Life

I lucked out with my living situation. Truly. I live a few minutes away from work, and I have two flatmates with whom I share the two-story Khmer home. A cleaning lady visits us twice a week to erase traces of the week's flurry and to do our laundry, always air-dried by the heat of the sun-soaked terrace.

A few days ago, my Khmer-Aussie flatmate surprised us with smoked salmon and capers, brie, olives, crunchy baguettes, and prosciutto! Until then, the thought of Western comfort food hadn't seriously plagued my mind, but I was quite happy to nosh on the treats while I watched a documentary and let my mind wander.

I thought of Portland, of Sunday brunches with Mami, Jeanice, and Connie, and of running to the grocery store to buy picnic supplies before short summer hikes in the Columbia Gorge. I thought of how green the city must be, how rain-soaked still, and how excited I was, this time of year, to peel off another layer of clothing to celebrate the cusp of summer. And I shook my head and laughed, as I thought of the chain of events that led me to live in Cambodia, where I carry a motorbike helmet to go anywhere, where I apply a layer of 45 SPF sunscreen everytime I leave the house and where I consume too many mango shakes, where I've learned to sit sidesaddle on the back of a motorbike when wearing a dress (nearly always), and where the idea of life here, at this moment anyway, seems very strangely right.

How weird is that?