Look again

You know that feeling when you discover, 2 years in, that your weights aren't what you thought they were?

Nope, just me? Fine.

I was doing a Fitness Blender workout and thought, "10 pounds feels too light for this exercise. Maybe I can use two of the 6-pounders to step it up a notch." When I did, I noticed it didn't seem any heavier. I wondered if there was an incorrect label, so I weighed them.

Yikes, inflation! My "sixes" were really 3.7 lb (1.7 kg), while my "tens" were a mere 7.26 lb (3.3 kg). How did I never suspect this? No wonder I didn't feel an increase - the latter are almost exactly double the former, and BOTH of them are significantly off. Which means I've been overestimating my strength the past 2 years. Not like I work out that often or keep careful track of what I'm lifting... but if we ever meet again, I'm not sure whether to scold the shopkeepers or thank them for the self-esteem boost. 

I can easily assume I know what I'm looking at. I need fresh eyes to reexamine the familiar.

I just finished reading (and loving!) N.D. Wilson's Notes from the Tilt-a-whirl. It's a quirky yet profound book, combining Christian philosophy with observations on the minutiae of his surroundings:

• The ants pouring out when he lifts a rock to mow the lawn. 
• The man who elbows him in the head playing basketball. 
• The functions of intestines. 
• The quest of his toddler to touch a butterfly. 

He's got me thinking twice about the stories contained in dust, pebbles, and microbes. Here's a sample paragraph:

On that day, sitting on my log in the early stirrings of spring, the stream overwhelmed me. I sat, staring, trying to comprehend its sheer massiveness. Yes, its massiveness. I could have jumped over it (maybe) and yet it was beyond comprehension. I wanted to know how many molecules were sliding past me per minute. I wanted to know where they had spent their lives, lives that stretched back to the beginning of the world. Most of them had probably been snow, recently delicate, now reveling in the rough and tumble world of a fast mountain stream. Before the snow, where had they been? Steam coming off a cow’s back? Evaporation from a kiddie pool? Most were probably oceanic. Formerly waves. But before then? How many times had each of these molecules fallen from the sky, contributing some little corner to a snowflake? How many times divorced into lonely hydrogen and oxygen, how many times remarried? These things had traveled, no doubt. These things had even been around when Moses did his business with the Red Sea. Had they been there? Had they heard about it from friends?

The book inspired me to re-examine my surroundings. What extraordinary things have I convinced myself are merely ordinary? I usually think of my street as mostly walls that prevent me from seeing in. When I drive through on my moto or jog around in a group, there's not much time to ponder the sights, sounds, and smells of my block. 

So I decided to take a walk down my street, phone in hand, to snap photos. I've wanted to before, but I've been deterred by several things:

1. It's always hot and often sunny.

2. I stick out enough as a white person without doing weird things like taking pictures.

3. I don't want to make others uncomfortable by photographing them without permission.

4. Cambodian girls generally don't walk alone if they don't have to. I feel awkward strolling past groups of guys loitering in the shade, who are clearly observing me and probably commenting about me.

Anyway, I went out one late afternoon. A neighbor was waiting for a ride and asked where I was off to, so I explained my quest for the noteworthy in plain sight. "Oh, like the fancy trash can over there?" Not what I had in mind, but it's true, theirs is fancy by comparison. Most of us have our trash out in piles on the "sidewalk." This place across from me (maybe a clinic of sorts?) has a new cage to enclose their garbage. I note how precisely it fits into the gap between tiles, how perfectly it matches the color of my own building, how effectively it protect its precious contents from rats and dogs. And chickens, which astute observers will spot near the non-enclosed trash in photo #2.

Side note: When I was young and my mom bought me a diary, anticipating a wondrous glimpse into my thoughts and dreams, my first entry read "Today we went to the dump." (No trash pick-up in early '90s Waterbury, Vermont.) Now here I am, seeking to marvel at the extraordinary and starting with garbage again. I've come full circle. 

Don't worry, it gets better. My next stop was my favorite frangipani and other flowering trees. I've often taken time to enjoy them and even photograph them during my walk to church, so I wasn't sure I'd notice new things. But look at this: two different trees where the branches intertwined creating one multicolored bunch! It made me grin. They're so beautiful separately, but even better together.

Soon thereafter was the intersection with its decorative stop sign. See those wires hanging off the power lines? The ones that make me nervous every time I drive under them, even with my full-coverage plastic helmet? Small, fragile birds decided to build their nest there. They are nurturing the next generation, at best one millimeter of coating away from certain death by electrocution. Talk about dancing on the razor's edge. I have a newfound respect. 

Cambodia isn't big on zoning, and I knew there were some businesses interspersed on this largely residential street: a bus parking area, an ice manufacturer, a very classy hotel with a big sign that says "3 hours = $5." But a few struck me for the first time, like this mattress supplier. (Note the mattresses on the trailer as well as inside the gate.)

This next one wasn't new to me, but I've always been mystified by it. What is this structure, and why does it have bilingual labels? Is this like a training ground for construction workers? I've never noticed construction workers down there, though there are a bunch living next door to me in a new mansion they're erecting. (It's common for construction workers from the province to live on site, often with some family members along, until a building is complete.) 

The house under construction might soon rival this one.

My photography exercise made me realize just how many empty lots there still are on this block. New construction is going up all the time. It's probably unrecognizable from 5 years ago and will be again in 5 more years.

Remnants of a wedding

In those empty lots and other unkempt areas, I noticed a trend. Can you spot the abandoned spirit house in each photo below? I came across four different types.

This one is still standing and in good repair.

Later I found another one of this type leaning against my own building, with a paint can on top.

The weave has frayed on this one: it should be a solid surface with little paper dolls on top.

I've written before about Khmer Folk Buddhists' beliefs in a diverse spirit world, where each individual spirit's power to impact a life can wax and wane with time. While a spirit holds power, people go to great lengths to satisfy it with incense, fruit, and other offerings. Once convinced that a spirit has left a structure or become irrelevant to their lives, Cambodians freely dispose of the old houses. Seeing the plethora of abandoned spirit houses reminded me just how prevalent and deep these practices are. 

Coming back, I knew I'd pass my neighbor Panny's house and shop, and sure enough her daughter called out to me to come say hi. Which I didn't mind! People are definitely the most fascinating part of this street. Unlike most of us, Panny's building doesn't have a gate out front, so it feels much more accessible for me to visit her shop out front, where other residents congregate. Since there were people watching, I didn't photograph the alleys that lead to one-room units, but they look a bit like building #2, visible from my balcony. 

This one seems to have 6 units on either side.

I came home just in time to enjoy the sunset by my building. My walk gave me way more input than I could process in one go, but it was still pretty cool to start the reflection process. N.D. Wilson was right... there's so much around us that merits a closer look. 

My apartment is visible here: it's the end unit, 2nd story, in the right-hand building.