Life is precious. In
the past two months, two friends have died.
Each was diagnosed with cancer less than a year ago. In dealing with these losses, I find myself tumbling around what am I doing with my life here. The recent days have created a longing for
deeper connections, creative inspiration and more nature.
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| Sharon and her daughter, http://selkirk.ca/ |
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| Elizabeth http://www.vitals.com |
This week marks my third year of living as an
expatriate, and my second year in my cheap little apartment in the dusty chaotic city of Phnom Penh. I have a good life: a decent
paycheck and cheap living, an insane number of national holidays, the relative ease of
travel to amazing places in the region, living a life being chauffeured and waited on. Indeed, there are times
when I am living the dream—walking between jungle and beach on the islands off
Cambodia’s coast or the occasional surge of optimism when my Cambodian colleagues take
initiative--- that gives me hope for the
future and helps me resolve my reason for living here.
Sometimes, there are periods when I find myself lonely
and seeking the connections of community.
Instead of using my solitude for earnest productivity, I find myself distracted
by the colorful matching games on my phone, hoping for responses to
inquiries or invitations I've made to causal friends and acquaintances or longing for the giggly connections with lifelong friends when the timezone is all wrong. Alas, most days I find the scope and lack of movement in my
work to be draining. This is followed by nights where I am torn between the desire to get
out, learn new things and meet new people and the comforting routine of
post-work exercise and an early bedtime.
I’d planned for a respite to Kep over the recent Pchum Benh ceremonies. The long weekend is when people of Phnom Penh return to their home villages to visit family and
bring scores of food to the temple to feed the hungry ghosts of their ancestors. On a happenstance gathering one boozy Friday night happy hour a few weeks ago, I uncovered the shared interest with a group of new acquaintences, so a group of us took the boat out to Koh
Tonsay (Rabbit Island) for the day.
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| Photo by Karen Green |
We met a young Cambodian man, Kompheak, who shared our ferry and was traveling
alone. Thus the four of us set off on a hike around the island. The trail was generally clear, punctuated
by beautiful plants and flowers, stretches of isolated white sand beaches and
small fishing shacks with an occasional rooster. It was easy going
for the first part, but as we continued to circumnavigate into the far reaches
of the opposite shore the vines’ small barbs caught onto clothing, hats and
even jewelry. The sun was high and it became very hot. The trail became extraordinarily muddy,
creating high jinks in flip flops. We trepidatiously waded through a suspicious swamp of
standing water. Kompheak discreetly mentioned that he was exhausted.
In the few moments following, we burst out into the front yard of a
young family: a fisherman, his wife and their four children. The bay in the front of their bamboo and palm
house contained a flourishing seaweed farm.
A string with plants attached ran between pegs, discarded plastic water
bottles acted as floats. His boat was
moored just offshore. The younger children
stared and the two oldest boys(both under 10) set to work preparing the boat for departure
as the fare was negotiated for the ride back to the beach where tourist
services were located. The fisherman,
clad only in underwear, started the small engine with a string after putting a
small bottle of gasoline in the engine and moved back to the rudder as the
oldest son held the propeller in the water.
We puttered away from their home and around a couple more isolated bays. The boy at the bow didn't know how old he was,
only that he was born in the year of the monkey.
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| Photo by Karen Greene |
On the boat trip over to the island earlier that day, Kompheak grumbled that this island was recently
sold to the Vietnamese on a 99 year lease.
In true ruling party fashion, the Prime Minister has awarded many of
these contracts to developers without any input or respect for the fact that
they are public lands and have sustained people for generations. A couple recently profiled in Forbes has profited considerably from this rampage. The previous concessions awarded to the
company (not actually Vietnamese) have resulted in uprooting entire communities and destroying the ecosystems and subsistence farming. For the
people of Koh Tonsay, they are aware of the shift but there will be no
information. For another small isolated island just east of Koh Tonsay, their transition has already begun.
Soon, the fisherman and his
family’s lives will change forever. They will have no control; there is no mercy. In the midst of all this, we find that it is the relationships that matter the most. Our friends, our families, the things that we care about and that which sustains us. We all have to take the balance between the need to be solvent and the effort that makes our souls really fly.
Life is precious. With the fleeting moments that tick away and the ever increasing rate of buildings and roads and short-term economic concessions, it becomes imperative to slow down.
For me, I'm committing to taking my fourth year abroad to do good stuff, make an effort to get out a little more, keep reaching out to friends and writing and finding new trails.
Life is precious. With the fleeting moments that tick away and the ever increasing rate of buildings and roads and short-term economic concessions, it becomes imperative to slow down.
For me, I'm committing to taking my fourth year abroad to do good stuff, make an effort to get out a little more, keep reaching out to friends and writing and finding new trails.
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| Someone signed it in the lower right corner, but its illegible. |
