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.

Horseback riders and frequent flyers

Think I'm well traveled? Consider my great-grandpa's epic road trip.

When John Dewey Frevert married Selina Adams in 1920 in Nebraska, he had little to his name: a 3rd grade education, some farming skills, and the plough horse his dad gave them as a wedding present. He landed a job as a sharecropper on South Dakota's Rosebud Indian Reservation, working for a Native American landowner, while Selina cooked meals for all the farmhands. They received no wages: only room, board, and a small plot of land to grow vegetables in their free time. Selina, a former teacher, taught him to read and write. I'm pretty sure their photo appeared in the dictionary next to "hardscrabble."

Great-Grandma Selina was the inspiration for Princess Leia's hairdo

Several years and three kids later, they'd saved $131 (almost $2000 nowadays) from veggie sales when Selina's sister wrote, inviting them to move in with her in a Chicago suburb, just across the Indiana state line. John sent his family ahead on a train, following them on horseback. He rode that plough horse for 14 weeks, a distance you could now drive in 12 hours. He slept on the side of the road and ate whatever he could hunt or gather.

Fourteen weeks. What occupied John's mind during those long, quiet days? No Spotify. No podcasts. No in-flight entertainment. I don't think the alphabet game had been invented, and I sort of doubt he did much reading atop Ol' Gus.

Maybe, at the end of this life chapter, he mused on his 30-ish years in farm communities, the only life he'd ever known. Maybe he looked ahead hopefully, or apprehensively, to life near a big city. Maybe he forged a mystical connection with Gus, stumbling onto brilliant insights about equine hopes and fears. Maybe he composed tall tales for his children's bedtime stories, or imagined himself on a quest with King Arthur. Maybe he wasn't much of a deep thinker, and spent most of his time humming folk songs and observing the landscape for food and weather cues.

How would I spend that fourteen weeks in transit? In eleven days, I'll have just 24 hours to switch between worlds, and in a (small!) way, I envy my great-grandpa. I was hoping I'd have the external freedom, and/or the internal discipline, to do more thinking while back in the US. But it takes more than time away from my day job for my brain to slow down, and I had plenty of responsibilities and opportunities to keep me around people. I'm grateful for all the interactions I've had here, one-on-one or in front of a crowd, and even the bits of work I've done long-distance while here. I've enjoyed catching up on my favorite TV show, buying things I can't get in Cambodia, traveling, playing with my favorite kids. I've fought to save this last week before my return for some focused reading and reflection. My time has been full of many good things. But "quiet" hasn't been a defining feature.

When Great-Grandpa John arrived in the stockyards of Chicago, he sold his horse to a glue factory. (Was this the ultimate ingratitude, or the kindest possible action? The world may never know.) Then he used the proceeds to buy a tram ticket to the suburbs, where he raised chickens and worked for a bus company but never earned his driver's license. My maternal grandmother Naomi, the oldest of their nine kids, recalled moving nine times in her childhood, including to a barn somewhat rigged up as a house. John's horseback days were over, but his hardscrabble days were not.

It was the Great Depression. Whose life wasn't hard? I never met Naomi, who passed away before I was born. But I've heard stories from and about my other three grandparents and the struggles they endured in childhood. Still, all of them had access to education. Naomi went on to become a nurse during World War II, not because she had the slightest interest in medicine but because it was a government-funded career path available to women.

My parents and I sat down earlier this month with my great-uncle Lee, Naomi's youngest brother, whom she helped raise. I'd never met him, as he's been in Florida since the 1970's. I sampled grits and eggs Benedict and listened to Frevert family stories I'd never heard. Twenty-one years her junior, Lee remembers better days than Naomi. Having raised his kids in Florida, he's now returning to Chicago to rejoin his daughter, his Whole Foods manager son-in-law, and his only grandchild. Lee's Facebook page shows them wining and dining all over the city during his many previous visits. How do you get from sharecropper to Whole Foods, from horseback rider to frequent flyer, in just two generations?

As I listened to Lee's stories about his father, John's life sounded so much closer to a rural Cambodian's than to mine. Could my great-grandfather have imagined that one hundred years after his wedding, he'd have a descendant on the other side of the world, not due to warfare or apocalypse but her own choice? Could he imagine me having a black thumb, a masters degree, and no animals? What would that farm boy make of the black piece of plastic sitting on my lap, recording some outlandish version of his life story with nary a pen in sight? And what are the myriad of forces that gave one illiterate farmer's family wealth and options aplenty, while others watch their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren live in the same homes and farms and constraints that their family has known for half a millennium?

