of listening has been lost in our digital age. Too often is our attention divided between what is sitting right in front of us and some pointless cat meme. Before we parted ways Dave confessed that he missed speaking with an American, and I found this to be particularly relatable. In my four short months of living in Cambodia, I have experienced the same longing to speak with someone with common life experiences and language capabilities.
Too often do I find myself struggling to find the right way to convey an idea, or wondering if the person actually understood what the hell I just said. It has been frustrating at times, hilarious at others, and is always a test of patience. Last night TGC director, Judy, took Sydney and I out to a fancy dinner and for two hours, we felt as though we were back in the US. The atmosphere and decor of the restaurant, as well as our conversation with Judy, were able to transport us back to a land I think about every day. There are many things we take for granted, but I never thought simple communication would be one of them.
My exciting experience with feasting on arachnids made me think about the order in which we complete tasks, and the all-mighty To-Do list. Many people like to save the hardest tasks until the end, while others like to get them out of the way first. I would label myself as a student of both schools of thought. In this instance, I decided to save the hardest task for last, which was the shit-and-organ-filled sac of the tarantula. I could've eaten that first and gotten it over with, but sometimes it's best to build up to something like that. For you thesis students out there however, you might find it best to tackle the longest and most difficult parts first. After the biggest hurdles have been crossed, the rest feels like eating a few measly legs.
I recently mentioned how I met another American, from Saratoga nonetheless, and he would be accompanying me on my other-worldly dining experience. We went to the Bugs Cafe, a semi-famous restaurant that serves tarantulas, scorpions, water bugs, crickets, and even bee larvae. For the first time in my life, I was actually nervous to try the restaurant's food. It took awhile to decide what to order (it all sounded so good...), but eventually we both settled on a fried tarantula and scorpion.
For what seemed like an eternity, we waited while our specimens were prepared in the kitchen only feet behind us. I could see the glow of the flames on the wall in front of me and could hear the sizzling and searing of different creatures. Part of me wanted to get it over with, while another part of me wanted to savor the moment. When our meals finally came out, the task ahead suddenly seemed much more difficult than the scenario I had played on repeat in my head.
We just stared at our plates. I'm not sure what we were waiting for, maybe a reason not to eat what was in front of us, so we welcomed the owner's offer to explain exactly what we had gotten ourselves into. With a sophisticated French accent, the owner explained how all the poisonous parts were removed (only 2 people have died), and which parts of the arachnids were the best, and worst. Once we competed our crash course, there was nothing standing between us and our plates.
For whatever reason, I decided to go with the scorpion first. I thought the tarantula was more intimidating, so I thought the scorpion would be a nice warm-up. I started by tearing off one of its pincers, and chomped down with some onion to provide a sense of comfort. The pincer was the crunchiest thing I had ever eaten, and it sorta felt like I was eating a hollow M&M that just wouldn't break. Once the pincers were finished (luckily there were only two), I moved on to the body. The scorpion's exoskeleton gave me another crunchy experience, but not nearly as crunchy as the pincers. I tried my best not to look inside, but I couldn't help myself.
The crunchy exterior was home to a stringy brown paste, and it tasted just as good as it looked. I cannot describe how it tasted, as there is nothing I can compare it to, but I imagine it was my first taste of something "gamey." As I was finishing the scorpion I could not wait until it was gone, and upon finishing I took a big swig of my beer while trying to keep it all down. I was now halfway done with my meal, and I had saved the "best" for last. In a lot of ways the scorpion resembles the first half of my fellowship. Extremely hard, gross, and in some ways I am joyous it is over.
The tarantula was in the form of a "donut," so it was covered in a light brown coating, slightly abstracting what was lurking underneath the comforting fried exterior. Eight long legs served as a gentle reminder that this was in fact a tarantula, and that is where I chose to begin. The legs weren't much of a challenge, as they were thin and didn't provide a great deal of flavor. The body was described as being similar to crab meat by our French host, and I was looking forward to giving it a try. I bit down on the body, taking the whole thing in one bite, and I was pleasantly surprised. It actually did resemble crab meat. The thorax was where I was really nervous, as this was the section of the spider that housed the organs and excrement.
