Russian chocolates

The day before I went into labor, Ethan and I celebrated our one year anniversary.  In lieu of how we imagined we would celebrate (a trip to Kyrgyzstan, camping in a yurt), we instead spent the day doing more low-key activities--namely, buying houseplants, eating at our favorite Sichuanese restaurant in the Maryland 'burbs, and visiting a few of the adjacent "ethnic" grocery stores, one of which was a Russian/post-Soviet Imperium grocery store.  There, we came across these chocolates, which I encountered in many grocery stores in Russia. I remember bringing these home as souvenirs for friends in Portland.

That trip feels like a lifetime ago.  I think often of that trip.  I guess it could have been any trip. Replace the Tran-Siberian with a trip to Italy or Chile - whatever.  That trip marked an inflection point in my life; so much changed after that time.

One of the surprising things I've found about motherhood is that it has strengthened my resolve to live/work abroad again.  Moving abroad again has always been our plan, but there's another dimension to it now. When I found out I was pregnant, my mind clung to an image of me, Ethan and our child in Cambodia or another country. Perhaps it's because that's where this story began (where Ethan and I met and fell in love).  Perhaps it's because I was exposed to many expat mothers raising their families in Cambodia, Thailand, elsewhere.  And/or, perhaps I'm clinging to a way of life that may no longer fit.  I'm not sure; it's probably a mix of all three.

With M's arrival, Ethan and I talk a lot about living abroad again.  It pains our families to hear that we plan to move abroad with M in a few years. While life certainly has its twists and turns, I hope that when the right opportunity presents itself, we will have the courage to go through with the move.

But that won't happen for a few years, I think.  And right now, there's a lot to relish about life in DC.

Steady.

It's been a rough week, which I've largely spent buried in appeals and listening to stories of refugees' homes being raided in the early morning, of being coerced into paying bribes to officers to secure family members' release, of being subject to "soft deportation" to the countries from which they fled, etc.

I'm glad it's Friday evening. 

Ethan told me the other day that I mainly use this space to document shoes and dresses.  That is true.  I write less about my work in Thailand than I did in Cambodia.  Maybe it was the novelty of Cambodia.  Maybe I was still new to drawing boundaries of work and not-work, especially human rights work.  Maybe it's that the nature of my work in Thailand is such that I am bound my stricter confidentiality rules and 50+ hours a week dedicated to this work is more than sufficient use of my thoughts and energy.

Still, the reason I've kept this space for the past three years is to document - and to remember. Because memories invariably grow faint. Because things change so quickly in life.

Speaking of which, change is coming.  Another twist, despite my dogged resistance.  And, I'm doing all I can to not be overwhelmed, to work on my cases without being consumed by all that is ahead. 

Must. Breathe. 

Gone, so gone.

Goodbye, summer vacation.  You were lovely. (I already miss you.)

We're in Bangkok, and we're apartment hunting, which means days pounding the pavement. Someone needs to stop me from drinking too many of these Thai iced coffees.  Crack coffee.

I'll report on my summer holiday soon.

Cambodia finds

My flat is vacated.  My bags are packed, more or less.  I have way too many silk fabric finds (above), and there's no more time for dress-making. For now. 

Indonesia, India, and summer beckon. 

Technically, it isn't time for the move to Bangkok.  It's time for adventure and travel, a little respite.  But practically speaking, this is the beginning of the end of my years living in Cambodia.  Tears have been shed.  

I think back to my move over two years ago. I was so frightened, so excited, so open to everything.  It boggles my mind that these years have passed so quickly and here I am, many more things accumulated, many more experiences shared, and with a person who did not exist in my life before Cambodia, but without whom I could not imagine making this move or any other.  I suppose that's life.

This move feels quite different.   I feel quite different.

Unrelated, today I like this quote:

“And then the dreams break into a million tiny pieces. The dream dies. Which leaves you with a choice: you can settle for reality, or you can go off, like a fool, and dream another dream.”

–Nora Ephron.

And I am off.

2011

So, 2011, huh?

During the weeks I was home, my computer died, taking with it memories and documents of what has been a whirlwind year-- and then, thanks to one very savvy person, it was resurrected. There was a 30-hour-Portland trip, too short a time to see friends, but just long enough to give me a taste of the Pacific Northwest, to remind me how nice that city feels, how a big part of myself was shaped there. There was also a whole lot of eating.

