all the emotions

Life since last Monday has been an intense whirlwind.

From cleaning our entire house and finishing packing all on Monday, saying goodbye to our final (for now, from me), to then diving headfirst into all the beginnings of my new position and just beginning to resurface to prepare to say goodbye to Topher, I'm FEELING ALL THE FEELINGS.

Feeling them all so much that I'm really not even in a place to begin to process which ones I'm feeling at which moments, and I'm not really at all emotionally prepared to bid farewell to my husband and a large portion of the Volunteer friends I've made this upcoming Wednesday.

Tonight, as I vigorously typed away on a tab in my excel planning document, my host mom called. 

Just to say hello, ya know?  Catch up.  Ask me if Chris would be returning to Takeo before he headed home.  Ask if I was too busy or taking time to rest.

Tuesday, our final day at site as Volunteers, was more than I imagined.  Hilarious, loving, and bitterly, sweetly sad.  I wish there was a better way to explain how it manifested than to say 'everyone was crying as we climbed into our taxi' but that's the simple reality of the situation.


Less than a week after pulling away, and I'm already looking forward to returning during some downtime on Sunday evenings to visit my Khmer family.

A family meal is a family meal is a family meal.

Family portrait time.  Happier than we look, I swear.

The last meal of delicious fried pork ribs, large ant and larvae, small fried fish, and yummy soup made with chicken we had leftover from a grocery purchase in Phnom Penh.

I will forever be trying to make those kids laugh.

lessons learned [part a]

This post has been sitting in my drafts for three months (give or take, given that the first paragraph initially read 'less than four months left in my service'), and I can't figure out if that's because it felt inauthentic to write about this topic when I still had a good deal of time left in my town, or if it was because I simply got exhausted, mentally and emotionally, when trying to gather all of these thoughts together.  Either way, here it is now.  A collection of things I think, of things I think I learned, and things I still don't know about Cambodia.  The other half soon, about things I think I know about myself, now.

Given that I have about one month left in my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I have begun the intense process that is internal reflection. The other day I actually jotted down a list of things that I felt I've learned about Cambodia and about myself since being here. It is so cliche but I feel like, at this point, I know more about myself than I do about anything else; that the more I've learned about my community, about Cambodia, the less I actually know.

The more information I process, the more confused I become. But here's part of what I know. For certain.

Or, at least, for now.

ONE.
Every single Peace Corps Volunteer's experience is uniquely and utterly theirs. This applies, I'd imagine, to my experience in Southeast Asia, as compared to someone's in Western Africa or Central America. But it even applies to my experience in southeastern Cambodia as compared to someone's in northwestern Cambodia- or heck, even my husband's nearly exact-same-logistical experience in the very same community. These differences make my experience no less valid or important or worthy. Even when I think about the previous Volunteer who taught at 'my' Regional Teacher Training Center (RTTC), lived in 'my' house and I get a bit down about projects he completed or people he worked with, that I meet and tell me all about how much they love him- I remind myself that it's actually better that I have branched out to different people, organizations, projects. If every PCV who went to a replacement site worked with the same people, tackled the same issues, progress would be stagnant. Who's to say that the next PCV at 'his/her RTTC' in 'his/her site' won't meet one of my trainees or students who came to my Camp GLOW and regale them with the things they learned from me, the broadened worldview they gained because of our interaction?

TWO.
Building real, deep relationships are tough. Because of language and cultural barriers, but also, somewhat, because of the inherent time limit of our work. Everyone knows we're here for two years. Then we go home. A co-teacher, when I first met him, remarked how I'd just be gone in two years. And he's right- it can be challenging to get someone who has seen two previous Volunteers come and go at their school to trust you and attempt to build a lasting relationship when you're just going to leave in a short period.  You can't expect to walk in anywhere with instant credibility and authentic relationships.  Often, the deepest and most fruitful relationships have only seemed to blossom in the last month or two here.

