The sun

We took M to Los Angeles (and Portland) for a three-week holiday.  I'm still thinking of the time spent with my family in California, the sunshine, the ocean, the tamale-filled festivities.  One day, while staying at my sister's house, we walked to the neighborhood pokē restaurant.  It was a breezy 80 degree day, in late December.  I stared up at the towering palm trees and my thoughts swirled around how cold it must be in DC.

I always enjoy time with family but, with M now in our lives, those interactions take on another level of meaning for me (sorry if that sounds blow-hardy).  I'm starting to wonder if I would be fine with my daughter seeing her cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents -- in many ways, her (and my) cultural anchors - once or twice a year tops.  I'm not so sure.  Yet, I'm not exactly ready to move back to California either.

There are other things I'm thinking about, some more frivolous than others, but someone is calling for me.

And my time is up.

Little Tokyo/Arts District

An afternoon in Little Tokyo with Ethan and Jack: rummaging through beauty shops, a big bowl of ramen at Daikokuya, green tea Kit Kat (!!!), and a visit to Poketo. 

Home

Me + Mom

Last night, I returned from over a week in California.  It felt good to be home.

"Home" is a concept I struggle with.  I was born outside of the United States, lived a huge chunk of my life in southern California, and lived most of what I consider to be my adult life in Portland, Southeast Asia, and now Washington DC.  I feel like I leave little bits and pieces of myself in the cities I've lived.

For as long as I've lived outside California, every time I've visited, I have always ask myself if I could ever move back.  Could I imagine myself doing the long commute in a car to my workplace in x?  Actually, could I even imagine myself spending that much time, daily, in a car? The whole southern California dependence on a car would probably kill me a little and moreso Ethan, who bikes everywhere.

But: Could I imagine being able to have weekend dinner with my family at the drop of a hat?  And reliable childcare?  Diversity?  Good food?  Constant sunshine?

This internal dialogue has been going on for over ten years.

After weighing every factor, I always come to the same conclusion: "No, I can't. Not right now." That was the answer I came up with last night on the plane back to DC, as my thoughts wandered through the week, to the baby shower that I was foisted on me, to the wedding prep, to my sister's stunning wedding, the driving, the eating, the constant chatter, the warmth of being around people who just know me.  It pains me a little to say goodbye each time.

I wonder if someday that answer will change.

Weekend recap.

It was good to be home for a few days.

Good morning, Los Angeles.

I've been in southern California for a few days. It was pouring rain. One morning, I woke up and in those first moments, on that cusp of consciousness and sleep, I thought I was back in the Mekong region during the torrential rain season. 

This weekend was my sister's bridal shower and my grandma Elpidia's birthday celebration.  I also caught up with Cherlou.  She took me to Urth Caffe, and we had way too much good food (evidence, above).  Between bites of an incredible apple tartin, I joked with her that she would probably give birth during our brunch - she was due next week.  She didn't, of course. She apparently waited several hours because I woke up this morning to a picture of a beautiful baby boy.  Congrats to them!
 
I'm off to DC today, off to reality again - that is, if the blizzard doesn't delay my flight!

Two thoughts

images via Blossom Vintage

Two thoughts tonight.

First: Blossom Vintage is a vintage shop housed in a 1970s Safari Airstream. Isn't that rad?  There's something about the idea of a woman who travels the world and collects vintage dresses that tugs at my heart strings.  I may have to check it out during my overdue trip to Los Angeles in December. 

Second:  It's only Tuesday, but it feels like Thursday, and I wish it was Friday. It must be one of those weeks. Some days, as I'm walking into these meetings with certain government agencies and international organizations, I am struck by the fact that people spend so much time talking, talking, talking in this city- me included!  Months after moving from Thailand, that entire experience still feels so removed.  And some moments--though as the months pass, these moments are less frequest-- I just want to buy a plane ticket to Bangkok or Phnom Penh, just to visit, even if only for a few days.

Dream Collective and Adjustment

  Dream Collective/Kathryn Bentley via Jeana Sohn Photography

Two months in.  