As I watched Dave devour his thorax first, I took one last pre-thorax swig of beer and quickly ate the most intimidating part of the tarantula. Again, I was pleasantly surprised, as I think my grossness expectations were unrealistically high. We both felt accomplished and cultured as we washed out any remaining arachnid parts from the corners of our mouths, and most importantly we both conquered some pretty strong fears. At this point there is nothing I cannot eat. Balut, snake, scorpion, tarantula; I'm proud to say my once very basic pallet has expanded into territory most are unwilling to explore. The experience also put it into perspective that while one culture may adore a particular custom, another may despise or outright reject it.
After our bugs were finished, I learned more about Dave's experience working in Baghdad, and the inner-workings of US military operations abroad. He talked for hours about the topic, and I intently listened to every word. He later apologized for hijacking the conversation, and I made sure to express my appreciation for his sharing of such an interesting tale, and how the art of listening has been lost in our digital age. Too often is our attention divided between what is sitting right in front of us and some pointless cat meme. Before we parted ways Dave confessed that he missed speaking with an American, and I found this to be particularly relatable. In my four short months of living in Cambodia, I have experienced the same longing to speak with someone with common life experiences and language capabilities.
Too often do I find myself struggling to find the right way to convey an idea, or wondering if the person actually understood what the hell I just said. It has been frustrating at times, hilarious at others, and is always a test of patience. Last night TGC director, Judy, took Sydney and I out to a fancy dinner and for two hours, we felt as though we were back in the US. The atmosphere and decor of the restaurant, as well as our conversation with Judy, were able to transport us back to a land I think about every day. There are many things we take for granted, but I never thought simple communication would be one of them.
My exciting experience with feasting on arachnids made me think about the order in which we complete tasks, and the all-mighty To-Do list. Many people like to save the hardest tasks until the end, while others like to get them out of the way first. I would label myself as a student of both schools of thought. In this instance, I decided to save the hardest task for last, which was the shit-and-organ-filled sac of the tarantula. I could've eaten that first and gotten it over with, but sometimes it's best to build up to something like that. For you thesis students out there however, you might find it best to tackle the longest and most difficult parts first. After the biggest hurdles have been crossed, the rest feels like eating a few measly legs.
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| Balut (Fertilized Duck Egg) yes, that's an eye |
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| Rest stop fried snake |
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| An ordinary page out of the Bugs Cafe menu |
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| A delicious Tarantula Donut and not-so-delicious Pan-Fried Marinated Scorpion |
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Banteay Meanchey
Routines can be an excellent way to combat uncertainty and provide a sense of comfort in a new environment. For the past several weeks however, my routine has felt more like a rut than a source of structure. That is why when one of the English teachers asked if I would accompany him to his home village near the Thai border, I couldn’t help but say yes (plus my inner yes man told me to say so).
At times I feel as though I’m not really assimilating with the local culture. My frequent trips to the internet cafe to do work remind me of stereotypical NYC. I’ve been eating at the same restaurants, one of them a Mexican restaurant owned by an expat, and I really haven’t made an effort to explore unknown parts of the city in quite some time. I was excited to see a village far away from Siem Reap, as I was expecting to get a real taste of what it means to live locally.
The journey would be to the Banteay Meanchey Province, entirely by motorbike and about 3 hours each way. It was only about an hour and a half in before my ass was starting to become incredibly sore. Luckily, the beauty of the never-ending horizon in all directions was able to keep my head out of my ass. It was our first road stop where I’d really get to live like a local, and try some rather interesting cuisine that's normally found crawling on the ground. On the side of the highway was this little food stand with a few people seated and enjoying their meals. My first instinct was to peruse the selections, which consisted of fertilized duck eggs, grasshoppers, beetles, and snakes. There wasn’t anything normal to eat here, at least by western standards.
Instead of getting grossed out and refusing to try anything, I was overcome with joy as I’d have the opportunity to try some truly Cambodian cuisine. First up was Balut, or the fertilized duck egg. Before coming to Cambodia, I watched a video of Gordon Ramsay turn down the opportunity to try this delicacy, so I was feeling all high and mighty actually having the balls to try this almost barbaric dish. I cracked open my egg, and there she was. A little baby duck mixed in with the egg white and yolk, creating a gooey and mushy paste of gray and pale yellow. It was by far the most repulsive thing I’d ever seen in my life, but I didn’t just crack an egg open to see what was inside. I dug my spoon in, and pulled out a mouthful of egg innards. The duck's right eyeball looked up at me as I examined my spoonful. I took a deep breath in, and scarfed down the pile of goo on my spoon. To my surprise, it actually tasted like a normal egg, with just a little more pizaz. I was able to finish the entire egg and the only thing I could think of was: what’s next?