THREE.
Sometimes, as a foreigner working inside what I believe to be a struggling education system, I feel ineffective. Sometimes I feel like a prop- that me being inside the classroom could be viewed as belief that the existing system/curriculum/expectation levels are all correct. Sometimes I worry that my efforts are not viewed as I view them- new ideas and techniques that will better the current methods, that will lead to increased learning and thinking- but as fun but unrealistic techniques that the silly foreigner brought for a few years and then left so that the current methods could be continued as they have for good number of years.

FOUR.
All that being said, I've met enough intelligent, inquisitive, open-minded, strong-willed young people that I have no doubt- no doubt- that real change is imminent in Cambodia. That in a number of years I am going to return here and have no idea where the Cambodia I know has gone- and those changes will all be for the better as power shifts and is passed to the next generation of leaders.

FIVE.
Most importantly perhaps, I've learned that the struggles that Khmer people face are universal struggles. That the sixteen year old girl who drops out of school because it's necessary for her to start trekking to the nearby garment factory to bring in income for her family is not unlike the sixteen year old in America who drops out of school because her mom, who works the night shift at the grocery store, can't provide the transportation or money for transport to get the girl to her high school across town every morning. And that if we're still figuring out how to educate that student in America, there's no reason why I should expect that another country should have it all figured out by now. Progress takes time.

SIX.
And I'm increasingly devastated to be leaving Cambodia.  Especially when I spent a very short time working with a counterpart whom I feel truly could be a friend and colleague, with whom I could see us truly making an extensive difference as co-teachers. Just the impact we had in the short month we taught together has lifted my spirits and beliefs so high that I get deeply sad when I consider leaving.  It's devastating because what they told us when we first got here- that we'll do our best service at the end- is one thousand percent true.  My language is at it's highest (and I am on the current ebb of desiring to learn even more new words! just squeeze one more in!), my relationships have reached a place of mutual comfort and cooperation, and I only hate the heat slightly more than when I first came here.

SEVEN.
Cambodia changed me indelibly.  This country, these people, gave me more than I could ever dream of giving to it and them.

so sayeth the girl with the lucky face

Last week, I flew to Bangkok.  It was a medical adventure, one in which I was told in no uncertain terms that if I needed serious, or extended medical attention, the rolling plains and majestic mountains of America would be graced with my presence much earlier than intended- essentially, I would have been medically separated and become a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

Luckily, thankfully, and all of the other adverbs that indicate how fortunate and grateful I am, it turns out I am basically fine.  There were a couple of touch and go hours, a very long four day wait for some test results, and then the best news possible, if not not-entirely conclusive news.

But all is well that ends well, and this all seems to have ended well.  I have some more serious reflections from the experience, but today, since it's Friday, let's focus on the fun and slightly more gratifying aspects of my recent endeavor, shall we?

The trip began with a nearly empty bus ride (see above picture.)  In the jittery evening before I left, I channeled my feelings of lack-of-control-ness into a desire to do something.  So I cut  myself some bangs.  And then I spent the bus ride trying not to worry about all the what-ifs of the upcoming hospital visit, and, as a study in narcissism, took a bunch of photos of myself.  But, mostly, I did this the whole ride:

But there were a lot of happy, hilarious and delicious things that happened while in Bangkok.  No matter how stress-inducing it all was, there are always a myriad of small little happenings that make life so grand, right?

To begin with, let's take the airline I was flown on.  Known as a boutique airline, it meant I got a full meal and, even better, free wine.  Some red wine was just what I needed on that flight!

I was also graced with a taxi driver who didn't use meter, got a bit lost, and then charged me far less than I had expected and wished me good luck at the hospital as he dropped me off.  So sweet.

And then I was greeted by this:

And there was a bathtub. A legit bathtub.  I took my first bath in nearly two years.

(Not my first bathe, people. I clean myself regularly.  Basically.)

Despite being there for other reasons, I found immense joy in my spacious room with industrial strength air conditioning, huge window and comfy bed.

One of my first days there, I was walking from my hotel to the hospital's food mezzanine across the street when I heard a man yell to me "Miss! Miss! You are very lucky, did you know that?"