What a difference a century makes... in some places.

Thoughts of a recent returnee

10 years into this Cambodia gig, I don't get that much culture shock. I can slip back into life in PA pretty easily. But I still see the US with the eyes of an outsider from time to time. Here are some thoughts I've had that remind me I've been away for a while:

Something brown is scurrying past my feet! A rat? Nope, just an autumn leaf.

That sugar has sat out for HOW long without getting bug-infested?!?

I just drove for hours and never once pondered death. Amazing.

Oh really, your 3-bedroom is cramped for your family of 4? Try telling that to my Khmer friends who co-sleep with 2-4 children.

What does she mean, I put cucumber instead of zucchini in the soup? It was longer than my forearm and had no stripes at all! I’ve never seen a more convincing zucchini! Oops, I forgot cucumbers look like that here.

Voice mailboxes? Those still exist here?

It's so nice being able to blend in and speak my native language with everyone.

Walking on a city sidewalk. Time to be street smart. I know, I’ll switch my purse to the side away from traffic so nobody on a motorcycle can snatch it!

The only foods in this “international” aisle are pasta and tacos. Funny, in Cambodia, I think of those as the American foods.

Hot water showers and sleeping under warm blankets without sweating… this is the life! It’s like a hotel every day!

I guess these could have all gone in the dishwasher, huh.

Am I allowed to flush toilet paper in this public restroom? I don’t see a sign about it.

How do I get the frost off the windshield again? This wouldn’t be a problem if I were driving a motorcycle.

I forgot to bring drinking water upstairs… oh wait, I can drink water out of the bathroom sink! Yes!

Someone just gave me 20 seconds to describe Cambodia. Ugh. Good thing my Khmer friends didn’t have to hear me reduce their country to absolute stereotypes.

Rats, I forgot tissues and my nose is running… oh perfect, I still have a Ziplock full of toilet paper!

Is it cold enough today that I can wear my big coat without getting weird looks?

The neighbors here are so quiet. Out my window I hear no dogs, no music, no cars, nothing.

Oops, I just used the word NGO again. Did I confuse people or can we move on?

Football's on again? Wasn't there a game just yesterday? 

One stop shopping, all the ingredients, all the equipment, no substitutions needed. I love baking Christmas cookies here.

How can these women pretend to be warm while pantless? Leggings do NOT count.

I’m at a red light in an empty intersection after dark. Do I really have to wait?

“Happy birthday Jesus! We decided to kill about 200 million trees and drag them huffing and puffing into our homes!” Americans are so weird.

The commercials! They’re everywhere! And they’re all the same!

Seriously? My parents’ neighbor has a generator for the 3 days a year they lose power? I have no words.

When we told my 4-year-old nephew that Cambodia is far away, he pointed to a mountain and asked if that was it. I wish, kid. I wish.

I’m driving past a cop and I’m not wearing a helmet! He’s going to pull me over! Oh right, I’m in a car.

What do our holiday treats say about us?

All the best holidays involve food, am I right? If it's an occasion worth remembering, it's worth communing with others around a pile of goodies. Feasting together can trigger deeply treasured memories from holidays past. Special occasions demand special meals. 

I believe the above paragraph generally transcends cultures. But what foods are worthy of immortalizing in time-honored holiday traditions? Ah, that's where the answers splinter into a kaleidoscope of flavors. Indulging in Thanksgiving pie the past five days, I've pondered US and Cambodian holidays and the treats that encapsulate them.

An avid baker and an unpicky eater with a giant sweet tooth, I'm a natural for comparative dessertology. This fall, I was able not only to bake my first-ever pecan pie for Thanksgiving with my family in the US, but also to help make traditional Cambodian snacks for a September holiday called Pchum Ben. Let's see how they compare.

The holiday

Cambodia's Pchum Ben holiday is similar to Mexico's Day of the Dead and the Taoist Ghost Festival. It is said that the dead are released from hell for 15 days in the form of hungry ghosts. It's the job of the living to give food and money to various pagodas, satiating the ghosts' hunger and earning merit so their ancestors can graduate from hell to better afterlives. Nowadays, many people are skeptical that their ancestors roam around craving snacks, but they still gather with relatives - often in their family's home village - to share food with each other and with monks at the pagoda. 

