My potato rescuer

This morning, as I do on many a Saturday morning, I set out to get groceries.  Today I had a special mission: to buy ingredients for mashed potatoes.  We have a pot luck at church tomorrow for Thanksgiving, so we’re making some solidly American comfort food.  (This church is English-speaking and most people either are North American or have lived there at some point.)  I was asked to bring a potato dish, so I picked mashed potatoes.

First, I went to the Western grocery store.  The recipe I found called for cream cheese, which seemed excessive to me until I was in the dairy aisle, eying it longingly.  Do you know how many months it’s been since I had cream cheese?   (OK, actually only one since I was home last month, but I think I’ve only bought it once before in Cambodia, years ago.)  I stood there looking at the packages: $5 for 8 ounces (250 grams)?  Wow, that’s painful. 

Then I spotted the giant packages: $11 for a whole kilogram.  That’s just over half the price per unit of a small package.  My mind began to calculate the possibilities.  Cheesecake.  Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.  Cream cheese cookies.  How long will it stay good?  Will it be grainy like the kind my roommate bought once last year?  How much do I care?  I decided to spring for it, ignoring the fact that I’ll be away next weekend with no time to bake, hoping my roommates could find uses for it as well.  Along with some oats and milk, I loaded it into my bicycle basket and headed to the market.

I parked in front of my usual fruit vendor stand and headed inside to the vegetable stalls.  The college girl that I always buy from laughed at me for setting potato after potato into the little plastic basket she’d passed me.  “I’m going to a party tomorrow,” I explained.  “In America this week is Holiday of Thanks.”  (I made up that phrase… I hope it made sense in Khmer.)  She helped me pick through and find the nicest potatoes, adding one to make it an even two kilograms.  “Ten thousand riel,” she told me.  Two dollars and fifty cents – good thing they’re cheaper than the cream cheese!

I still have some fruit at my house from last weekend, but I felt bad since the fruit girl had been watching my bicycle for me.  So I went for the “Christmas oranges,” which only appear around this time of year.  They’re like mini-Clementines, sweet and juicy, and they’re cheaper now than usual: 7000 riel ($1.75) per kilo.  Since my bike basket was full from the supermarket, I slipped the bag of potatoes over my right handlebar and the oranges over my left for the quick trip home. 

Just after I passed through the nearby traffic light, the potatoes’ weight burst through the flimsy plastic bag, sending them scattering.  I veered over to the shoulder and watched in dismay as big SUV’s came barreling through, potatoes bouncing under their tires.  Could they be salvaged?  I needed to leave soon for a Student Council meeting and didn’t have time to return to the market.  With a helpless expression, I groaned to the middle-aged tuk-tuk driver watching me from the corner.  “Two kilos of potatoes!  My bag broke!” 

He looked at the road thoughtfully, then darted out into traffic, scooping them up as hordes of cars began to part around him.  Good thing Cambodian traffic moves so slowly and drivers are used to interruptions like this.  Once his hands were full, he gestured to me to come pick up the rest, all the while holding out his potato-laden arms to direct the oncoming traffic around me.  Except for one that had been squashed under tires, we got them safely back to my bike, which of course had overwhelmed the kickstand and tipped over, dumping my remaining groceries.  He and the other tuk-tuk drivers laughed at me for that, but I didn’t care – I was just so glad to have my potatoes back and be spared another trip.  

I didn’t even know that driver, though I’m sure he always sees me riding past him.  I hadn’t expected he’d actually help me – it kind of seemed like a lost cause.  And I wouldn’t have been brave enough by myself to pick up all those potatoes, all over the road, with that much traffic.

I’m looking forward to mashed potatoes and other tastes of home tomorrow.  I’m looking forward to cream cheese delights in all shapes and sizes.  I have a lot of reasons to smile today, but my biggest one is that driver.

Sometimes Cambodians are really, really nice when they don't need to be. 

How to get to my house from school (using people as landmarks)

I wish you could see everyone on my route to and from school.  I love watching them and imagining their stories.  But since I usually feel intrusive photographing them, I'm giving you a glimpse of them this way.