When that happens, and you're a female, alone, I think it's a natural reaction to kind of lower your head and walk a bit faster.  But then I remembered I was surrounded by dozens of other people, and besides, he was saying something kind!

So I looked up (continuing to walk briskly, though, just in case), and replied "Me? No, I didn't know it! Thank you."

He then said "Yes, I can see it, in the aura around you.  Your face is very lucky, and I can see it.  You will have good luck this month."

Which is just so sweet, when you think about it.  Here I was all alone, a bit worried about medical type things, and a man just wants to tell me I've got good things coming.  He might be nuts, but, darn it, I'm choosing to believe him.  This is my month!

And it must have been luck, because not long after that, these were in my possession:

And while a good portion of the trip was a lesson in hurry-up-and-wait, I spent those waiting hours enjoying the natural light while inside somewhere with delicious air conditioning and yummy treats.

That would be a second caramel macchiato, this time with ice, and a blurry shot of my delicious pad thai.

There were long walks along bustling roads in Bangkok, a fantastic trip to a grocery store that could have easily been Safeway back home, baths galore, and kind people who recognized me after I tread the same path to my hotel, and food court, and back again for days in a row.

And on and on the sweet, small joys went until all was well, and I was inside this guy's taxi, heading to the airport to head home.



And he was the most hilarious taxi driver ever.  We were caught in some atrocious Bangkok traffic (I left ages before my flight just for this reason), and he would spend those long breaks with his seat lounging back.  When we'd get a path, he'd shoot up, and push that gas so fast we'd pulse forward with such rapidity of movement everything hanging from his rearview mirror would swing with such force I swear it was all about to take off and fly.

The best was when we came over a small hill so quickly that it knocked everything stashed in his visor over his head and trapped it all between his back and his seat.  He paused for a minute, we both laughed, and I fished the papers, CDs, and other items out as best as I could without actually inappropriately touching him.

And when I touched down in Cambodia, I had the most wonderful conversation with the man who drove me to my hotel in Phnom Penh, and I was reminded how far things come in a short time when we understood each other completely for the entire thirty minute conversation.

And my lucky face and I rest a bit easier, now.

Cheers, all! Happy May!

Welcome 2013

This is going to sound trite, but I can scarcely believe that we've launched full into 2013 already. 

2012 was an immense year for me personally, as I had more time than ever to spend with my thoughts and myself and who I am at this point in my life.  It was a year of incredible frustrations professionally and immense growth and happiness personally.

Though you're rarely supposed to say it out loud, I began last year questioning my choice to 'put my life on hold' in America and join the Peace Corps.  I think many of the people who serve in this capacity have many doubts. These doubts, I've found, follow one of three routes: they dissipate over time, are proven false, or become even more solidified and result in an early return to home.

Over the course of the year, I moved slowly from the mindset of my life being 'on hold' to recognizing and relishing in the fact that me, here, in Cambodia: this is life.  This is me living, and that's why it's so concurrently, exquisitely, painful and relieving.

Pain was the unrequited search to find my place and meaning in my assigned role here, and relief was the moment when I expanded my breadth and scope of what my role is and found all the joy and peace I'd been missing when limiting myself.  Pain was the nagging self-doubt and questioning of the last four years of professional work and its value in this new world, this new culture, this new life.  Relief was the moment standing in front of thirty new teachers and realizing that, there, that's it for me.  That is the nexus of comfort and challenge and what I want for the rest of my professional days.

When I was a teacher, I was constantly questioning, and if you ask Chris, I was very often emotional.  When I was supporting new teachers, I saw all that pain and growth I had experienced for two years reflected back to me in the eyes of the eighty new teachers I supported.  A friend and co-worker, in the same role as I, framed that pain and emotion in this way:

Change is painful.

What I was doing, what they were doing -educating those amazing, trying young people - was inherently painful, day in and day out, because those young people were changing me, educating me, helping me discover my own truth.

Change is painful.

2012 was an exquisitely painful year. 