Next on the menu was the snake, which frankly wasn’t that exciting. It tasted like watered down chicken. The most disgusting thing I would try would be the beetle, as it’s texture was rather beetley and didn’t have any flavor to compensate for it. After my new palette expansion, we continued on our journey.
For the next few kilometers I’d be fishing beetle parts out of my teeth while undergoing the hypnosis of the Cambodian countryside. Whenever I venture to this region of the country it’s like being sucked into a National Geographic cover. Even today I still can’t believe that this is what my eyes are given the opportunity to see on a regular basis. After many more kilometers of expansive countryside and sore rear ends, we reached our destination, and it met my expectations entirely. No running water, dirt floors, and hammocks dominated as the main piece of furniture. This is what I thought of when I thought of Cambodia.
Our first order of business was to visit the pagoda, where people go to honor their dead. A celebration was happening as part of an annual holiday, and I was excited to see what was going on. As we got closer and closer to the pagoda, my excitement started to wane. The deeper into the village I ventured the stranger the looks became, and the more comfortable people were with shouting “barang” at me. I tried my best to smile and wear my scarlet letter with pride, however this only became more strenuous as time passed. At this point I was convinced I had been the only white person most of these people had ever seen, and I was damn sure I was the only white person in the village.
Every which way I caught people staring at me, talking about me, and pointing at me; with absolutely no regard for how it made me feel. At one point I tried whipping around at someone to make sure they knew I knew what barang meant, but it had been a pointless attempt at trying to make them feel any bit bad. As we walked in and around the pagoda I continued to receive strange looks and increased attention. I was the only barang in the entire complex. At night the pagoda would turn into something that resembled a typical Union College party. Dancing, ear-shattering loud music, and tons of people crammed into one small space was now the atmosphere of the once quite and peaceful pagoda I had seen earlier.
Towards the end of the night I joined Soben and his brother for some chicken heart and drinks. A street vendor pulled out the smallest child table and chairs set I think has ever been fabricated, and we, four grown men, proceeded to sit down and have a meal together. I imagine it was a pretty hilarious sight to see while passing by, but it was nice to relax and take in my surroundings.
It was only 9 o'clock before I was starting to feel sleepy, so we headed back and I was introduced to my bed for the weekend. My “bed” would be a thin blanket sprawled out on a hardwood floor, with a mosquito net draped above. My bony hips prevented me from sleeping on my side, which I always do, so my quality of sleep was that of a Union College student in their tenth week of Winter term. The litter of kittens didn't make matters any better.
Most of the weekend was spent waiting and relaxing, as there were about five young children that needed constant attention as they cried for food and mother's love. In this time I drew in my Batik Boutique sketchbook I made with Sydney and Gillian, and thought about Cambodian hospitality. Whenever you are a guest at someone's home in Cambodia, you are treated like royalty. You are offered the best seat, given as much food as you'd like, and everyone goes out of their way to make sure you don't lift a finger. It's hard to let my hosts do all this work for me, as I am the type who doesn't care for special attention. But I realized that turning down someone's generosity can be extremely offensive, so I complied and took some mental notes.
As I mentioned, the weekend was spent mostly waiting around, and I realized that even when there is no television and the language barrier prevents any sort of meaningful conversation, there is still no reason to be bored. As John Kabat-Zinn once said, "When you pay attention to boredom it gets unbelievably interesting." And I found this to ring incredibly true. Most of the people in Banteay Meanchey don't have many possessions or gadgets to keep them occupied, but everyone still seems happy and content. Even when there is nothing to do there is always something to do. Whether that is to draw, or simply think. My new environment and interactions have allowed me to think about the world in entirely new ways, and I have discovered a newfound appreciation for the opportunity to simply sit and think like an ancient philosopher, asking questions that may never have a true answer.