You walk out of the building, past the neighborhood first graders clambering up the Logos slide before their Khmer class starts,

Along the soccer field where tall teens practice their goalie dives until their rides show up,

Ride your bike along the walkway with the Bangladeshi man selling sweets to help a friend in crisis,

To the gate with the soft-spoken guard who interrupts his news show to take your red tickets,

Out through a throng of neighborhood kids arriving in Merry Christmas T-shirts and white-and-navy school uniforms.

Turn right after the impeccable curled-hair mom sitting bored in her big black Lexus,

Veer to the middle to miss the family fishing on the edge of the street (which is, of course, still flooded),

And left after the construction crew of bare-chested skinny men, checkered krama scarves around their waists.

Curve around after the three laughing guys whose scooter is taking the corner much too fast,

And gaze at the sunset to your left, not the young guys on the right, abandoning their volleyball game in a grassy lot to make kissing noises at you,

Left again where a blonde-haired boy is walking his dachshund in front of his tall, narrow, pink house,

Around the bend where a small boy in red holds the elbow of a smaller girl in pink to help her miss the puddles.

Slow down at the market so you can spot the dogs darting out and the college girls cycling home with mango and chili salt,

All the way to the big road, where middle-aged men sit at child-sized plastic tables to enjoy their curry and noodles.

Wait there until you can merge into traffic with the young family in the rusty gray Toyota,

Past rows of girls in short skirts and long hair, attracting beer garden customers,

Slow down for the lady in the checkered pink hat, pushing her bike with a tall basket of baguettes for sale,

And squeeze in beside the bright blue truck whose bed is laden with weary welders heading home.

At the red light, take a shortcut through the gas station where attendants sit at their pumps so passing vehicles won’t run over their feet,

Left after the hotshot guys in suits standing around in front of the big flashy Karaoke TV place (read: brothel),

Past the businessman starting a moto, wearing a much-too-small Cinderella backpack that just might belong to the little girl on his lap.

Continue through the intersection with the lady who sells you cool fresh coconuts after your runs,

And left after the Korean family sitting outside the Blue Pumpkin shop with ice cream cones,

Where a couple flirts atop a parked moto in the shade of the trees.

Look out for the shaggy little dog meandering, 
wait while the Joy Water employees pause kicking around a colorful feathered hacky sack to let you through,

And come to a stop where a 17-year-old girl with an exuberant laugh opens your gate, impatient to chat with you.

Welcome home!

Student Sonnets

In British Literature (grades 11 and 12), students recently wrote sonnets imitating Shakespeare's Sonnet 130: 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare.

Like the original, they had to contrast two things in the format of a Shakespearean sonnet: 

-14 lines
-iambic pentameter (5 pairs of syllables that sound like da-DUH)
-a rhyme scheme of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

-the final couplet summarizes the sonnet or offers another way to look at the topic

I wrote a sample two years ago, the last time I taught this course.  I'd love to improve parts of it, but this is as good as it's getting for now:

Truth and Lies

The Word of God is nothing like a lie,

For lies deceive, distort, divide, destroy.

Enslaving us through shame, they terrify;

They promise hope, yet rob us of our joy.

Their father, satan*, whispers to our hearts,

“Your ways are right.”  We nod, puffed up with pride.

Soon after, our illusions fall apart;

Exposed, we seek in vain a place to hide.

Bright light, God’s Word, illuminates our deeds,

Obscene or pure.  It slices wrong from right.

Awakening us, it satisfies our needs,

Revealing Christ, our true Hope and Delight.

Since He’s defeated satan, lies must crumble,

But God’s Word stands forever – we won’t stumble.

*Jon Acuff refers to a lowercase "s" as a way to give satan "the middle finger of grammar."  I always got a kick out of that.*

I told students they could have fun with their topics of comparison, and they did!  Here are a few that I especially enjoyed reading - I hope you do too.  

The Oval and the Round (Monika and Dillon)

The toilet is not like the porc’lain tub.

The grimy toilet is a pain to clean.

And yet the tub is fun for all to scrub,

For when you’re done, the tub shall sparkle keen.