It's also rather trite for me to say that I can't fully get behind resolutions, as I've never really made them or kept them.  I believe it began in fifth grade, as my classmates one by one shared their resolutions for the new year and I anxiously awaited the moment when I would have to share what I hoped to change about myself that upcoming year.  I said that I had set the goal to become less bossy.  It was met with such exclamations of joy and support that I stubbornly wanted to abandon all desires to meet said goal in that exact moment just because others were so on board.

Which clearly could be the beginning of a great exercise in self psychoanalysis, but I digress.

If 2012 was about change and all of the joy and discomfort that accompanies it,

2013, I hope, will be about adjusting my response.  More thoughtful, more considered, more positive.

Welcome 2013.

a big thanks, to everyone

They say that a Peace Corps Volunteer cannot accomplish anything alone.  Usually, this refers to the support a PCV seeks to earn from the community in which they live in their new home.

And yet, it's even more clear to me, seventeen (exactly!) months into my service, that I could not do my job and accomplish my and my community's goals without my family and friends who support me and my work back at home in America.

So, here's that thank you letter I've been writing in my head every single day for the past 520 days, give or take:

Dear Parents, Parents-in-law, Siblings and Siblings-in-law, Uncles and Uncles-in-law, Cousins and Cousins-in-law, Neighbors, Friends from College, Friends from High School, Friends from my Teaching Days in Baltimore, Friends from TFA in Baltimore, and Friends of friends of any of these groups who have sent a smile my way these past months, 

Thank you.  From the deepest trench of the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much.  Your intentional physical, emotional, financial and mental support has made the difference between a frustrating, lonely, sad year-and-a-half of service and a successful, less-frustrating, supportive, joyful year-and-a-half of service.

Many of you have spent the time and money to send me (and really, us) gifts, small and large, through the insanity that is the postal service in the U.S. and Cambodia.  Even if that package or letter took three months to arrive, I thank you.

Many of you have contributed financially to both our work projects and our play.  They have, quite literally, meant that I have been able to do things like my Camp GLOW and visit Vietnam.  I thank you.

All of you have, in some way or another, helped me because of something you said via facebook or email that made me laugh. Helped me because of something you said before I left that I remember on one of my many long bus rides around this country.  Or  helped me because of something you did while eating dinner one night that reminds me why I, and we, chose to leave our home, our puppy, our family and our friends for uncertainty and unknown possibilities. 

  I thank you.

All my love, 
Kate

happy christmas!

I am wishing all of you that still read this here little blog

the warmest of wishes and the most glad tidings for the future.

i hope your christmas day, whether you celebrate it or not,

is full of joy, love, peace, and happiness!

And for the first year ever of my life,

I made one of those holiday "letters"

that catches everyone up on what

Chris and I have been up to in 2012.

It's not perfect but it was fun to make,

so I hope you enjoy!

 

Cheers!

'tis christmastime, in cambodia!

This week, Chris and I decided to forget that we're far away from our family, friends, and holiday traditions and recreate one tradition in our tropical home: decorating for Christmas the week after Thanksgiving.

So, we decided to hang the Christmas lights that we received last year around a doorway in our house, and adorn it with all the cards we have from last year.  Then, we spent an evening making ourselves some Santa hats, and a wreath, complete with berries.

And finally, we donned our hats for the Marsh family holiday card picture taking.  It was really exciting, I tell you!

There is something about a string of Christmas lights.  When the sun sets and the multi-colored lights bounce off the windows, I can't begin to describe how homey and happy and holiday-magic it makes me feel.  There's this warmth that that little string of light spreads.

So, officially welcome, dear holiday season, to Cambodia.

When did you decorate for the holidays?

a first thanksgiving

In many respects, this year was my first thanksgiving.  It was the first time I was more than a tiny bit responsible for a Thanksgiving meal.  In years past, in America, maybe I helped with the mashed potatoes.  Maybe I "made" the crescent rolls.

Maybe I used the leftover oil from frying the turkey to make fried twinkies (may they rest in peace.)

 

But this year, Chris and I and the other Volunteers in our province (and some fantastic few others who made the trek down!) happily agreed to accept the challenge of preparing the side dishes for a Thanksgiving feast for our fellow PCVs and the staff who would be training them over the holiday.