One of the more exciting moments of the trip was my trip to the shower one morning. There was no running water and a squatter in place of the toilet, which I had always wanted to try out (everything they say about squatting is true by the way). There were two main sources of water, a large rectangular tub for bathing and one for "flushing" the squatter. You simply keep pouring water into it until all the waste is out of sight. I was brushing my teeth when I was looking at the selection of cleaning products on the edge of the tub. As I picked up one of the bottles to inspect it further, a large black spot quickly scurried up the wall in my periphery. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was a massive tarantula, and it didn't move the rest of the time I spent in the enclosed washroom, ominously watching my every move. I hurriedly finished brushing my teeth and got the hell out of there, keeping a close lookout each time I had to go back in.
All that waiting around eventually led me to the end of my stay, with all my new country-life experiences fresh in mind. On the three hour trip back I had the chance to simply think about what I had seen and done, and it felt humbling to not only see how people in this region lived, but to experience it as well. One observation I made while we cruised down the highway was that the banks I had seen in different parts of Cambodia all have the same exterior; a towering reflective wall of opaque blue glass, which I believe is symbolic of the lack of transparency in the banking system as a whole.
When I finally returned to my apartment, I could not sit another second on the back of Soben's motorbike. I couldn't wait to lay down in my soft bed and relax for a few moments before I unpacked. I noticed that my apartment had a new look to it that I couldn't quite explain. But then it dawned on me, my short time in the country was enough to change my perspective of my own living situation, which now seemed luxurious and privileged. I cannot help but wonder what my perception of my home back in Stillwater will be after this experience, but I know for sure it will be drastically different than when I had left.
Unfortunately, it often takes a disaster to inspire change or reform, as history has demonstrated with various mass shootings, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and even traffic accidents. The same goes for appreciation. In order to truly appreciate something, you must lose it, and experience what life is like without it. So I encourage you, the next time you feel as though you are unhappy with what you have, imagine if you didn't have it at all.
At times I feel as though I’m not really assimilating with the local culture. My frequent trips to the internet cafe to do work remind me of stereotypical NYC. I’ve been eating at the same restaurants, one of them a Mexican restaurant owned by an expat, and I really haven’t made an effort to explore unknown parts of the city in quite some time. I was excited to see a village far away from Siem Reap, as I was expecting to get a real taste of what it means to live locally.
The journey would be to the Banteay Meanchey Province, entirely by motorbike and about 3 hours each way. It was only about an hour and a half in before my ass was starting to become incredibly sore. Luckily, the beauty of the never-ending horizon in all directions was able to keep my head out of my ass. It was our first road stop where I’d really get to live like a local, and try some rather interesting cuisine that's normally found crawling on the ground. On the side of the highway was this little food stand with a few people seated and enjoying their meals. My first instinct was to peruse the selections, which consisted of fertilized duck eggs, grasshoppers, beetles, and snakes. There wasn’t anything normal to eat here, at least by western standards.
Instead of getting grossed out and refusing to try anything, I was overcome with joy as I’d have the opportunity to try some truly Cambodian cuisine. First up was Balut, or the fertilized duck egg. Before coming to Cambodia, I watched a video of Gordon Ramsay turn down the opportunity to try this delicacy, so I was feeling all high and mighty actually having the balls to try this almost barbaric dish. I cracked open my egg, and there she was. A little baby duck mixed in with the egg white and yolk, creating a gooey and mushy paste of gray and pale yellow. It was by far the most repulsive thing I’d ever seen in my life, but I didn’t just crack an egg open to see what was inside. I dug my spoon in, and pulled out a mouthful of egg innards. The duck's right eyeball looked up at me as I examined my spoonful. I took a deep breath in, and scarfed down the pile of goo on my spoon. To my surprise, it actually tasted like a normal egg, with just a little more pizaz. I was able to finish the entire egg and the only thing I could think of was: what’s next?
Next on the menu was the snake, which frankly wasn’t that exciting. It tasted like watered down chicken. The most disgusting thing I would try would be the beetle, as it’s texture was rather beetley and didn’t have any flavor to compensate for it. After my new palette expansion, we continued on our journey.
For the next few kilometers I’d be fishing beetle parts out of my teeth while undergoing the hypnosis of the Cambodian countryside. Whenever I venture to this region of the country it’s like being sucked into a National Geographic cover. Even today I still can’t believe that this is what my eyes are given the opportunity to see on a regular basis. After many more kilometers of expansive countryside and sore rear ends, we reached our destination, and it met my expectations entirely. No running water, dirt floors, and hammocks dominated as the main piece of furniture. This is what I thought of when I thought of Cambodia.