While water in the tub might scald with steam

And make you wish you'd cooled it down before,

The toilet’s frigid water makes you scream

If ever doomed to feel the water’s core.

Although the tub is luxury for all,

The toilet is a mandatory part

Of all our lives. The toilet will stand tall

When both are precious in the human heart.

The oval and the round ceramic bros

Are equal, as each frequent client knows.

Books vs. Life (Alice and Hasub)

A book is nothing like the life we have.

For life is tough, unfair, give me a break!

True happiness and joy are what we crave.

We look, we try, we hope, yet still we ache.

But books have my Prince Charming on his horse

About to rescue damsels in distress.

But life? What good can come of such a force?

It hurts, is dull, and is an ugly mess.

But wait. Hmm, maybe life ain’t all that bad.

I’ve made a lot of memories quite nice.

And boy do I have many friends to add!

The perks of life like ice cream, friends, and rice,

I guess they make it worth the pain and crap.

And yeah! the greatest perk of all: the nap.

LOVE Sonnet (Kailyn and Daehan) 
Inspired by The Hunger Games

The Baker’s son is nothing like Katniss

Her heart is cold against the ones who care

But he loves her because she brings him bliss

She can’t get close for inside she is scared.

His love for her was like an open book

While Katniss’ heart was with some other guy

His loyal heart is what she cruelly took

While hers was like a fire; sparks would fly

But he pressed on and gained the love he seeked

So, Cupid’s arrows hit and pierced her heart

Oh Man! She saw his strength though he was weak

Oh boy! He is the finest man on earth!

With two kids and a marriage bound to last
Try harder, men, or they’ll be stolen fast!

A Sonnet On Wifi and God 
(Gloria and Seung Hyun)

The wifi access? Nothing like our God!

It gives you wants but he gives you your needs

As you get close, connections are more strong

But you have no control with Him; He’ll lead!

The happiness the wifi brings is short

Yet God brings joy that lasts for your whole life

You waste your time online and ask, ‘what for?’

While God gives you a purpose; He’s the Light.

So what’s to learn, to say, to change, or do?

Connect with God and leave the wifi out?

The love of wifi is not real or true

But God’s deep love is what it’s all about.

God wins! Surprise! Pretend you did not know!

He’s never off (just on) and never slows.

Confessions of a (wannabe) superhero

“I hate when people back home act like I’m a superhero,” my friend confides in me a few years back.  “I’m just a regular person.  My life here is different, but it’s not necessarily harder than theirs.”

                

She gestures to the fresh fruit smoothie she’s holding, the tasteful décor of the café, the quietly humming air conditioner.  “I mean, look at this place.  We could be in my hometown right now.”

I hesitantly nod agreement.  But…  But what?  My mind wanders to experiences that haven’t been part of her three months here.  Hot season.  Late-night bleary-eyed grading marathons.  The Great Shrew Invasion of 2010.  Incessant goodbyes.  Maybe she’s still in the honeymoon phase.  Surely life would be easier in America.  

But…  I’m not sure I can justify claiming hero status.  How many of the “hardships” of my life are any different than if I’d taken a job at a private school in Florida?  How do these challenges stack up against Seasonal Affective Disorder, or the standardized testing pressure of No Child Left Behind, or foreclosures?  What about the perks I get here: $1 moto repairs; a house helper who cooks my dinners and scrubs my toilet; a close-knit Christian community at school; free delivery from dozens of tasty, cheap restaurants?  

She’s right, I finally admit to myself.  I guess I'm not a superhero.  My life is not an epic tale of vanquishing evil.  But the truth is, part of me likes the superhero reputation.  Part of me thinks that’s the reason I’m here. 

The superhero image is dangerously possible.  Things that soon become mundane here still sound mysterious to people who have never visited, and I’m exposed to a lot of tough situations that (unlike some foreigners and many Cambodians) I don’t actually have to experience firsthand.  There are a half dozen brothels on my way to the grocery store.  Freedom of speech doesn’t really exist for Cambodians.  Nearly 1/3 of Cambodians died during the genocide in the 1970s.  I can toss out facts like those and make Cambodia sound like this wasteland that only my extraordinary courage and strength have enabled me to survive.  “Wow, I could never do that,” some people say.  “You are so brave.”  Though I try to seem humble, I kind of love hearing that.