It turns out it is taking me just a little longer to adjust to Bangkok life.  Today, as I was walking home from work with C, a refugee lawyer who was previously based in Cairo, I confessed that it still feels a little strange to me.  She nodded, as we walked along the jagged sidewalks and maneuvered ourselves around bustling produce stands and lazy dogs.  "I get it.  It's too easy for you here, isn't it?"  I reacted instantly: "No, that's not it."  But after a few minutes of talking it through, C may have a point.  

Am I finally beginning to process the past two years in Cambodia?  And seriously, how warped is it that a life that is "too easy" could be this jarring? 

It's not that I don't enjoy Bangkok creature comforts.  I love the convenience in this city.  I love that the subway, right outside my door, can take me across this city with ease -- and I don't have to haggle with motodop drivers everyday over the cost of transport.  I love how easy it is to find certain items here - hello, rosemary and good avocados!  I love that hygiene standards are higher, that people actually have pets, and that vintage dress shops are numerous.  I love the local food in this country.  The list is long.

Still, and strangely, Cambodia has left an indelible mark, with its intensity, endless frustration and richness.  There are things I miss.  What a departure from last month. 
 

my last care package in Cambodia

I've said it before, but I LOVE receiving care packages from family and friends.  This one, my last in Cambodia, included the Ermie silk top I ordered.  I changed into it as soon as I received it. I love the print, and the soft silk and easy cut are perfect for hot and humid days.  It's funny how something as simple as a beautiful garment instantly picks me up.   

(By the way, I am a tad obsessed with Jennifer's instagram - all the colors and patterns make me homesick for California.)

The care package also contained other things, which made me laugh, including dried apples from my parents' garden (my dad always sends me back with a bag or two, which Ethan quickly devours), a box of chocolates from my parents' recent trip to Norway and Brussels, and this birthday sample from Sephora.

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. 

What I Ate, Pt. 1

Stumptown Coffee Roasters, Portland

I'm back in Phnom Penh, still jetlagged and spinning from nearly four weeks of time with my family and friends - and Ethan's family, too.  Last night, menacing thunderstorms kept me up in the wee hours of the morning and my thoughts raced immediately to my time back home.  Admittedly, I cannot really pin down "home": I was born and raised for several years abroad; I grew up in Los Angeles and my family is there; I lived in the gem that is Portland for 6 years; I now reside in Phnom Penh, Cambodia; and Ethan and I are contemplating our next move.  I have never considered myself a "nomad," as I really like to plant myself somewhere for an extended period of time, but gazing at the previous sentence makes me pause.  

At any rate, my thoughts centered on the idea of "home" and "community." Having spent some time reconnecting with friends on this trip, I am reminded of the calibre of my friends.  They are an incredible bunch of people.

And then, my mind wandered to gatherings with these people, often against the setting of food and consumption.  On this trip, I followed friends and family around to their favorite restaurants. Here are a few favorites:

La Moscata Bakery (Los Angeles, California):  I've never actually stepped foot in this bakery.  I only know that my dad, a retired City of Los Angeles worker, frequented this bakery for what he claims are some of the best tamales in town.  Apparently, it's a City workers' haunt.  The morning I left for Denver, Colorado, I awoke to find several dozen tamales n our family kitchen. My parents made the 6:00AM morning drive to stand in line at this Los Angeles bakery.  They wanted to send Ethan and his family a few vegetarian and sweet tamales. 

Snooze, an A.M. Eatery (Fort Collins, Colorado):  I ordered the eggs benedict, topped with tomato ragu, kale, white beans, squash and cream cheese hollandaise.  I, however, also sampled the buttermilk pancakes topped with pumpkin cream, candied pumpkin seeds and chili-infused syrup and the red velvet pancakes with the espresso-infused maple syrup.  

Del INTI (Portland, Oregon):  I really, really enjoy a non-fusion, simple lomo saltado, the kind you find at hole-in-the-wall Peruvian eateries, tucked away in bland stripmalls in Southern California.  This restaurant was certainly not in a stripmall and the food was a little fusion, but it was one of the best Peruvian meals I've had in Portland.