Our first order of business was to visit the pagoda, where people go to honor their dead. A celebration was happening as part of an annual holiday, and I was excited to see what was going on. As we got closer and closer to the pagoda, my excitement started to wane. The deeper into the village I ventured the stranger the looks became, and the more comfortable people were with shouting “barang” at me. I tried my best to smile and wear my scarlet letter with pride, however this only became more strenuous as time passed. At this point I was convinced I had been the only white person most of these people had ever seen, and I was damn sure I was the only white person in the village.
Every which way I caught people staring at me, talking about me, and pointing at me; with absolutely no regard for how it made me feel. At one point I tried whipping around at someone to make sure they knew I knew what barang meant, but it had been a pointless attempt at trying to make them feel any bit bad. As we walked in and around the pagoda I continued to receive strange looks and increased attention. I was the only barang in the entire complex. At night the pagoda would turn into something that resembled a typical Union College party. Dancing, ear-shattering loud music, and tons of people crammed into one small space was now the atmosphere of the once quite and peaceful pagoda I had seen earlier.
Towards the end of the night I joined Soben and his brother for some chicken heart and drinks. A street vendor pulled out the smallest child table and chairs set I think has ever been fabricated, and we, four grown men, proceeded to sit down and have a meal together. I imagine it was a pretty hilarious sight to see while passing by, but it was nice to relax and take in my surroundings.
It was only 9 o'clock before I was starting to feel sleepy, so we headed back and I was introduced to my bed for the weekend. My “bed” would be a thin blanket sprawled out on a hardwood floor, with a mosquito net draped above. My bony hips prevented me from sleeping on my side, which I always do, so my quality of sleep was that of a Union College student in their tenth week of Winter term. The litter of kittens didn't make matters any better.
Most of the weekend was spent waiting and relaxing, as there were about five young children that needed constant attention as they cried for food and mother's love. In this time I drew in my Batik Boutique sketchbook I made with Sydney and Gillian, and thought about Cambodian hospitality. Whenever you are a guest at someone's home in Cambodia, you are treated like royalty. You are offered the best seat, given as much food as you'd like, and everyone goes out of their way to make sure you don't lift a finger. It's hard to let my hosts do all this work for me, as I am the type who doesn't care for special attention. But I realized that turning down someone's generosity can be extremely offensive, so I complied and took some mental notes.
As I mentioned, the weekend was spent mostly waiting around, and I realized that even when there is no television and the language barrier prevents any sort of meaningful conversation, there is still no reason to be bored. As John Kabat-Zinn once said, "When you pay attention to boredom it gets unbelievably interesting." And I found this to ring incredibly true. Most of the people in Banteay Meanchey don't have many possessions or gadgets to keep them occupied, but everyone still seems happy and content. Even when there is nothing to do there is always something to do. Whether that is to draw, or simply think. My new environment and interactions have allowed me to think about the world in entirely new ways, and I have discovered a newfound appreciation for the opportunity to simply sit and think like an ancient philosopher, asking questions that may never have a true answer.
One of the more exciting moments of the trip was my trip to the shower one morning. There was no running water and a squatter in place of the toilet, which I had always wanted to try out (everything they say about squatting is true by the way). There were two main sources of water, a large rectangular tub for bathing and one for "flushing" the squatter. You simply keep pouring water into it until all the waste is out of sight. I was brushing my teeth when I was looking at the selection of cleaning products on the edge of the tub. As I picked up one of the bottles to inspect it further, a large black spot quickly scurried up the wall in my periphery. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was a massive tarantula, and it didn't move the rest of the time I spent in the enclosed washroom, ominously watching my every move. I hurriedly finished brushing my teeth and got the hell out of there, keeping a close lookout each time I had to go back in.
All that waiting around eventually led me to the end of my stay, with all my new country-life experiences fresh in mind. On the three hour trip back I had the chance to simply think about what I had seen and done, and it felt humbling to not only see how people in this region lived, but to experience it as well. One observation I made while we cruised down the highway was that the banks I had seen in different parts of Cambodia all have the same exterior; a towering reflective wall of opaque blue glass, which I believe is symbolic of the lack of transparency in the banking system as a whole.