And then, there were family goodbyes, packing, a plane trip that started with breakfast in Los Angeles, continued with an orange sunset in Tokyo and then a late, late dinner in Bangkok.

I'm back in Phnom Penh. Stepping outside the airport doors to the dusty city, I peeled off the layers of travel clothing and was greeted by the smell of burning-something (incense? foliage?) and the honking tuk-tuks and a cool breeze, all filling the air; it felt really homey.

Already, there is so much to do, and a tide of change is underway. There are new faces in the office. And very soon, I will have a new home. With an oven!

It kinda feels like I'm turning a page.

Culture shock, phase one.

I'm in Seoul, enjoying the free internet at the airport. It is a cold day in South Korea, so cold I could see my breath as I stepped outside, so cold that the windows on the bus glazed over with a thick fog as we traveled the hour and a half from the airport into the city center, so cold that my leggings and sandals weren't quite suitable attire. No images to share today; no fully formed thoughts either.

An extended layover provided me with an opportunity to explore the city, and I accidentally ending up in one of city's main shopping areas. Today, as I watched the life on the streets, I felt a similar sensation to that when I traveled through central Russia and finally made it to Moscow. It's how I felt wandering through the city--one stocked with high-heeled women who could (amazingly) do stilettos on ice/snow--in the grubby travel gear that sustained me through the Siberian winter: out of place and wayyyy under-dressed, an outsider.

This morning, I sat and just stared for what felt like hours. Fine, I stared in appreciation at all the great shoes and coats women wore. I noticed how well-kept they appeared. I noticed how the streets were clean, how movement was orderly. I noticed the seatbelts in the bus (wow). I noticed how much more expensive food and transport were. And it became really evident to me that I've been living in a third world country, without much of the modernity and creature comforts to which I had grown accustomed, for a good chunk of the year. And I will continue to do so next year.

I wonder how Los Angeles will feel. My plane boards in 30 minutes.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

In less than 48 hours, I will be leaving for Los Angeles, in a sense circling back to the journey I started 7+ months ago, when with two suitcases packed full of dresses, shampoo and other "necessities," I made the move to Cambodia.

I'm not, however, staying in Los Angeles. I've signed another contract that will keep me in Phnom Penh for a bit longer. Opportunities that I could not have foreseen at the time of my move just popped up. And simply, I fell in love with the work. There's no other way to say it.

Nonetheless, a heady dose of excitement and fear accompanied my decision. But for now, I won't entertain that din because I am going home to see my family and friends. OMG.

Standing

Another quick thought: I have lived and worked in a third world country for 6+ months now, in a field that is as meaningful and intellectually stimulating as it is emotionally challenging, doing advocacy and legal work that I could not have dreamed up before my move, with experiences that still floor me (and I am relatively numb to these things now), that make me laugh, shake my head in disbelief and, sometimes, in anger, in hope, in mind-boggling, eye-opening amazement.

That is where I stand today, incidentally in the only Mayle dress I brought along (not that others would find that very blogworthy, but I heart Mayle).

And in about a week, I go home to visit family and friends.

P.S. Actually, it has been 7+ months. Time flies.

Hello

So sorry for the lack of posts! I wanted to write about so many things, but I could not. Blogger, like many other sites, is blocked in Myanmar, and can only be accessed with the helping hand of a computer savvy person and, well, access to an internet connection, which was spotty in most parts of the country.

But I am back now, somewhat settled in Phnom Penh, at work, siphoning internet for just a few more minutes and staving off the heat (100+ degrees today) before my short walk home. Tonight, I am going to track down a good fruit and veggie market. Wish me luck.

I will write soon.

In transit

Where do I start? I find myself grasping for words that won't come, still digesting it all and, believe me, there's a whole lot to digest out here.

How do I begin to describe a journey that began with my poor, poor panicked dad locking himself out of the car that held our baggage, then involved a mad dash to the airport with a very frantic Jack, a never-ending corridor of shuffling lines, and a series of plane trips and layovers? I suppose you could call that a long day.

Stepping off the plane in Phnom Penh, we were instantly thrown into the throng: tuk-tuk drivers on the street touted their business with rapid-fire calls of "Madame, madame, tuk-tuk!", a wall of hot humid air greeted us, as did honking horns and sounds, sights and smells indecipherable and unfamiliar (for now). This is the Cambodia I remembered, in all of its overwhelming, raw, chaotic beauty.