Allison, our country director's wife, as she did last year, organized the entire meal.  For 100 people, she prepared seven turkeys, three giant tubs of stuffing, and a dozen cans of stuffing.  For 100 people, we agreed to make a vat of mashed potatoes, pounds of carrots, piles of green beans, and the largest salad we've ever seen.  With the finishing touches of rolls bought in Phnom Penh and a gravy made in our kitchen, the meal would be complete.

In my OCD way, I started by working with Allison to break down exactly what we'd need.  I spent a couple of hours googling the pounds of potatoes required for a buffet for 100 hungry Americans and Cambodians.  Once that was determined, I made a happy little chart of which people would be responsible for which dish, and a shopping list of items we'd need from the capital, and what we could buy- and how much we'd need- from my town's market.  Chris worked with the Peace Corps staff to head to the market to purchase the fifty-five pounds of potatoes, thirty pounds of carrots, thirty five pounds of green beans, and dozens of pounds of salad fixings Saturday morning.

And then the real work began.

We washed and peeled.

We made messes and more messes.

We boiled and mashed.

We diced and chopped.

Eventually, we began to look like Bret Michaels?!

Until it was finally complete.  Twelve full hours later, the table was set and the hard work of 10 Peace Corps Volunteers, 1 Country Director and 1 Country Director's wife paid off.

Below is what the majority of fifty-five pounds of mashed potatoes looks like; and yes, they are housed in a tub that is typically used for clothes washing.  Though the tub was new and clean. 

A toast was made by our Country Director.

Lines began to form in anticipation of the feast, and the Volunteers generously allowed those of us who worked on the meal to eat first. 

I took too much, after I cautioned others to pace themselves.  Of course.

Chris and I were still a bit sweaty, but so, so happy.

And mostly, incredibly excited to eat the food we'd labored on up to the minute of the meal.

The Volunteers were, from what I could gather, very happy and enjoyed a delicious Thanksgiving.  Their thanks were visible in the gorgeous sign they made for us.

Thank you, K6s, and fellow K5s, Penny and Allison for making this one of the best Thanksgivings this side of the International Date Line!

today!

 

today, this girl flies into the kingdom of wonder.

(that girl up there in the rodeo barrel with me.)

today, this girl is reunited with me, her bosom buddy, her friend soulmate, her we're-so-alike-sometimes-it's-a-bad-thing darling.

today, topher and i begin a very happy and very anticipated week of annual leave to show off our new home to a very wonderful pair of friends...

welcome, paige and michael! 

*not today you will someday hear of all the grand adventures this summer with my parents and my favorites paige and michael. not today, but soon.

**also, i'm aware that i look like i'm wearing nothing under that red hoodie up there. but it was a beige tank top? and it was, frankly, a bad decision.

dear growed-up me,

i have this terrible habit of wishing time to go faster, faster, faster.  of counting down, counting toward, counting away from something.

adult me, i took today to pause and write down all those things that i never want to wish away, those things that i'd bet for you, in the future, you're wishing you still had, you're wishing you could still know, now that you don't live in cambodia any longer.

because it was the same when i studied and lived in rome. rarely was i able to suspend the daily to appreciate the manna that is italy. that is cobblestone, that is early morning walks on those worn, wobbly stones, that is a piping hot, frothy cafe latte, that is a quick italian verb review while perched on a centuries-old curb, vespas and peugeots whizzing by, whipping my hair.  never would i have believed that soon, not but a few months later, i would ache in my stomach, in my limbs, in my soul, for the stench of rome.  of coffee beans, of piles of rubbish on street corners, of sizzling mozzarella and fresh basil, of rain pounding ruins older than God.

here and now, i want to remember. for you, for growed-up me, for a woman that i long to believe has moved past wishing for a future.

remember the grin that lights upon a face when you decide to smile at the stare, rather than scowl.