My neighbor and her friends donated food to a pagoda in October (not for Pchum Ben)

Pchum Ben is similar to American Thanksgiving in that tons of people travel to visit family. For many Cambodians in the city, it's one of two trips home per year. Another parallel is that it's a national holiday, strongly tied to cultural identity, albeit with parallel versions in some neighboring countries. Both holidays have deep historical roots: pilgrims and other settlers in the early 1600s gave thanks through feasts with locals before America was a country, and Pchum Ben probably dates back to around 800 AD. 

For both holidays, the religious component is optional. While Pchum Ben has Buddhist and animist roots, other Cambodians also celebrate it minus the pagoda visits, just like Americans of any religious persuasion can chow down on turkey without the pilgrims' desire to thank the God of the Bible. It's worth noting, though, that their religious purposes are nearly opposite: Pchum Ben is all about earning merit to advance your family's spiritual standing, while Thanksgiving celebrates God's grace in giving us good things that we have not earned.

The food and its history

Cambodia - num ansom, num kom
Num is a category of snack food that typically contains rice or flour. Num ansom is boiled and has a fairly mild savory or sweet flavor (depending on the filling), while num kom is steamed with an intensely sweet filling. Unlike other types of num, sold year-round at markets and snack carts, these two are eaten mainly during Pchum Ben and Cambodian New Year. Documents from around 1200 indicate that num ansom represents the Hindu Lord Shiva, while num kom symbolizes his wife Uma, so they were always offered together in religious ceremonies as a symbol of... ahem... unity. That means this pair of treats has been a standard for at least 800 years. Num kom are eaten plain after steaming, whereas you can pan-fry or grill num ansom after boiling them, and the savory ones can be spiced up with sauces. But they're also tasty plain.

Num ansom filled with pork and beans:
my landlords give them to tenants every year

US - pecan pie 
Was pecan pie present 4 centuries ago at the first Thanksgiving? Not a chance. Pecans don't grow in New England, and the pilgrims didn't even have proper ovens, let alone enjoy sweet pies. They would have been more likely to fill any pastries with meat.

In its defense, reading up on its history, I realized pecan (unlike apple) pie is truly American. The nuts are native to North America, and were cultivated by Native Americans. The first pecan pies recipes came from Texas around 1900. It became popular in the 1920s when advertised on the Karo syrup cans, around the time that sweet pie varieties were rapidly proliferating. It's not as classic as pumpkin or apple for Thanksgiving (pies I've often made before), but it's also not uncommon. You can add whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, but it's plenty rich without them.

Ingredients (in descending order of volume)

Cambodia - num
Ansom (outside) - glutinous rice, coconut milk, black beans, salt
Ansom (filling) - pork and yellow mung beans for savory, or small bananas and palm sugar for sweet
Kom (outside) - glutinous rice flour, water
Kom (filling) - grated coconut, palm sugar, black sesame seeds
Wrapping of both: banana leaves, banana strings

Comments: All of these are fresh, simple, and close to their natural state. Many present-day Cambodians are subsistence rice farmers who'd have most of these ingredients growing on their land.

The num kom filling was already cooked over charcoal when we arrived

US - Pecan pie  
Crust - flour, margarine, shortening, kosher salt, sugar, ice water
Filling - pecans, sugar, corn syrup, eggs, margarine, vanilla, salt

Comments: You'll notice this is anything but a health food. I added extra pecans, but there was originally almost a 2:1 ratio of sugar/corn syrup to pecans, not to mention the fat content. I subbed in margarine for butter because my mom is lactose intolerant. But that, shortening, and corn syrup are noteworthy as highly processed 20th-century ingredients that now compete with classics like butter, lard, sugar, and honey. Kosher salt probably wasn't on the pilgrims' menu either. My family's not trendy enough for healthier 21st-century substitutions, but apparently raw vegan chia seed pecan pie is now a thing.

The pilgrims were grateful when the Native Americans
introduced them to Crisco at their local supermarkets

Method

For Pchum Ben, I went along with maybe 12 others from my Khmer church to visit someone's parents, an hour from Phnom Penh. I was surprised to hear that many of them had never made these classic num before, even though they'd eaten them their whole lives. We all looked forward to observing the process. But observing is about all that we did, even the three visitors who, like the hostess, already have grown children. We watched her plunge her hands into large basins of water to stir the beans and rice that had soaked all night. We watched her layer filling on rice on vivid green banana leaves, then deftly roll them into cylinders for num ansom. We watched her neatly fold the smaller banana leaves into perfect pyramids around the num kom. 