Yet in many ways, Phnom Penh is a pretty cushy city for foreigners.  Take the foreign foods available here: besides my favorite French treats, I can buy ultra-American foods like Betty Crocker cake mixes, canned cranberry jelly, and Old El Paso salsa less than a mile from home.  You’d have to hunt high and low for those in most of Europe.  My classroom has great air conditioning, wifi, and (since January) even its own LCD projector.  Rent is a fraction of the American rates.  I’ve vacationed in four other countries with savings from my "meager" salary.

Most days, my life looks kind of like this: wake up, go to school, come home, eat, work, go to bed.  Most days, I don’t speak that much Khmer.  I don’t stand up for the victims of trafficking or land-grabbing.  I don’t talk with the many poor people I drive past, or even with my next-door neighbors.  I live in this artificial bubble where it’s not weird to eat yogurt for breakfast, where people think $8 (not $1) is a great price for a haircut, where people get my sarcasm.  In many ways, my life hasn't changed that much from when I lived in America.

That can be painful to admit.  I’m a missionary.  Aren't they supposed to be extreme?  In high school, I thought my address overseas would be “The Front Lines,” not “Near the Prime Minister’s Nephew.”  If I assume my life is harder and more heroic than in the US, then I feel like I’ve earned the right to complain about certain aspects of it.  I can hold onto my pride and my sense of superiority.  But the more I talk with people who (unlike me) have done adult life in the US, the less I’m able to justify this way of thinking.  Isn’t the grass always greener, and doesn’t everyone have hidden struggles?  In fact, while I know some foreigners who face monumental challenges here, a few friends even say coming to Cambodia was a relief compared to the load they carried in the US.  My life is different than it would be in America, sure, but “difficult” comes in all shapes and sizes.  So maybe I haven’t earned any special right or status.

That's why I was a bit apprehensive when my parents, and later my sister, came to visit.  What would they think of my house here, where my four roommates and I share as much floor space as my childhood home?  Would they judge me for how often I eat out?  

As it turns out, they were awesomely supportive as usual, and they didn’t criticize my choices.  But sure enough, when I asked my sister what had surprised her during her time here, she replied, “Your life seems kind of normal.”  Maybe I’m just a person.  Maybe I need a Superhero far more than anyone needs me.

I’m glad my family has the inside scoop.  I’m glad they know to take my whining with a grain of salt.  And so I want to let you blog readers in as well, as a safeguard against my urge to impress you and feign invulnerability.  Ready?  

I am not a superhero.  

I am an ordinary twenty-something getting used to life after college.  Yes, life in Cambodia features a different set of challenges.  Sometimes I brag about those challenges.  Sometimes I feel defeated by them.  But sometimes, just sometimes, I realize they're all tangled up with the amazing blessings that make up a life I'll never deserve.

Expat vocabulary in Cambodia

I've become increasingly aware of the vocabulary that we foreigners (expatriates) use in English to describe aspects of Cambodian life.  I love people's creativity with language, so I wanted to share some with you.  Some of these are widely accepted among English speakers in Cambodia and perhaps even surrounding countries; others might be specific to Logos staff, or to individuals I know.  I hope none of these sound offensive - we're not trying to mock Cambodian culture, but sometimes we enjoy it in an ironic way, as in, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Asia-tastic (adj.) – gaudy or overdecorated by most Western standards, but commonplace in one or more Asian cultures.  Often includes English phrases with no apparent connection to the item.

Most mattresses contain messages like "Hope it was happy" or "Best Friend."

Several of us love Asia-tastic notebooks.  This is my favorite - a Christmas gift a few years ago.  It's shiny, colorful, creepy, heartfelt, AND 3-D: the earring on the big animal (bottom right) protrudes from the cover.

Missionary midnight (n.)– 9 PM, after which all Phnom Penh missionaries who are still out and about risk turning into pumpkins.  Note: ten years ago, “missionary midnight” was more like 6 or 7 PM, and today missionaries in certain parts of town stay out till the wee hours, like 10 or 11.  But for most of us, 9 it is!

