Back in Bangkok, 64 days later, waiting for a flight again. And saying goodbye to Southeast Asia... for now.
For me, Cambodia will always be the place where I finally turned the corner and started smiling from the inside out, for the first time in a long time. Cambodia, my unconventional sanctuary of dusty roads, rusty bicycles with sticky brakes, bare feet, monks grinning from ear to ear, gecko pets in my room, naked young children running in the streets, ant bites that made my foot swell to twice its size, power outages and an endless supply of genuine smiles.
Cambodia, the place I learned, by way of forcefully self-imposed design, how to be comfortably alone for the first time in my life. And I mean really alone. And I mean really the first time in my life.
Cambodia, the place I learned, through practice, how to let go gracefully. To gently let go of people I love, in a loving way. To gently loosen the reins and relax my incessant desire to control the future and the unknown. To gently tune out the voice in my head echoing the judgment of others, both the real and perceived.
It was the place I learned to start to appreciate myself for precisely who I am. And be reminded of precisely who I am. It was not without some painful and humbling moments. I won't dwell upon those. I will just acknowledge that they were all part of the process.
It will always be the place where I caught a reflection of myself one day walking down the street, pleasantly surprised to realise I was donning a smile as my natural expression. (For the past few years, my boss has continually stopped to hover over me and my computer screen to remind me that burrowing my eyebrows causes wrinkles.) There I was, walking down the street, in the smouldering heat, in my own company... and naturally wearing a smile. That's the day I knew I was definitely going to be okay.
I had help. From some constant sources (who should not be underestimated - you know who you are).
But also from some fleeting yet incredibly powerful bursts of energy. Some that came into my life before I left London... some after.
K&S, warding off the Wilson syndrome
There were K and S, the English and American girls I met during my first week in Cambodia who were at a crossroads in their lives similar to mine. Two girls who had both experienced marathon relationships in their 20s that ended with a brave goodbye, and who were seeking something more meaningful professionally. Two ladies who had stepped away from a life that looked perfect on paper because they knew deep down something wasn't right, and who had both embarked on journeys similar to mine in order to figure it all out.
Everyone needs someone to relate to, especially when they feel like an island. These girls joined me on my island for a while. They, among other similar characters I met on and off for the following 10 weeks, certainly helped me avoid the temptation to draw a face on a soccer ball, name him Wilson and carry on a conversation with him at night, Tom Hanks style.
D, the ''one drink'' cure for bitterness
There was D, the English chap about two heads taller than me, with the deepest voice I've ever heard, and the first non-type A, non-corporate type I think I have ever gone on a legitimate date with as an adult... not to mention the first 'first' date I had been on since circa 2004. Even months later, I am still in awe at how the stars aligned to create this perfect and nothing more than temporary set of interactions which somehow served to dissolve some of my disappointment and cynicism toward relationships, as well as restore my faith in the possibility I would ever someday bother with trying to love again.
I was heading in the exact opposite mental direction before he crossed my path. My emotional reserves were running on empty and I knew I had no business getting into a relationship or probably even dating, one of the many reasons I was sending myself to Cambodia. I agreed to go for one drink with this guy, simply because I thought I needed the practice. Okay, maybe I also had something to prove to myself. 2004? That's a long time.
I fully expected it to end at that. One drink. However, he really intrigued me. And there was safety in the fact that we both knew our interactions had a pre-set expiration date, defined by my ticket out of London in mid-April. So I agreed to go out with him again, and again, until I left the UK. For some reason, I could effortlessly talk with him for hours on end. And the experience reminded me that permanently cutting myself off emotionally from the world, male species included, was not an option. It ended with a very pleasant goodbye. Haven't spoken with him since, and didn't expect to, or even really want to. We both were complete wildcards with at least one foot into new paths we were pursuing. The beauty of it was in its brevity. That little crack he put in my hardening shell changed me for the better.
L, my gift of purpose
God knows I can certainly roam. But aimless roaming... can't do that for long. So thankfully there was L, the 25-year old Cambodian girl who I worked with day in and day out for two months. Who to me, will always be the most wonderful and beautiful and funniest and most charming Cambodian girl I've ever known because she validated my initial purpose for being there and the risk I took by stepping away from the familiar. And because she became a daily source of smiles and laughter.
Every day, she thanked me for coming and leaned on my shoulder and begged me to stay longer. She called me srey shah - Khmer for ''pretty girl.''
I have fond memories of riding on the back of her motorbike around Siem Reap, particularly the day we followed a guy with a pig in a wooden cage on the back of his bike. I asked her if it was still alive. She said, ''yes of course'' and then abruptly pulled to the side of the road to buy us palm sugar juice from the man with the cart on wheels, which she insisted I had to try. Flies and bees were swarming everywhere around that machine that was grinding the sugar cane, and I wasn't sure of the source of the ice, but I drank it anyway, because she so generously insisted on buying it for me. We rode back to the office, sipping pure liquid sugar from a straw in a plastic bag, Asian style.
L was without a doubt the brightest part of my time in Cambodia. She made sweating my ass off and walking around the office with bare dusty feet begging to be preyed on by evil fire ants every day a priviledge and a pleasure.
There were many others. Maybe we'll never know all the small ways we changed someone else's life for the better just by being exactly who we are. May this be a testament to the fact that it happens anyway. And a reminder to stop to tell someone when they change yours.
Thank you Cambodia.
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