Tabernash Tavern (Tabernash, Colorado): This is a small restaurant in the mountains of Colorado, near Winter Park.  All I remember is that the buffalo stroganoff was yum.

Sea Salt Coffee

via NPR

It's amazing how much food I consume on these trips home. Considering the food choices and various ethnic enclaves scattered throughout the greater Los Angeles area, I should not have expected anything less.  With friends and  family in the past week and a half, I've had "the best Mexican food" in San Gabriel Valley, Santa Ana, and Redondo Beach.  I've had steaming bowls of ramen in West Covina and been stuffed with tamales from East Los Angeles and Cuban food from Long Beach.  I've sampled Indian in Pasadena, though Little India near Cerritos would have been my choice.  I've hopped about Korean and Taiwanese eateries in Arcadia and Rowland Heights.   

For non-Los Angelenos, those city names mean nothing.  But in those ventures, there is often a considerable amount of driving and freeway traversing - all in the name of good food.  That variety is one of the things I love about Los Angeles.  It never disappoints.

Tonight, Joseph and Jenny took me to Jazz Cat Cafe, a hotpot place in Rowland Heights, and then to 85C Bakery for sea salt coffee. The coffee was tasty.

Oh, and another thing I am no longer accustomed : long lines for restaurants.

Lingering on Mondulikiri

I know this post should be about the Christmas holiday and how great it was - it really was a good holiday, one of the best I've had in years and a perfect way to punctuate what has been an incredible, if not stressful and intense, year.

But this morning, I'm not thinking of Christmas dinner, nor of the refrigerator full of tamales, carne asada, ham, brussel sprouts with bacon, mocha cake, red velvet cake, cheesecake, som tam (Thai papaya salad), sticky rice, or lumpia (egg rolls) left over from that night.

My mind is going back to the week I spent in Mondulikiri province before I flew back home, to the really strange day I was holed up in Bananas, a shack-cum-restaurant situated near the trickling river, where I ate homemade bread and Dutch meatballs served up by a German expat who had called the place home for several years.  All day, I wrote frantically, well aware that I had to fly home in less than 48 hours.  It was cold.  I had a scarf and fleece jacket one (unheard of in Cambodia), and when the wind blew, the shack shook and shook.  As you looked up, the holes in the roof were visible, light streaming in.  Around me, a hungry bulldog begged for food, while I had to move my coffee cup, to and fro, away from the two grey and white kittens jumping into my lap, onto the desk.

I thought of this because the past week has been a break from work and revisions and clarifications.  But I'm now back, working remotely.  The paper launches in Australia in February, or so I've been told.  It is crunch time, they say.

When I think of Cambodia, of colleagues and friends there, of my work and then compare  those images to my few days spent home, to the few hours in crowded malls and in busy streets lined with more modernity, affluence, and mobility than I've seen in the last 12 months, the whole Cambodia experience seems so distant and surreal.

This is absolutely cliche, but I just don't think I'll ever be the same.

Home

via Totokaleo

It feels good to be home, even though today at Sephora with my mom, I was absolutely overwhelmed by the crowds of people and the abundance of shiny things.  I must have walked down those streets in Old Town Pasadena so many times as I grew up in the area . . . Nonetheless, I cannot complain:  good Indian food, a hot cup of chai masala, and a chat with my mom are always welcome. 

While I am here, I'll be doing some closet cleaning in the next few weeks.  Take a look here and here.

Christmas!

via Amazon

I'm back from Mondulikiri via a bumpy 8 hour bus ride.  I'm feeling a little ragged right now.  I leave for Los Angeles tomorrow evening, but there's so much to do before then.

There's the writing I haven't finished, brunch in a few hours with two lovely ladies, a meeting with the editor, and, oh yeah, gift shopping!  The feeling of Christmas, of holidays, has presented itself in an unsteady trickle.  One night, Ethan (who does not have the same fond associations with the holiday as I do) and I found ourselves humming and dancing around the flat to cheesy holiday tunes.  That was nice.  Another day, at Daughters of Cambodia Cafe, the sweet barista brought me a sugar cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree.  In general, though, the lights strewn about and the lit-up Christmas trees inside shops  feel very artificial  and strange to me because, to the vast majority of Khmers, this holiday is clearly a Western import.  To me, this holiday has always held strong associations with family time, eating and laughter - and I've made a promise to myself that no matter where I am in the world, I will go home for the holidays.    