Asia-tize (v.) – to decorate a photo with cartoon images, phrases, and borders.  Often includes replacing one’s nose with an animal nose, adding hairbows, and enlarging one’s eyes.

Right-turn lane (n.) – a gas station at an intersection with a traffic light.  Everyone turns in there to miss the light.

Left-turn lane (n.) – the far left shoulder of the road, past the traffic coming the opposite direction. 

They think they’re a moto. - Describes a car driver who is trying to drive in the left-turn lane, squeeze between other vehicles, or do anything else that is acceptable for motos but doesn't work well with larger vehicles.

Gas station snack (n.) – the free rice crackers that you get for filling up at selected gas stations.  They’re roughly equal parts air, rice, and salt.

Pre-emptive honk (n.) – honking just before you enter an intersection to announce your arrival to any oncoming cars.  This approach is much more common than stopping before an intersection, though slowing down is tolerated if needed.

Sexpatriate (n.) – not a polite word, this describes the creepy old white men we see with beautiful Khmer girls who are hopefully 18 already. 

Cambodian tattoo (n.) – a very common burn on your calf from the exhaust pipe of a moto.   Can come from sitting improperly on a motodup, other motos pressing in too close during rush hour, or walking carelessly through a parking area.

This is not my leg.  So far, so good!

Camel toe socks (n.) – socks or tights with a separate big toe, for ease of wearing with flip-flops to keep those feet pale.

ATM for cops (n.) – a foreigner driving a car.  Policemen are paid $40 per month.  Can you blame them for pulling people over arbitrarily?  Personally, I’ve been pulled over only twice on my moto, and both times I had legitimately done something wrong.  But I'm told that car drivers get much more attention, especially Koreans, because they don't argue with the fines as much as Americans do.

Moto jousting (n.) – maneuvering among motos and other vehicles carrying long poles while trying to avoid impalement.  If the poles aren't on tractors like this one, they're usually carried by the passenger on a moto, though sometimes the driver has them under one arm.

Cold (adj.) – a temperature at which it’s possible to sit comfortably for at least 30 minutes without a fan.  Anything below 85 degrees F.

Permasweat (n.) – the thin layer of perspiration that never quite goes away, even on days you don’t think of as “hot.”  You’re not drenched, but you’re kind of shiny.

This photo is from New Staff Orientation back in 2009.  Permasweat has been my constant companion ever since.

Trip to Bangkok (n.) - the pursuit of medical attention for conditions surpassing a hairline fracture or a simple infection.  As in, "I wouldn't visit that water park unless you're in the mood for a trip to Bangkok."

Trip to Chiang Mai (Thailand) - the pursuit of counseling.  People do visit Bangkok and Chiang Mai for other reasons, such as vacation and conferences, but these two purposes might be the most common.

Pretty plus pretty (adj.) – an outfit that combines articles of clothing that are nice separately, but that wouldn’t match in most Westerners’ opinion – ex. a red paisley blouse with pink-and-green striped slacks and a leopard skin belt.

We had a “Pretty Plus Pretty Party” several years ago.

White skin tax (n.) – a price increase specifically for foreigners.   However, there’s occasionally a flip side to this, known as the “white skin discount” – for example, at the International Book Center, similar to a Staples, the parking fee is waived for all white people.

Missionary model (n.) – Remember that cell phone you had back in 2003, with eight ring tone options and one game?  Yeah, I have it now.  Some foreigners and Cambodians have much fancier phones, but there’s a hefty segment of us who love us some old-school Nokia because 1) they’re a low risk for theft, 2) they don't break when dropped, and 3) they need to be charged about once a week.  

They also have a great flashlight during power outages.  What other apps could one need?

Riding in style

“Help!  The sun’s evil rays are attacking me!”  

