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.

Photos from South Korea (and some of North)

https://drive.google.com/open?id=17pJtMqrnxUoVZuhQgtYMgS0XmbftjcsZ

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.

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. 

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.

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.

Balut (Fertilized Duck Egg) yes, that's an eye

Rest stop fried snake

An ordinary page out of the Bugs Cafe menu

A delicious Tarantula Donut and not-so-delicious Pan-Fried Marinated Scorpion