When I finally returned to my apartment, I could not sit another second on the back of Soben's motorbike. I couldn't wait to lay down in my soft bed and relax for a few moments before I unpacked. I noticed that my apartment had a new look to it that I couldn't quite explain. But then it dawned on me, my short time in the country was enough to change my perspective of my own living situation, which now seemed luxurious and privileged. I cannot help but wonder what my perception of my home back in Stillwater will be after this experience, but I know for sure it will be drastically different than when I had left.
Unfortunately, it often takes a disaster to inspire change or reform, as history has demonstrated with various mass shootings, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and even traffic accidents. The same goes for appreciation. In order to truly appreciate something, you must lose it, and experience what life is like without it. So I encourage you, the next time you feel as though you are unhappy with what you have, imagine if you didn't have it at all.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
CollabCamb
At the end of August, which now seems like a distant memory, I attended a meeting hosted by Collaboration Cambodia, an ambitious group of expats and locals that get together to discuss prevalent topics in the NGO community. The past two meetings have centered around the topic of responsible volunteering, encompassing a variety of subtopics including vetting volunteers, voluntourism, and what to do with volunteers once their boots hit the ground. Today we discussed the vetting process, and I was able to offer my insights into the extremely unique manner in which The Global Child acquires its volunteers.
After listening to the representatives from local NGOs speak, I realized that TGC is blessed to have the Minerva Fellowship as a core component if its operation. Many NGOs have to select volunteers based on rigorous, complicated, and frankly uncertain hiring processes that may result in a volunteer whose expectations are widely out of sync with the organization's. With the Minerva Fellowship however, TGC bears none of the burden of selection, as this is handled 100% by Union College. Before news of the next pair of volunteers even reaches TGC, the staff and students know with full confidence they will be receiving near-perfect candidates for the role, thanks to the amazing intuition of Tom McEvoy and the fellowship selection committee. It is this intuition that led to my placement in Cambodia!
Another unique aspect of the Minerva Fellowship, is that Union College bears all of the volunteers' expenses, which is largely unheard of in the NGO community. I was very excited to share TGC's unique advantage in the volunteer selection process, and when it was time to break out into smaller groups during today's meeting, I found myself impatiently waiting through constant rambling of problems without solutions. I felt as though I had a viable solution, so I wanted to share it before I ran out of time.
When it came to be my turn to speak, my thoughts barely escaped my mouth before it was time to rejoin into one large group for a summary of what was discussed. But in that short time, I learned my group's moderator is from Saratoga, NY. The power of the common thread is not to be taken lightly, as I felt an instant connection with the moderator and we would later get drinks together with the rest of the meeting organizers, but I will get to that later.
After my group moderator summarized what we talked about, he made sure to point me out and let everyone know that they could talk to me about TGC and its unique vetting process. As I was about to get another donut (or what seemed to be a donut) from the back of the room, a woman approached me with questions about Union College and the fellowship. Before I knew it, at least five people were huddled around me, listening in to the insights I had to offer. It felt empowering to share valuable knowledge to people looking for solutions to an extremely complex problem, and I hope I can continue to provide further value in the future.
After the conference room emptied out, I went to approach my new friend from Saratoga and just like that, a small group of us were headed to a Mexican Restaurant to discuss how the meeting went. This is where I met the main facilitator; a retired principal and teacher from Rochester, NY, who at one point owned a bar in Nicaragua. He taught me about the inefficiencies of the Cambodian trash removal system, a Bier garden that gives you back massages as you're trying to take a piss, and even the inner workings of the prison system. I can't say too much, or else I may end up in one...
I even met a former Peace Corps volunteer, and was able to talk to her about her experiences living with a host family in Cambodia. I must say the Peace Corps sounds like the Minerva Fellowship on crack. The contract is for 2 years as opposed to 9 months, and the missions are typically much harder and the sense of purpose can sometimes be nonexistent, which can often be the hardest part about such an experience. I continued to have drinks with the facilitator long after everyone else had left, and he shared stories of someone he knew that was featured on Shark Tank, his maneuvering through the 2008 financial crisis, and even when Quentin Tarantino walked into a restaurant he worked at, entourage in tow. Apparently he's pretty damn tall.
One of the last things I learned was that the facilitator is a piano player, which naturally led me to mention my drumming prowess. His immediate reaction was to ask me if I wanted a gig, and I expressed both my interest and concern, as I have not honed the ability to play alongside other musicians. That being said, maybe the band will happen after all!
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