Note to Self: At 6 months.

It's September, which means that it has been 6 months since I moved to D.C. and over a year since I left Cambodia.  How do I feel? 

The city doesn't feel as alien to me as it did those first cold months, when I was easily unsettled by the darkness of the Metro and the tired faces commuting in the evenings.  I guess you could say I'm more accustomed to the lay of the land, including what is expected of me at work.  Also, now (most days) I can stare at the gigantic world map situated on the one blue wall in my office, stare at the little spot of the Mekong region, and not cry.  During my first three months, that was not the case.

I say this to Ethan and to any friends or colleagues who listen to my circular rants:  It's incredible what an emotional tie I have to that region.  Fine, I was born in Southeast Asia and lived in that corner of the world for a few years of my life.  But I never thought I'd want to live there, work there, and miss doing so.

Cambodia holds a special place in my heart, despite my struggles there.  Thailand-and the awesome concrete jungle of Bangkok - also hosts fond memories.

This week, I shared a drink with a woman who works at a certain human rights organization.  We met in Manila last year, during one of my meetings at the Asian Development Bank.  She flies around the world - all over Europe, Asia, South America, Africa - and advocates on  behalf of communities suffering human rights abuses. (She intimidates me a little.)

She asked me if I ever cried during a meeting, and we started talking about dealing with the stresses of this work. And I was brought back to this conversation and this one. It's not so different, is it?  Amazing people in a different city, in a different country, in a different phase of my life.

In other words, I'm starting to realize this work in the District is a continuation of those experiences.  It's connected, and hopefully that will help me push through.

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.

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.

Today

This feeling comes and goes. Now and then, it rears its head, only to be lost in the din of daily life, dissolving into forgetfulness. But I'm holding onto it for a minute more, and today, I am documenting it. To remember.

In our big meeting this morning with the "big" stakeholders, as I munched on buttery cake, I thought: All the pouring over documents, laws, and legal memos; all the drafting and re-drafting, the agonizing over one word; all the site visits to impoverished communities via bumpy bus rides, to communities where, when you sit still for a moment, a swarm of flies attacks, where the heat is unbearable, where you are fatigued so quickly; all the women crying to me with their stories, with their half-naked children in their arms; all the evidence gathering.

SOMETHING -- and I don't know the contours of that "something" yet -- has come out of this, grown from it, from my work.

Amazing.

These pictures are from my trip to Japan with Mami last year. We were in Kyoto, on a cold afternoon that was quickly turning to evening. I remember walking through the park that floated above the city, staring at the reddening trees, above and below.

Not related. But this is kind of sums up how I feel this afternoon.

Taking a moment

Goodbye, November. What a crazy, back-and-forth, go, go, go month this was. (And on this last day, I find myself back in Battambang. Yes, I was here just three days ago.)

One more month left to the year -- and what a year it has been.

Life.

A new month

Hello, October.

On this day last year, I sat in my Portland apartment, frantically packing my bags for a last-minute trip to Beijing, scheduled to leave early the next morning. I had found very cheap airline tickets, and, needing no excuse for travel then, I was determined in Beijing to catch the Trans-Siberian Railway into Mongolia and Russia, eventually to St. Petersburg. In between jobs, I told myself I would take a few weeks tops, and then go back to my life in Portland. Quite straightforward.

But it didn't work out that way. I eventually made it to St. Petersburg and back to Portland, but not to stay and not to go back to my life there. Because on that epic train journey, many things changed. Out of that trip grew my decision to finally leave Portland (for a while). And, out of that trip grew the most peculiar decision to explore international human rights law positions abroad.

A year later, I find myself in Battambang, a sleepy town in northern Cambodia with an even sleepier river, flanked by decaying French architecture and wide palm-lined streets on which youth bike. This afternoon, I found myself wading through neon-green rice paddies, sludging through mud and trying to keep my balance, barefoot, under the weight of my bag, as I walked to the lake where, earlier this year, two children drowned while they attempted to collect clean drinking water for their evicted family (who should have been provided running water at the resettlement site!). This weekend, I will meet with families evicted, or soon to be evicted, by the Asian Development Bank-funded Railway Rehabilitation Program, a project aimed at rehabilitating Cambodia's 650+ km of derelict railways.

I've said this before, but I never saw this twist in the road. Even so, here I am.

So, what will October bring? Life these days, though stressful, seems full of so many possibilities. It is all very strange.

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.

le printemps

via FadingFreckles

I spy spring. And, yes, it kinda makes me feel like this.

Initiation

The sun is pouring through the window. It is burning my eyes, forcing me to squint as I try to document my initial feelings about my move.

I am in Los Angeles. Actually, I am in a suburb of Los Angeles. After a gruelling drive (impossible without the profuse help of very good friends), southern California welcomed me back into her fold with Monday rush hour traffic: a sea of immobile automobiles and the sound of honking horns. It was nearly sixty degrees, a few minutes shy of eight o'clock in the morn.

Jason asked,"Are you starting to remember this?"

"Oh, yeah," I muttered. "It is all coming back."

Beginnings

Gorgeous. Thanks to my friend for passing this on.

For A New Beginning
By John O'Donohue

In out-of-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness grow inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety,
And the grey promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plentitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning,
That is at one with your life's desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

Lazy Thursdays

I am sitting at Via Delizia, after a day of absolute unproductivity, of endless cups of Portland coffee drinking, of too much creme brulee cheesecake eating, and mindless, yet lovely, banter with neighbors. (The owner, a lovely Italian man who appears to work endless hours every day, never seems to mind that I sit in his cafe too long.)

After peering at my gorgeous cappuccino this afternoon, I realized that these experiences are limited: I have just over two weeks of Portland time left. And, within those two weeks, I will have to somehow purge the non-necessities, pack up my belongings, complete my contract work, say goodbye to wonderful friends, and drive Betsy, Odo, Brooklyn and myself to Los Angeles.

My complaints about wet, gloomy, dark Portland days will come to an end. But, I will no longer be able to walk to Mami's, to walk to Whole Foods, to walk to countless cafes, shops, dance and yoga studios in my neighborhood. There will be no need to grapple with the concurrence of my love-dislike concerning my residence in the Pearl District. And, my winter coats will be useless, discarded for perpetual summer clothes, placed in indefinite storage.

A period of my life will end.

If that isn't enough to think about, I will simultaneously be working and planning the biggest move of my life, to a country where I know not a soul.

A year ago, if a stranger had sat at my table at Via Delizia and told me that I would be moving to work in Phnom Penh, Cambodia in a year's time, I would have laughed off the prediction as ridiculous, implausible, far-fetched.

Life never fails to surprise me.