In the 4-hour assembly process, we were allowed to help with just one step in the num ansom: tying the string around the banana leaves wrapping it. For num kom, we were more actively involved forming balls of filling, mixing the flour and hot water for the outside, and folding the banana leaves into pyramids. All of these efforts required her frequent input and supervision. Only she could say when the dough was the perfect consistency. She eventually turned us loose tying up the num ansom but that was a mistake: half of them were too loose, allowing water to seep in and ruin them while boiling. And nobody got the hang of folding up the num kom, even when I took a brief video for us to watch over and over. Whenever someone tried, everyone else would look at it and say, "Nope, that's not right." 

Is the dough sticky enough? Not yet!

We were so proud of ourselves for tying these -
not easy with the brittle string!

If you'd like to make your own, it is possible without waiting for an invite to a Cambodian home. To help you make num ansom, there are now a few YouTube videos and this 23-step recipe (but the 23 steps don't include finding, cleaning, and trimming the banana leaves). Just make sure to leave yourself a whole day, since you'll need at least 6 hours to soak the rice and beans, several hours for assembly, and 3-4 hours to boil them... traditionally in a giant vat over an outdoor fire. (Num kom should be a much shorter process, depending on the batch size.) The recipes I found recommend 15 pounds of rice and 4 bags of beans... friends, these are designed to feed a crowd.

Num kom ready to eat

Making pecan pie is another story. My mom's Betty Crocker cookbook has 8 brief sentences covering all the steps. The last two are "Cool slightly. Serve warm or refrigerate." The previous ones are almost that easy and involve zero guesswork. But if you still feel intimidated, you could watch dozens of videos illustrating the process in as little as 1.5 minutes. The entire pie takes less than 2 hours, mostly waiting for the crust to chill or for the pie to bake. While you can expand it as much as you want, the original recipe makes one pie serving about six people. My family likes to make just one pie of each flavor so we have plenty of variety.

Mmm, leftover pie!

Values

In the US, we celebrate innovation. My search for "pecan pie" showed tons of twists. Our food is more traditional at Thanksgiving than perhaps any other time of year, and even then the newspapers and Internet are bursting with variations to spice up your stuffing or personalize your pies. We're also huge fans of easy, from pre-made crusts to canned filling to pre-ground spices to plain old store-bought pies. The pilgrims' first dinner has become a buttery behemoth, and I wonder what resemblance there will be between my grandparents' Thanksgiving dinners and my grandchildren's as people continue seeking and redefining "progress." 

In Cambodia, broadly speaking, they celebrate conservation. Nearly every family makes the same two snacks (and maybe a few others) every Pchum Ben, as their ancestors have done for nearly a millennium. They use low-tech methods and unprocessed ingredients for treats that are delicious and not that bad for you. I'm no food historian, but to me it seems they've done a remarkable job of preserving this tradition, painstakingly recreating these num with excellence. 

I was a bit concerned when I realized that none of my fellow visitors knew how to make them, though. I've heard about traditional knowledge and abilities dying out when Grandma never passes on her secrets to future generations. A Cambodian neighbor in her 30's asked me recently to show her how to bake bread, and in return I asked if she could let me watch next time she makes num. "Oh, I never make any - they're too much work." She prefers making Khmer puddings, bang aim. 

Num and pie are beloved holiday treats, and as long as there are people needing money, I think there will be people making both. But I wonder how long it will take before they become like croissants, something ordinary folks leave to the professionals. I'd hate to see that happen. Whether num or pie, whether a tradition that stems back 100 years or 1000, whether using purist or pragmatic methods, I find joy in creating and savoring time-honored treats. 

Things I will (not) miss while in the US

In two short weeks, I'm heading out for my first home assignment with World Team. I've had many other trips to the US since first arriving in Cambodia over ten years ago, but they've never had quite the formality of a "home assignment," and at 3 months long, this trip is the longest ever except when I moved back stateside for grad school.

Whenever I'm in the US, someone asks, "Do you miss Cambodia?" The answer is usually simple: No, I don't. I would miss it if I knew I were never coming back... I eventually miss certain aspects... but usually my times in the US are short enough and seldom enough that I'm too busy soaking up all the things (and people!) I've missed about America.

On this trip, I'm actually expecting to miss several things about Cambodia, such as...

Blissful ignorance of politics. There are plenty of shenanigans around here (try googling "Cambodia news") but little encouragement for anyone to discuss or critique them. I basically never see any news here unless I go online and seek it out, which is embarrassingly rare. It's harder to hide in America. I'm a big fan of democracy and free speech, but they sure are messy. The primaries were not a "primary" reason for my trip timing.

