Preface to the entry: I don't feel like writing today. I didn't feel like writing yesterday. Given my past and present inclinations, I can deduce with almost perfect certainty that I will not feel like writing tomorrow. But for my advertised commitment to updating this pointless thing, I would have chucked it altogether weeks ago.
Having gotten that out of the way, you'll pardon whatever the proceeding lacks, including cultural sensitivity, Christian charity, and just maturity in general. Without further ado:
Cambodia--as much as I have grown to love this country, there persist definite shortcomings--and I have chosen this word specifically and conscientiously--that all, eventually seem to bear a correlation to one another. Allow me to start with the topic of noise pollution. There is such a thing, and such a thing exists here, in fact, it thrives. From the almost daily assault on the eardrums of every citizen in Siem Reap and, I suspect, elsewhere, by "music"--and I use this term loosely--chanting, and babbling (for it seems highly unlikely to me that even a listener proficient in Khmer could understand what is being said) over loudspeakers placed strategically throughout the city; to the genetically mutated cats (yes, they are) that haunt the alleyways and rooftops from evening until morning, imitating those cacophonous noises made by toddlers in grocery store aisles that draw looks of disdain from passersby who would tell the frazzled mothers that a spanking was in order if they did not fear the same was in store for them if they did. Yes, the loudspeakers proclaiming weddings, funerals, birthday parties; the cats howling, the traffic screeching, the construction that must be going on somewhere, because you can hear it, but where it is occurring and to what end, who can tell (?); the everyday hustle and bustle that seems naturally to become amplified at 4:00 o'clock in the morning. This is Cambodia. I would limit this statement to Siem Reap had I not already visited the countryside and experienced the same. Is it rudeness or a massive cry for existential acknowledgement? Well, at 4:00 o'clock in the morning, I really don't care what it is, I just wish that, 1) someone would offer that guy free music lessons and, 2) that they'd consider playing some Bob Barker entreaties about spaying and neutering your pet over the loudspeakers every once in a while.
Cambodia--smiles abound, almost outnumbering the tuk-tuks that perpetually assail anyone caught in the act of ambulating. Why, even the underfed, dirt-encrusted children wandering the streets collecting rubbish will smile at you if you smile at them first. Many children, in fact thousands of them are conscripted, most often by their parents, into working from morning until night at jobs comparable to those held by characters of many a Dickens novel. Many children are forced to do things that I cannot mention. So many of these children never learn to read or write in their own language, let alone in English. But that is a small thing compared to the stripping away of childhood and, in many instances, humanity that these children are subject to. When one realizes that such things take place, one begins to wonder what lurks behind those ready smiles. Pain? Desperation? Hope?
Cambodia--land of strangulating heat, golden temples, suicidal motorcyclists, sporadic sidewalks, unscheduled power outages, fruit stands, and tourists who all seem to follow the same dress code of baggy elephant pants, white tank-tops, and clueless expressions. Cambodia--land I have come to love, in a hateful sort of way.
Yes, I love it here. I'm not sure why, but I believe that when one finds compassion and affection for a person or place, all the while acknowledging (and at times, really, really despising) it's faults, one can claim to love said person or place. I do. I make the declaration again without having any observable, tangible reason for it. I'm not a people person in the social butterfly sense. No nation or social group, culture, age group, or gender appeals to me or captures my heart more than any other. I cannot pretend to be so pretentious as that. I do not feel called as of yet, but if I were to be called here, I would not argue...just so long as I were provided a room with air conditioning. I cannot physically bear the heat.
The children are in desperate need of love and commitment to their upbringing and wellbeing. I am sure that Cambodia is not unique in this, and yet the need is so strongly felt here. The need is undeniable.
I don't feel like writing any more.
Having gotten that out of the way, you'll pardon whatever the proceeding lacks, including cultural sensitivity, Christian charity, and just maturity in general. Without further ado:
Cambodia--as much as I have grown to love this country, there persist definite shortcomings--and I have chosen this word specifically and conscientiously--that all, eventually seem to bear a correlation to one another. Allow me to start with the topic of noise pollution. There is such a thing, and such a thing exists here, in fact, it thrives. From the almost daily assault on the eardrums of every citizen in Siem Reap and, I suspect, elsewhere, by "music"--and I use this term loosely--chanting, and babbling (for it seems highly unlikely to me that even a listener proficient in Khmer could understand what is being said) over loudspeakers placed strategically throughout the city; to the genetically mutated cats (yes, they are) that haunt the alleyways and rooftops from evening until morning, imitating those cacophonous noises made by toddlers in grocery store aisles that draw looks of disdain from passersby who would tell the frazzled mothers that a spanking was in order if they did not fear the same was in store for them if they did. Yes, the loudspeakers proclaiming weddings, funerals, birthday parties; the cats howling, the traffic screeching, the construction that must be going on somewhere, because you can hear it, but where it is occurring and to what end, who can tell (?); the everyday hustle and bustle that seems naturally to become amplified at 4:00 o'clock in the morning. This is Cambodia. I would limit this statement to Siem Reap had I not already visited the countryside and experienced the same. Is it rudeness or a massive cry for existential acknowledgement? Well, at 4:00 o'clock in the morning, I really don't care what it is, I just wish that, 1) someone would offer that guy free music lessons and, 2) that they'd consider playing some Bob Barker entreaties about spaying and neutering your pet over the loudspeakers every once in a while.
Cambodia--smiles abound, almost outnumbering the tuk-tuks that perpetually assail anyone caught in the act of ambulating. Why, even the underfed, dirt-encrusted children wandering the streets collecting rubbish will smile at you if you smile at them first. Many children, in fact thousands of them are conscripted, most often by their parents, into working from morning until night at jobs comparable to those held by characters of many a Dickens novel. Many children are forced to do things that I cannot mention. So many of these children never learn to read or write in their own language, let alone in English. But that is a small thing compared to the stripping away of childhood and, in many instances, humanity that these children are subject to. When one realizes that such things take place, one begins to wonder what lurks behind those ready smiles. Pain? Desperation? Hope?
Cambodia--land of strangulating heat, golden temples, suicidal motorcyclists, sporadic sidewalks, unscheduled power outages, fruit stands, and tourists who all seem to follow the same dress code of baggy elephant pants, white tank-tops, and clueless expressions. Cambodia--land I have come to love, in a hateful sort of way.
Yes, I love it here. I'm not sure why, but I believe that when one finds compassion and affection for a person or place, all the while acknowledging (and at times, really, really despising) it's faults, one can claim to love said person or place. I do. I make the declaration again without having any observable, tangible reason for it. I'm not a people person in the social butterfly sense. No nation or social group, culture, age group, or gender appeals to me or captures my heart more than any other. I cannot pretend to be so pretentious as that. I do not feel called as of yet, but if I were to be called here, I would not argue...just so long as I were provided a room with air conditioning. I cannot physically bear the heat.
The children are in desperate need of love and commitment to their upbringing and wellbeing. I am sure that Cambodia is not unique in this, and yet the need is so strongly felt here. The need is undeniable.
I don't feel like writing any more.