remember the rank corner of the market, flies glancing to and fro off the raw meat, vendors lazily waving a fan back and forth, to discourage the landing of their tiny feet, to encourage the buyers, hurriedly searching for the best cut, to take home and fry, sizzle, up for their family.

remember the sweet sound of rain, the release of the heat it brings, and the sigh of relief that accompanies it, from you and everyone around you.

remember the melting away of hours as you languidly read a book in the solid wooden chair with the red, polyester cushion that your host mother gave you after she saw your husband crouched in that same chair, mattress wrapped about him like a cocoon, attempting to stave off a sore ass stemming from hours on solid wood by a butt used to cozy sectionals and memory foam.

remember all the books, all the sentences, all the words that ate you up, gave you perspective, offered you insight, pushed away your boredom, added a small drop to that growing but yet shallow well of wisdom.

remember the cold, cold water taking your breath away each and every single instance of bathing, and the frigid joy that water brings as it sends shivers through your marrow and instantaneously lowers your internal temperature.

remember the sunset on the water, with a fruit smoothie in hand that's honestly half fresh fruit and half condensed milk and sugar syrup, while gazing at the crinkle around your husband's eyes as he laughs at one of those ridiculous comments you love to say and thinking to yourself, how is this is my life, and when was it deemed that i was worthy of such joy?

right now, i'm remembering it all, and i'm wishing on the present, and i'm counting all the moments wherein i alight upon this joy, this life.

here in the now,

cambodian you

less

i have lived the last year using, and rotating, the same thirteen pairs of underwear.

it has involved a lot of (hand)washing of those little undies, but, to be honest, i haven't noticed.

(beyond the holes and general stretched-out-ness those thirteen pairs now possess.)

but it did provide a physical manifestation of a through-necessity mantra that topher and i have been living by for the past 13 months:

less.

living on $1-$3 a day, rotating the same four skirts and seven shirts at work, and then the same ten tee shirts and three pairs of pants at home, while rocking the same dingy, hole-y thirteen undies has helped me see that in america, i sincerely lived on too much.  bought too many clothes.  ate too much food. spent too much money.

i'd like to maintain my mantra of less when we return next  year.  chris and i have already discussed how to set better boundaries for not going overboard- on eating, on spending, on living- when we come home.  we've both found that we enjoy making things work with less money, with less resources.  it's cliche to say it, but it helps us appreciate it all the more, ya know?

and this has to mean something coming from a girl who proudly owned over 400 pairs of underwear prior to this Cambodian adventure!

(let's be honest- i really miss my wide assortment of undies.  i've been saving ten pair for my second year and it feels.so.good to wear them for the first time.)

(also, i wish i cared less about the two grey hairs i found at my front hairline this morning. i'm not even yet 27, people. tell me i'm not alone.)

thoughts?

i'm not dead

despite an alarming lack of writing, both me and this blog are in fact NOT dead or even on a respirator.

the past two months have been a good kind of insane and happy and full and fulfilling.  i'll share some of those most favorite moments soon, but it has been the best to feel, daily, completely and utterly serene with one's place, both emotionally and physically.

i still get excited thinking about my career post-cambodia and where we'll go next as a little family- do we grow? when? are we ready?- but mostly, i'm content in the day to day, simple life here in cambodia.

it's a heady thing, realizing how unflinchingly lucky you are when you are given over two years to simply exist, experience and expand with your favorite person.  we gave up a great deal- me, a job i adored with people i admired and respected and both of us, a home that we love welcoming people to or enjoy lounging around in on a lazy sunday afternoon and families that love us more than we deserve- but we're getting a great deal in return.

we've received swarms of amazing friends, both american and cambodian alike.  people whom, i have no doubt, would do anything to help us at the simple request of "please."  people who feel comfortable sitting, talking about nothing for hours on end.  friends that i know we'll have for the rest of our lives, and that our children will grow up calling aunt and uncle.

we've received an additional family, complete with a host mother who gets mad when i don't return her calls fast enough and asks me every single day if i need anything, a host sister that loves to joke around with us but can kill a menace on eight legs faster than anything and the best three little host nieces and nephew who's screams of "aunt! uncle!" when they hear our bikes click up to the front gate are enough to turn any sort of frustrating, sweaty, disappointing day into an instantaneous success.

we've received new skills in the art of living and working with people, especially those whom initial ideas and customs are inherently completely different.  and i've received a new motto for my life that will guide me through my deepest fears of not-over-planning and not-being-the-best:

mistakes are new experiences.

so, in sum:

there is contentment taking a permanent hold of my heart.

there is anticipation of what the next fourteen months holds.

there is commitment to sharing the steps along the way with you all.

