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?