That’s what we made a student exclaim for a whole day during senior trip, every time he stepped into the sunlight.  Then he had to do something to shield his skin, like pull his sleeves down or apply more sunscreen.  Everyone had a secret challenge for the day, and they were trying to figure out what the other students’ challenges were.  The great part is, no one suspected that was his challenge.  He already wanted to stay pale, and he was trying to prevent scarring on his scraped-up arms, so it fit him.  Plus, Cambodian sunlight is intense. 

The past two months, I’ve often been reminded of his line as I’m attacked by the evil rays of sunlight.  Usually I miss the brunt of it because I’m indoors at school, but during summer break, I’ve been traveling 30 minutes each way to my Khmer lessons every weekday morning.  If I were only in Cambodia for a few months, I wouldn’t care.  But having spent four years here, with no plans for departure yet, I’d like to be more cautious.  And a few hours on the streets can cause sunburn, even with quite a base tan. 

The 5 potential elements of my “riding gear”: sunscreen, dust mask, moto helmet, bike helmet, and cardigan.

Thus, lately I’ve been proactive about sun protection.  Good thing, too, because I’ve still ended up darker than almost ever.  (My clothes nearly always reach my knees and cover my shoulders, so I have quite the farmer’s tan.  Cute, I know.) 

My approach varies.  While most foreigners don’t branch out beyond sunscreen and shades, I’ve grown to appreciate the Khmer techniques and use them at times.  Khmer people often tell me, “It’s so hot today!  Do you have long sleeves?”  When I don’t, I have to reassure them that sunscreen is about as effective.  Cambodians don’t typically use sunscreen – it’s expensive and inconvenient for people spending hours outside every day.   But on days when I pull out my cardigan, they’re very proud of me.  And let’s face it – while dust masks aren’t a hit on the runway, sometimes I kinda enjoy looking like a local.

That being said, there ARE Cambodian customs that I haven’t been able or willing to adopt.  My dust mask and lightweight cardigan are an easy alternative to sunscreen and don't add too much heat or sweat, especially if I’m on a moto rather than a bike.  But with daily highs between 85 and 95 F, at this point you’ll never catch me wearing a turtleneck.  Same goes for socks with my flip-flops.  (Socks and tights with a split big toe for sandals are very common here.)  I don’t wear long pants or gloves.  And no way would I trade my helmet for a floppy hat or baseball cap - for some reason, I’d rather arrive sweaty and sunburnt than brain-damaged. 

A typical girl’s moto get-up: sweater, tights under the flip-flops, long pants, and gloves.  You can’t see her dust mask, but rest assured, it’s there.

I don’t know how Cambodians decide each day what they’ll wear on the road.  But these flow charts illustrate the complex web of factors that influence my own decision.  Of course, there are times when I’m lazy, in a hurry, or apathetic enough to take my chances with sun exposure, but usually these questions affect what I choose to wear.  In any given week this summer, you’ll find me wearing each of these options multiple times.  While they can be a pain at times, overall they set my mind at ease and help me avoid resentment toward Evil Mr. Sun during my ride. 

Outgrowing a dictionary

This summer, I have Khmer lessons every morning, and every afternoon I study the new words that came up in my lesson that day.  I’ve been making flashcards and doing my best to put the Khmer spelling on one side, but many of the words come up in conversation, not in the stories I’m reading.  So I’ve been looking up their spelling in the dictionary.  I knew that my dictionary was far from comprehensive (hence the large font), but I hadn’t realized just how many common words it was missing. 

Clearly Mr. Long Hair, the author, has a thing for obscure words.  How could his dictionary include “numskull,” “frosty,” and “pagination,” while leaving out “dirt,” “calm,” and “computer”?  I realize that many foreigners in Cambodia need job-specific vocabulary.  A doctor here might frequently use the word “harelip,” just as lawyers or embassy employees might need “diplomatic immunity.”  But some of these words don’t seem essential for any career here.  When’s the last time you used “gibbet,” “frogspawn,” or “obsequies”?  I’d wager a bet that no one has ever turned to this dictionary seeking the Khmer equivalents of “necromancy,” “rostrum,” “anvil,” or “patricide.”  It seems to me that more expats might need words like “corrupt,” “sunscreen,” “relationship,” “sink,” or “pronounce” – words mysteriously absent from its pages.