I'm starting off the day early, with a cup of coffee, sweetened with honey.  I'm thinking of getting my sister, Jack, a french press from Russian Market.  I do not know how I ever lived without one!

Wednesday Inspiration

all images via Beatrice Valenzuela

Shoe-maker Beatrice Valenzuela's blog is full of inspiration.  There are snapshots of her colorful meals and accompanying recipes, of her home.  All this makes me really miss tortillas.  Did you know I haven't had a good tortilla in all my time in Cambodia?  It's very easy to take good tortillas for granted, until you end up in Cambodia.  My southern California upbringing has spoiled me.

365 days, weeks #44-46.

How is it mid-November?  Someone please tell me.  For the past 3 weeks, the pace of life has been go,go, go. I'm almost at a loss for words, but in my attempt to document, here are a few thoughts today, disjointed just like the images above:

1. It's the early morning of day 3 of a crazy week, filled with: me kicking unethical journalists out of meetings, who I then chided for endangering already threatened community members; me and others just completely frustrated by the lack of progress by key stakeholders, by an apparent absence of due diligence (wish I could say more here, but I cannot); me writing frantically, harkening back to the late nights I often pulled working as a lawyer at a firm, except this time the subject matter is so emotionally taxing, the mechanisms unpredictable, inaccessible.

2. Last week, craving urban space, Ethan and I took a circuitous route through Koh Kong, Cambodia, with its verdant mountains, crossed the border into Thailand, and headed into Bangkok.  Again!  It was like many of our journeys: one of movement.  I've been fortunate to travel as much as I have this year, while working as much as I have - this would not have been possible except for the crazy Cambo holidays that riddle certain parts of the calendar.  In Bangkok this time, we observed the flooding preparations (sandbags, new concrete mini-walls in front of shops), and I probably had the best bowl of ramen since my last trip to Japan two years ago. I also scored a pair of yellow Worishofer-esque clog/sandals.

3. I started taking cyclos around the city, when I can find them.  They are much slower on movement, but I don't know how these men, usually much older, compete with the ubiquitous motor bike operators. I associate cyclos with Yangon, Burma.  One memory I have is of riding around one in the city after sunset, pitch black because of the common black-outs, the high-pitched cyclo bell ringing, cutting through the dark.

4. I really hate farewell parties.  

5.  I picked up my SFS Circle Top at the post office. It arrived in Cambodia from San Francisco in less than 1 week, although it took the Cambo post system some time to inform me.  Score 1 for the US Post.  The top is airy, the print is lovely.  

6. In one month, I travel home.  Wow.

Churros

via Xooro

On Sundays, after the requisite Catholic mass, churchgoers would flood the grounds outside, where tamale and churro ladies peddled their wares to the hungry. My sisters and I weren't impervious to these treats. I always picked a churro, which was sweet and crunchy and wrapped in crisp, white paper.

I crave those treats now and then. Over the years, I've had dressed-up versions at much nicer venues than the church courtyard, but they have not come close to that simple treat.

This Xooro place, in Los Angeles, may be a worthy contender.

Happy Easter!

via Passports & Postcards

My Easter memories, as far back as I can dig into my childhood at least, have always involved bright splashes of color -- coloring Easter eggs with my sisters, hunting for them in garden, baskets full of confections, cakes, and pastel dresses. This year, in Cambodia, the holiday almost passed without notice. I know at home, in Los Angeles, my family is gathering around for dinner, amid bouts of argument and laughter.

This picture of French macaroons reminds of this holiday. It also reminds me of visits to Pix Patisserie, in Southeast Portland, Oregon, where I noshed on colorful macaroons, which I often washed down with one of their tasty beers.

Baubles

Baubles from home. Completely necessary.