Although I have been here for a few days, I feel unsettled, still in transit. I am looking at an apartment today, picking up my Myanmar visa at the embassy (after having answered many, many questions about my profession and my former employer), and leaving for Yangon in a few days.

I am exploring the city slowly, easing into life here, observing and conversing. It is scorching hot, 100 degrees and humid, and, as a result, I am addicted to fresh mango shakes and afternoon naps. Rainy season has just begun.

P.S. Thank you for all the sweet comments!

Into the fray

gorgeous photo by alicia bock (via sfgirlbythebay)

My suitcases are packed, incidentally with more dresses than I had planned. The whirlwind of emotions that gripped me this week has peaked and plummeted, reached a crescendo. The final vaccinations were given, the malaria pills picked up, and the visa pictures reluctantly taken. Farewells were thrown about like confetti, and warm words were exchanged with friends and colleagues.

Did I tell you my mum made a last minute decision to hop into Cambodia for two days before heading to the Philippines? We will celebrate Mother's Day in Phnom Penh! It should be interesting.

There is a quiet excitement welling up in me.

Here I go.

tchotchkes

Baubles. Red velvet & blackberry cake. A great bowl o' sweet potato fries. Steven Alan Outpost. That was my Sunday.

And, hello, May! Last week was the intended week for the move, but vaccinations were in the way. This week is the week. Can my heart beat any faster?

The Issue of Transport

One thing niggling away at me has been the prospect of transportation in Phnom Penh. There is no public bus system in the city, no subway, no trains. The presence of cars is scarce, limited to wealthy expats, diplomats and government officials -- not that I would even contemplate purchasing or renting a car for my stay.

Of course, I can choose to walk, or to ride a bike, thus testing my sluggish reflexes against the congested arterials of this decaying French colonial city.

And then, there's the motorbike, the ubiquitous mode of transport in SE Asia. You can purchase a used motorbike in Cambodia for less than $200 USD. With one motorbike adventure under my belt, why do I suspect that having my own may be more dangerous? Oh, that's right -- because, even on foot, I am tragically clumsy and uncoordinated.

And, if nothing else, when I tire of pounding my feet on the scorching pavement, I can hire a tuk-tuk, which is a rickshaw attached to a motorbike, a lovely way to zip across the city.

I am undecided. This will be sorted out, I'm certain, next week.

Soft Focus

via MandalayBus

A few nights ago, we took my grandma Elpidia to the airport. Another trip to the Philippines, this one a long time coming. She was so excited.

I realized, standing in that newly-renovated, starkly cavernous terminal where multilingual announcements blared and people shuffled in line, pushing their oversized "balikbayan" boxes, that many moments of my childhood and my adult life have been spent in airports. I've spent many moments waving farewell to family departing on their bi-annual trips, many moments waiting. Now, I see that airport frolics were a constant in my family, expected like Christmas and birthdays, yet another marker noting the passage of time. As a result, I associate airports (LAX specifically) with a sort of melancholic-excitement, a concurrence of sadness and a stir-crazy excitement, of the unformed. Whatever these memories and associated feelings may be, that night, at the airport, they warmed me like an old blanket.

Being at the airport also did another thing: It snapped me into focus, like a slap across the face. I am moving to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. (Writing it out helps.) Friends and colleagues often ask if I am not scared, and, when they do, I sometimes wonder if they think I've been imbued with some magical strength that makes me impervious. Of course, I am scared. I am scared of living in a country where I know not a soul (except for the other international and local lawyers who I met briefly in December); where I expect to stumble as I navigate the language, the culture, and the legal system; where the likelihood is high that I will contract worms and/or some other ailment that makes my skin crawl at the very thought; where any Western glorification of human rights lawyering will probably dissolve into a darker reality; and where I will learn about all these things and more, in painstaking detail, alone. (Writing it out does not help.)

And yet, the potential gain from this rare opportunity weighs on me more heavily than the growing list of warnings, eclipsing everything. I've wanted, for a long time, to explore law, legal systems, or the lack thereof abroad, but I swallowed whole the idea that such experiences were saved for later times in life, that such were luxuries you allowed yourself only after you had worked at the billable system for 20-30 years, only after . . .

So, what happens when you deviate, when you voyage out? This year and this move, to begin with, are my experiment. Now, if only I would focus. Hopefully, this picture of Bagan will help.

And, on that note, I'm off to cut my street urchin locks and to grab lunch with Cherlou.