So I stopped by the bookstore and picked up Dictionary #2.  Like all the others at the store, it’s totally for Khmer people: no foreigner-friendly training wheels here!  The font is so tiny I can’t distinguish between a few of the letters.  It features phonetic Khmer spellings as well as IPA pronunciation for each English word, and even a section with English vocabulary exercises, but no help on pronouncing Khmer words.  So I’m still using my old dictionary to see how to pronounce words with tricky spellings.  But I can read the whole alphabet now, unlike a year ago, and so I’m increasingly able to decipher words on my own.  I like that my new one includes much more vocabulary, as well as a Khmer-English section.  Now I can look up Khmer words and find translations or explanations of words that I only somewhat understood when my tutor discussed them in Khmer.  The Khmer section is a real workout for my brain: with 100+ letters in various categories, alphabetical order is still pretty hazy in my mind.  But I like flipping through it, because some of the definitions crack me up.  Here’s my favorite. 

I’ve always found speaking Khmer to be fun and rewarding.  There are few grammar rules, and a small set of vocabulary can take you far.  Reading, however, drove me crazy for quite a while.  While I still only read like a first-grader, the squiggles are finally turning into words in my mind.  Dictionaries aren’t usually page-turners, but as a language nerd, it HAS been exciting to see my progress as I’ve grown into each one.  It’s nice to still have my “training wheels” when I need them, but despite a few wobbles, I’m finding my balance on the real thing.  

Theme party #2: Black and White Party

Just a month after our Downton party in April, we had a Black and White party for Michaela's birthday in May.  It was a labor of love, born of 3 years of conversations.  Michaela once went to a Black and White party back in Scotland, and she’s always dreamed of doing one in our house.  We have an open area that’s mostly black and white already, and so we started discussing what it would take to pull off an all-B+W party.  It took some doing, including painting a green wall white.   (Neither the green nor the white was a great paint job, but it’s not a conspicuous wall.)  We borrowed a bunch of black sheets from school, which uses them near the stage during plays and concerts.  Along with a bunch of old white sheets, they served to cover several doors and chairs, a couch, and a few small tables for food.  

Each guest had to dress entirely in black, white, or gray.  We also asked each person to bring a black, white, or gray snack to share.  The guests got really into it!  We had everything from chocolate-covered marshmallows to coconut ice cream to dragonfruit, which is white with black seeds.   On the back left, you can even spot Michaela's homemade cupcake stand.  The drinks were my favorite part: she photocopied all the soda labels so that they were black and white.  It was so surreal looking at them – my brain wanted to add back the color!  We had old black-and-white commercials running on a projector, and then watched a classic black-and-white comedy: “You Can’t Take It With You.”  A big hit was some photo booth props we found online.

I don’t feel like a natural-born hostess, and I don’t usually crave large-group gatherings.  But I really had fun, not only at these events but also while planning them.  Hosting together been a great way to bond with my housemates, and I’m looking forward to future theme parties.  Any suggestions?

Theme party #1 - Downton Abbey

I’m not exactly a party animal.  My four housemates and I are usually in for the night by like 6:30.  It’s rare to find us watching a movie (on a weekend, duh!) without a pile of grading on someone’s lap…or a few someones.  Our house is more like a nunnery than a sorority.  And most of the time, that’s really OK with me. 

However, it’s been a fun surprise to get into hosting theme parties together.  We’ve hosted two in the last several months.  The first was in honor of (most of) our favorite show, Downton Abbey, a BBC period drama set in England during the 1910s-1920s.  Michaela, Annalisa and I have been watching it all year on our black-market DVDs.  ($1.50 a disk, no bargaining necessary.)  Michaela went ahead and watched the Season 3 Christmas special on TV while home in Scotland, and she warned us that it was a bit of a downer.  We decided we needed to end our Downton drama habit on a high note, in good company.  Plus, we needed to take advantage of the paper dolls Michaela had stumbled across online. 

My favorite paper doll because all her expressions are THE SAME!