The simplicity and focus of Christmas. Churches here have a big joyous celebration and outreach, and malls play some carols and too many renditions of "Last Christmas." Some kids wear Santa hats to school on the 25th, but it's a pretty normal day. I know almost no Khmer who exchange presents, though some kids receive shoe boxes via Operation Christmas Child. I'm so excited for family togetherness and way too many cookies and a real tree and the other Christmas traditions I've missed, but in Cambodia, missing those things always takes me back to Jesus.

The weather. Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted to catch a bit of fall and winter... I love having four seasons and a break from sweating. But yesterday it got down to 80, and I started shivering. My system is in for a shock in PA. Cambodia's nicest (coolest) weather comes in December and January, and by my return in mid-February the temps will probably be climbing again into the inferno that is March through May. I wouldn't mind some "happy medium" days.

The longer I live here in Cambo, the more items drift from "major irritation" to "barely noticeable." The barking dogs on my street, the constantly wet bathroom floor, the smell of fish and meat at the market, the flow of traffic... they rarely feel stressful anymore. There's a lot that I enjoy about Cambodian culture. I'm in a decent place emotionally, relatively well-rested, not planning to collapse onto the plane in a puddle of tears like I have after some school years. However, as my teammates Jeannie and Pat put it, knowing I'm about to leave always makes me feel a bit "crispy," over-toasted by Cambodia's constant sensory input. It sparks my internal tally of reasons I want a break from here.

Here are a few things I can guarantee I will NOT miss:

Mosquitoes. Need I say more?

Drunk karaoke wafting through my window. PSA: Alcohol may improve your confidence, but not your vocal abilities. And though maxing out the amp volume may distract your friends from noticing your voice quality, it will achieve no such miracles for the neighbors in a four-block vicinity. Many Cambodians have lovely voices. But they are not the only ones who belt out ballads when I'm trying to work or sleep. Or blog. (Creepy... it's like I summoned them by writing this paragraph!)

Fumes and rays. Some days, driving my moto around town feels like skin cancer and lung cancer are competing to see which can take me out first. (Assuming other drivers don't.) Sunscreen, long sleeves, a stylish purple air mask, and my helmet's tinted visor can't defeat the black clouds of hot exhaust billowing at me from the truck in front of me at the red light, or the blinding sun that reflects off the concrete roads and buildings to hit me every which way at once. I'm looking forward to a few months of errands that don't leave me dusty, sweaty, red-faced, and holding my breath.

Look what one year of driving, not even daily, has done to the sleeves. 

Mockery. Recently I went for a massage. I was a paying customer; her job was literally to make me happy. But after asking my age and marital status, she snickered at my reply the way I would snicker if someone asked me to sign a petition to save the endangered unicorns. I wish I could say she was unique. At least she didn't press the conversation like others have. Sometimes this lands in the "totally fine now" category. Sometimes it doesn't.

Monocultural people sometimes think countries are on a spectrum of politeness. Is Cambodia more or less polite than America? The answer is no. Cambodian culture has much higher standards of politeness than American culture in some regards, and much lower in others. Comments and questions about people's marital status, number of children, weight, skin color, and salary are considered harmless here. In fact, to demonstrate in February that they've missed me, I'm sure many of my friends will say things like, "You've gained weight" or "You're paler than before." On the other hand, as mentioned above, they're very tolerant of karaoke singers with mediocre voices. They hardly ever show anger or road rage. And in helping me prepare my recent teacher training seminars, my tutor wouldn't let me address the teachers as plain old "you," even though they were younger than me and had less training. In respect for their title and position, I had to say "lokru nakru" (Mr. Teacher and Ms. Teacher) every time I addressed the group. Definitions of politeness vary widely across cultures, and while I've come a long way in accepting this reality, it's still nice occasionally to be somewhere that the rules feel intuitive.

I'm hopeful that by February, I'll be reinvigorated and ready for these challenges again. None of them are new; none of them are insurmountable; none of them make me want to scream (anymore... most days...). But I'm glad to have a break from them. And I might need to remind myself of them when I'm in Pennsylvania with nosebleeds and blue fingers, surrounded by "Christmas-y" materialism and political vitriol, and haven't seen the sun in days.

Stumped for questions when I visit you? Don't just ask IF I miss Cambodia... ask WHAT I'm missing (or not!) that day.