Weekend favorites

There are two sights in the city that always make me smile. One of those sights is the Royal Palace at dusk: all the streams of color set against the gold, birds perched high above, the quiet river at your side. (I'll write about the other sight another day.)

What is it about a simple breakfast, including coffee from my french press, on a Saturday or Sunday morning that makes the day seem so yours for the taking?

Afternoon tea!  This time inside the brightly-lit Conservatory of Raffles Hotel Le Royal.  I chose a black toffee tea.

The ritual of shopping for produce at Natural Garden, after an afternoon of reading and coffee-sipping at a cafe, is the perfect way to face a new week.

Top 5 Regrets of the Dying

A palliative nurse, who has counseled the dying in their last days, recorded some of their regrets.  Top five below. Full article here.

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

My mom works in the medical field and every now and then, she'd come home and tell me the story of her young 30-something patient who just keeled over the next day: an untimely accident, a stroke, a heart attack.  It's always in those moments that I feel the impermanence of life.

It is Monday morning, not even 7 o'clock yet.  Technically, the report launches in Australia today. It's a mixed bag, this launch, this publication.  I feel almost like there's a giant hole where the research, frustration, writing, editing once was.  I'm looking forward to my next big project, though I presume it will not be in Cambodia.  Also, there's some fear and apprehension of what the reaction will be.  I only need to remember last summer's headache.  And then, on top of that, I fear for some of the stories we highlighted, some of the faces who agreed to be named, photographed, and quoted in the publication.  Some had already been threatened.  One had to flee and leave his family for a few months in order to seek safety. 

Looking back at Burma

I'm rummaging through pictures from Myanmar/Burma.  Last week, I saw a friend, who was returning to the US.  She had journeyed through the country a few weeks ago, a short 10-days sprint and from her accounts, it seems that change is afoot in some parts.

It feels so long ago that I traveled in that country.  I remember the constant power outages that left you in the  oppressive heat and darkness in the late hours of the night, the sound of the generator amping up, the fan blowing again, lulling you to sleep - random memories housed in the cramped, very simple guestrooms  in which I sought temporary shelter.

I became very sick on my last day in Mandalay, so sick I missed my bus back to Yangon, where I had a connecting flight to Bangkok.  Traveling alone, I really did rely on the kindness of strangers.  And that was present in abundance, in many corners of that country.  

Looking ahead, the next 6 months will bring a heady dose of self-selected and self-inflicted uprooting and uncertainty.  Did I mention I stress out a lot over change?  But these pictures remind me that I've never regretted the chances I've taken in life.  I've grown richer from these experiences.  Ethan and I often joke over dinner what past-life stories we would tell our children.

Still, all this moving business makes me a little nervous.  Just a tad.

Mid-week thoughts

via Retronaut

When living in Portland, I once tried to walk my cat on a leash.   I was in the process of doing so, when two ladies walked by and struck up a conversation with me.  "I never knew you could walk a cat," one mused.  "Sure, you can," I said," it just takes a little practice."  Immediately after saying that, I looked up to find that my fat orange tabby had lodged himself in the tree next to me, his nails dug deep into a branch. It took all my might to pull him down.

Seeing this picture made me chuckle.

It's Wednesday here, and I am taking tomorrow off.  I'm going to meet a friend for lunch, visit Ethan's classroom in the afternoon, and not entertain a single thought about work until Friday morning. 

The minimalist

via Of a Kind

I live, and am in love, with a minimalist.  Once, he stared around our flat, littered with clothes from my then-only-two suitcases of US-Cambodia imports, and declared, "You have a lot of stuff."  Little did he know, at that time, that he was co-habitating with a woman who, on top of those two suitcases of dresses, belts, and shoes, had approximately 15+ boxes of beloved dresses, belts, and shoes in Los Angeles, and another 9+ boxes of dresses, belts, shoes and books in my best friend's basement in Portland.  

After our visit home this Christmas holiday, he now knows.

Still, I feel a slight tinge of hesitation when I think of purchasing something new.  I'm well aware that a move is in the near horizon, and accumulating now will surely increase the likelihood of  cursing when I pack and relocate.  My reluctance these days to treat myself to beautiful things is (thankfully!) countered by the fact that my minimalist is also a staunch proponent of buying quality-made, non-throw-away goods from artisans, a choice, he accepts, comes with higher prices - investments, if you will.   

So onto my next aesthetic distraction: this Clare Vivier clutch, made in vintage floral leather, by a Los Angeles-based artisan.  It reminds me of a 3.1 Lim dress I left Stateside. 

A Khmer Wedding

What a week it has been!  A friend's departure, another friend's wedding, and yet another friend's return.  And in between the various gatherings and celebrations scattered throughout the week to punctuate these events, there was the publication mess, one which left me at the printers, poring over words, until 11PM on Friday evening and then most of my Saturday morning.  I spent Sunday recovering.

But let's talk about weddings, because a dear colleague was wedded mid-week.  What to say about these events?   These events always evaporate in an overload of color, taffetta, ruffles, gilded eyes and lips and alcohol.  For this wedding, the bride had 11 (yes) dress changes, each ensemble more ornate than the other.   (Foreigners should note that your Khmer counterparts will always out-dress you for these events.)  Oh, there is always Khmer dancing in a circle, around a pole.

This colleague, a young, ambitious woman who dares to dream of higher education  and a thriving career as a researcher, was wedded to a classmate, who showed up at her door to ask her parents for her hand in marriage.  After a dowry and other details were negotiated, her parents agreed. That was that, and she was informed.  Until that day, she had no idea that the young man even fancied her.

Lately, I've been thinking about the concept and assumptions related to Western  marriage.  My grandma Elpidia was party to an arranged marriage, to a man many years her senior who she had never met before.  Perhaps love wasn't there to begin with, but I will tell you that when she lost my grandpa Felipe, after  decades of marriage, rearing three children and shuttling between two continents, she was so broken at the loss of her life companion.  It broke my heart to see her that way.

Rants, Reward

via Jumelle

I've been working my butt off during the past year on advocacy, field research and a publication on the Project.  The report will launch in Melbourne, Australia in a few weeks.  Yet, even as co-author and lead researcher, I will not be in attendance.  It seems unfair, and I've found myself frustrated with the process on several occasions.  Ethan tries to keep me positive by reminding me that a conference at a certain human rights center will be focused solely on the work, that this work could actually impact Project-affected people both in this Project and other related projects.   Yes, yes, all very rad, but I am a salty curmudgeon.  I suppose all the workings of the world aren't just.  That is one of many lessons I've learned through my experience in Cambodia.

Rant aside, I deserve a treat.  I'm thinking this pair of No. 6 clogs will suffice.  Question is, are they too similar to the previously posted Rachel Comey wedges?  (See last post.)