*******

and now i have to go watch topher attempt to beat a new level of angry birds.

and then gloat about my supreme awesomeness of crushing those irksome little pigs. ha!

i have decided

one twenty minute conversation with a complete stranger can do everything to turn any day- normal, horrible or otherwise- into a fantastic "so glad i'm here" kind of day.

i had one of these days yesterday.

now, let's begin with the fact that these conversations are awesome because, more often than not, cambodian strangers are incredibly kind and excited to meet a foreigner.  they also are then out of their seat ecstatic when that foreigner speaks khmer.  and finally, an explosion of questions and khmer come when it is then revealed that said khmer-speaking-foreigner is eager to answer questions!

yesterday, i took some pictures (roop tauts) to get printed, as my dearest cambodian little sister- aary, who works at a restaurant we frequent- is moving to phnom penh to work with her father and brother in a traditional medicine pharmacy at one of the large markets/malls in the capital and i want her to have some pictures of us, and vice versa.

and so. what proceeded at the photo printing shop was a discussion that begins, as most do, like this:

me, in khmer: "hello, i'd like to print some pictures."
them, in khmer: yell for someone else to come, presumably the english speaker.
him, english speaking cambodian, in english: "hello!"
me, in khmer: "hello, how are you? i'd like to print some pictures."
him, in khmer: "oh, you know khmer?"
the conversation lapses into khmer

me: "yes, how are you?"
him: "happy happy, thanks!"
we discuss why i'm here, how long i've been here, and what country i come from.

him: "will you teach me english?"
inevitable question. i explain about the private class i teach, which has stopped for the long holiday but will begin again in may. after five minutes of explaining, they finally believe me when i say that we will start again after the khmer new year, so yes, i really do mean in may.

fellow cambodian, standing by: "oh you know how to speak khmer a lot! you must have lived here for a long time!"
me: "eight months already. and i know how to speak khmer a little bit."
him: "oh, only eight months already!" (which he knows, as he asked me this ten minutes before?!)

we end with salutations, lots of smiling and general merriment.

this happy conversation that uplifts any day can also happen with those people with whom you've built relationships.

the key is that joyous feeling that you understand nearly everything that was said and were understood by many during the best twenty minutes ever.  you leave feeling as if you could walk on khmer-speaking-clouds forever.

here's hoping you have an awesome twenty-minute-conversation-in-khmer kind of day!

milestones: 8 years. 6 months.

today marks the middle day between two very important milestones.

yesterday was the the eight year anniversary of topher and i meeting.  in the wedding blog world, i've often seen this referred to as a "meetaversary."

ok.

tomorrow is the six month anniversary of our moving to cambodia.  of our physical arrival on cambodian soil, marking the true official beginning of this amazing job, journey, experience.

6 months in Cambodia and Day One in Cambodia

topher and i have never been the hugest of anniversary celebrating type people.  we much prefer the random moments to the official ones- like that time that he got me a wii on our four months married anniversary.

but we've always acknowledged that day that we met.  we may still disagree about a few things, like what i was wearing that day, but still.

so here's to eight years, topher, and to six months living this amazing cambodian life.

Then. Now.

cheers to choosing to embark on this awesome, joyful, crazy ride of peace corps volunteerism together.

cheers to finally remembering meeting each other that cold january night freshman year.

cheers to eight long, whirlwind years of a lot of laughing, the right amount of crying, and an amazing amount of other -ings.

and here's to eighty years more and many months more living in the kingdom of wonder.