Poked, Prodded

via Anarella

Second round of travel shots yesterday. (Did I mention I detest shots?) Flu today. Not fun.

There's also an issue with my departure date, presently slated for the last week of April. I may have to push it back a few days to make sure I am in tiptop shape for the move. Logically, it makes sense to do so -- every ounce of health precaution now is important, given the general state of medical facilities where I am headed. It makes sense. And, what's a few more days in the course of things, right? Yet, sometimes, I am an unreasonably inflexible, dogged person. It is my nature, and the thought of changing my travel plans puts my mind in a frenzy.

Theraflu and a nap are due.

Consumer-Lusting Again

via Opening Ceremony

Tassels and pom-poms are details I cannot resist as of late. It is also spring, so I crave white, tea-stained, and ivory dresses as evidence of the season's change. I really, really like this dress, its ease, comfort and versatility being the main draw. Only during moments like these, when I am filled with consumer-lust, do I start to miss my old firm gig and the security it provided, wondering if I could convince myself to go back, to take the safer more linear path. But those moments pass, more swiftly now. And Cambodia beckons. Now or never.

A Rambling Review

Old Time is whittling away. Another week gone, so soon?

This week, I had dinner with Adrian, friend of seventeen years, who firmly stated, over braised lamb, that this move to Cambodia was not a surprise. (Really? It still surprises me.) I thanked Adrian in advance for my care packages and postcards. He was right: I will miss English text very much. This week, I also had dinner with Joelie, over juicy pork dumplings immersed in ginger, soy sauce and vinegar, steaming, hot to the touch, the best this side of California. We talked about his criminal law practice, the Thai festival I missed, our friends, our colleagues, the Pacific Northwest, my move, his growing love of southern California and my lessening distaste of it. The curious thing, every time we talk, I am convinced criminal law may be interesting enough to try, someday, maybe, if this international human rights lawyering thing doesn't pan out, or if I grow disillusioned. Then, there was dinner with my sisters and mum, always an amusing affair, with mum asking if I will return to traditional firm life in 2011, asking us about marriage and kids, commenting about this and that, and the three of us shrugging our shoulders in response, muttering something irrelevant before bursting into laughter.

I did not see Jason, Desiree, or Joseph this week. I did not make it to the Getty. I did not try the fancy churros with Jack. I did, however, get poked in both arms, Japanese encephalitis and rabies. Like a baby, I confessed to the nurse that I hated shots and pleaded for gentleness. I was reminded of my dislike of cold hospitals, of their stark walls and unnatural light. I forgot to pick up the antibiotics and the 267 malaria pills prescribed -- I will.

I stumbled upon the coffee shop in Monrovia, the place where I, barely twenty, fell in love, and it was there, as I stared at my returned passport and flipped through the glossy blank visa pages tucked in the middle of the thread-bare booklet, that I wondered where this year would take me, wondered how markedly different life would be.

I had a good week.

Things I Could Do Without, pt. 3

via Erie Basin

Convinced I would take up jewelry-making when I wasn't billing at the firm, I once bought a book on Egyptian art from a used bookstore. Oh, how I dreamed.

Today: Turquoise. Egyptian. Really, this is becoming an exercise in aesthetic tease and torture. And, it has strong mugging potential.

Things I Could Do Without, pt. 1

via Endless and Diani Boutique

... but would rather not.

Here's the thing. I have started to pack -- not the mental packing list on perpetual loop in my mind. I have started the physical act of placing clothes in a suitcase. I have started to fold them, to gauge how much room they take up in my suitcase, to feel the burden of their weight, and to take note of what must stay and what must go. I thought this physical act would curb my aesthetic appetite. Certainly, as the final weeks pass, it may help.

For now, however, all that has resulted is more plotting and scheming.

Today: With its promises of woven textiles in bright colors and hardware excess, Cynthia Vincent has caught my eye.

Starry-Eyed

In a few hours, it will be April, 2010. APRIL! How is this possible?

Tomorrow heralds the homestretch. Over a month ago, I sat at a cafe in Portland and contemplated my move, my move from Portland to Los Angeles, and my move out of Los Angeles to Phnom Penh. I hugged friends goodbye, cried a little, and moved.

Since then, the peaceful lull has lured me in, made me lazy. While I've set many things in motion this month, there is still much to do in the final weeks. I'm not a long-term planner by nature; I work best under imminent deadlines that require hurried bouts of intense focus. That said, this has been an interesting experience.

I remain optimistic.