I printed out the paper dolls and added some other characters so we could invent and perform a sequel to the Christmas special: “Holiday in Cambodia.”  I did a bit more digging online and discovered a “name that Downton character” quiz game, which I turned into a team activity.  I also took some classic Dowager Countess quotations and transformed them into a fill-in-the-blank competition with three levels of difficulty.  (Can you tell I’m a teacher?)  The quiz questions and answers are below if you'd like to see them.

A bunch of us Logos ladies met at a local restaurant that has a private room with a projector.  (Good thing I’m not the only Downton nerd in town.)  We ended up not using the paper dolls, but we DID have a lot of fun with the games and just hanging out together.  Since we’re in Cambodia, there were technical difficulties with the projector.  So we returned to my house to watch the long-awaited Christmas special.  It’s true, it’s a bit of a downer.  But we didn’t let it get to us – laughter and fun dominated the evening!

Click on "Read more" if you'd like to see the quiz game.

Beauty in the mess

Both are there.  Which one am I looking at?

Why live in Cambodia?

My friend Mindy wrote this for her church in Canada.  I'm learning a lot from her and her husband Lyle's example of embracing Khmer people and culture with gusto.  She says a lot of wise things: some that are true for me, and some that I hope to grow into.

So, why are we living and serving in Cambodia?

Is it because white people are the saviours of the developing world?

Is it because we have ‘so much to offer’ a nation recovering from genocide and war?

Is it because we want to share Christ with people who have never heard the gospel?

Honestly, one of the biggest reasons that we live in Cambodia is that we like it here. 

I have prayed this prayer for nearly my whole life: “Jesus, may the joys of my heart meet the needs of Your world.” For me, Cambodia is the place where my joy intersects with the needs of God’s world. I recognize this as a gift of grace, because many acknowledge that Cambodia is a difficult place to live. Of course there are daily challenges, like the unrelenting heat, not to mention the unending corruption and injustice. But for Lyle and me, cross-cultural living energizes and excites us. Learning to love the people of this nation has drawn our hearts closer to the heart of God.

My dad often marvels at the openness Cambodians have towards us. He says, “When I think about cross-cultural missions, I think about how I’d feel if someone came up to me speaking bad English, and THEN tried to share a foreign worldview or religion with me. I don’t know how open I’d be to that!” For better or for worse, most Cambodians are open to foreigners, especially Western ones. They patiently laugh when I make language mistakes, and strangers constantly invite me to sit down in their homes. (Admittedly, most of that is probably because I have a cute baby, not because I’m a foreigner.) I am well aware that my face and upbringing bear the marks of “rich privileged white person”. I am aware of what this has meant around the world throughout history – from colonialization to financial hand-outs to local churches looking a bit too much like American megachurches.

So we always try to start by listening to our friends and hearing their stories, long before we try to implement programs or save the world.

I think one of the reasons that I love Cambodia so much is that I didn’t hear its stories by reading books or listening to jaded expats talk about Cambodia. Rather, Cambodians told me about Cambodia. And I didn’t hear a single story of one demographic of Cambodians. I am close friends with middle-class university students, high class officials, moms in the slums, garment factory workers, ex-monks, radio DJs, and people who survived the worst of the Pol Pot regime. The stories I’ve heard are both heartbreaking and hopeful.

I believe in cross-cultural ministry because something very heaven-like happens when this mutual sharing of humanity occurs. We all need a ‘prophetic outsider’ to both listen to us process our world, but also to provide a different perspective and speak into some of our cultural blind spots. In Canada, my life was changed forever by my college roommate who happened to be a Korean ‘outsider’. My prayer is that I can be this ‘prophetic outsider’ for my Cambodian friends. It’s the things that we share in common – raising kids, going to work, living as spiritual beings with hopes and fears – that allow us to connect. From this connection, there is so much joy in learning about and sharing our differences, including our language, food, wealth, and faith.

Having said that, there are very practical and urgent needs here, and we work for an organization that does a really good job of addressing the needs of poverty, education, empowerment of locals, and sharing the gospel. (www.asianhope.org) But you know as well as I do that there are needs all over the world. My prayer is that the joys of YOUR heart will meet the needs of God’s world.