Family

Family, in Asian culture, is a completely different concept than in Western, especially American culture. Entire extended families live together or at least in proximity of each other – three or four generations of family. Even language extends family beyond that of the Western concept: one greets an older woman with the title “Aunt” or a much older woman with “Grandmother;” every older man is “Uncle” and children belong to everyone. The Khmer nation is, essentially, one enormous family.

I spent the day with my birth family. I had called last night to say that I arrived and wanted to see them, and my birth father (whom I will call “Pa,” which is Khmer for “father”) was ecstatic. He offered to come pick me up at seven the next morning, but I managed to push that back to eight. So at eight o’clock, he pulled up in his pickup truck, with Kayleen (my sister’s daughter) in the passenger seat. Part of the reason I chose that day to see them was it was Kayleen’s birthday party. Pa explained to me later that she had never had a large birthday party, but this was a special occasion because I would be present. So I piled into the truck, and we drove off toward his house.

He wanted to know why I was staying where I am, and I explained that it was the house that belonged to a friend of my parents’. I didn’t offer much further explanation, and to my surprise, he didn’t pursue the issue. As we drove along, he pointed out some of the changes that had occurred since my visit over a year ago. One significant one is that the electric lines were being strung along the road, and more and more houses were receiving electricity twenty-four hours a day. Before, it was customary that where there was any electricity, it would turn on automatically at night and then off again in the morning. The permanent electricity was not yet to Pa’s house, but it should be by 2007.

He asked me about what kind of work I would be doing, and I explained that it was medical research. It’s funny; I think everyone expected/expects me to be a doctor except me. People seem a little confused when I say I plan to go to law school when I return to the US. “Then why are you working in a hospital?” Since “Just because” doesn’t usually satisfy, I try to explain that I want to practice medical law. That satisfies some. Pa wanted to know if my schedule would allow me to come to his church and teach English and music, to which I responded that I didn’t know my schedule yet. I think it would be a great opportunity, but at the same time, I am afraid of spreading myself too thinly across the many disciplines. This journey is in part a way for me to focus, to establish a small set of goals and work toward them. At this point, I am still too overwhelmed by everything to commit to doing more things in more areas. I said that I would like to and would let him know if I can. He said he would like it very much.

Before arriving at the house, we stopped for Pa to get some breakfast. I had already eaten, so I sipped on a Coke (I asked for water) while he ate. Afterwards, we headed back to the truck, and a few minutes later, we arrived at the house. It was almost exactly as I remembered it, most noticeably, pink, with a yellow cross above the front door. We stayed for a while, and I said hello to my birth mother (whom I will call “Ma”). She is one of the most beautiful women I know – strong, quiet, compassionate. After staying a little while there, Pa took me across the street to see his church.

When we walked in, a group of students stood up and greeted us. One (whose name I never caught) spoke very good English, and he asked me a few questions. Pa explained to them that I could teach them English and music, and then he asked me to play something on the electric keyboard. I hesitated; I haven’t seriously touched a piano in over ten years. I improvised something with one hand (quite well, I thought), and then I played a fun piece that’s exclusively on the black keys. Finally, he asked if I could play a hymn, so I played Amazing Grace (which is his favorite hymn) by ear. Luckily, the tune is not so difficult.

Afterwards, he took me behind the church to show me the construction of the fellowship building. I was impressed. Here was a man, my father by blood, with a passion larger than himself, driven by a love for God to reach out to the people of Cambodia. While we do not see eye to eye on many things (although I’m not sure he knows this), I do see in him many things that I want to be: passionate, driven, and much greater than his physical presence. He told me that when he fled Cambodia, he thought he would never return; he never wanted to return. And now, twenty-five years later, he has returned, and he is happy to be here.

We went back to the house, and I went upstairs to take a nap (I’ve frequently been asked if I am tired or want to sleep. I almost always say yes because, usually, it’s the only way I get some time to myself). A short while later, I went back downstairs for a shower and lunch. Lunch was very good; the women fixed traditional Cambodian meal (which really, is all I’ve been eating here, every meal. I fear I’ve been remiss in my descriptions of food) of rice, meat, and soup. And more meat, and another kind of soup. I tend to avoid fish because I always end up with a mouthful of bone. Actually, I avoid chicken, too, for the same reason. And anything “squishy” or “spongy” looking. But lunch was good, and Pa and I started talking. We talked for about two, hours, I think, and he essentially told me his entire life story, which I won’t repeat here, for a number of reasons. However, it was incredible to me to sit there, with him, here, in this place, as he recounted his life. It was something I felt I had been waiting for my entire life, and it dawned on me that it was in that very place, when he was the age I am now, that he and everyone he knew suffered under the Khmer Rouge. Yes, I had waited my entire life for that moment, that communion, with him.

Afterwards, I went upstairs to take another nap before the big party. I’m really not a big fan of Cambodian events; they usually go on forever, and I have no idea what’s going on. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d like them too much. Anyway, after my rest, Pa gave me something formal to wear, and I got dressed as everything was set up for the party. Without going into too much detail, the party went well and very quickly (comparatively speaking). I’ll post pictures when I get a chance.

The one student whom I mentioned earlier came to talk with me for a long time. He wants to study law and go to school, but he lives in the country, and his family can’t afford to send him into the city. His English was so good that I felt it was a shame that someone so driven and talented as he could not afford to do what he wanted to do. He said that he could make money, but he would have to become corrupt like everyone who makes much money in Cambodia, and he didn’t want to do that. Although I didn’t say it, I felt that someone so smart and passionate like him was very well-suited to study with Pa. I hope he finds a way to his dreams and doesn’t attribute all of his successes to God.

At the end of the day, I was completely exhausted – emotionally and physically. Despite disappointed responses, I decided to go back to my house for the night (I had already decided that before I left though). A year is a long time, and I am not comfortable building that relationship as quickly as they might have liked. So Pa drove me back.

When I got back, I staked out in my room and wrote down some lists of words to translate to Khmer. I used a dictionary to look them up, and then I went to ask Tol how to pronounce them correctly. The entire family enjoyed it; I think it was the first time I had really made an effort to be part of the group. It’s just something that takes time, becoming a new part of a family.

Baptism

I was baptized today – in the monsoon rains of Cambodia. The sky darkened and the power went out, so I went to the window to watch the storm. The water started falling in sheets and grew steadily heavier. The huge vats positioned around the house to catch the rain filled to overflowing, and Tol beckoned for me to come out to play. And I did.

Wearing only my shorts, I walked out into the rain. It was cold, enough to startle you, but not enough to be uncomfortable. The water fell upon me, caressing my bare skin in the pure and clean drops that fall only in the countryside. Tol grabbed a bucket, filled it with the water from the enormous rainwater-catching jugs, and poured it over my head. I did not feel the cold or the wetness, I did not feel alienated, a foreigner, as I had before. It was a communion, a reunification of a mother and her son, at last. Tol bathed me, rubbing my back and arms with soap and the rinsing them off in the pure rain water. Then the falling water slowed, and I changed, wrapped a towel around my waist, and went inside, a renewed man.

A Return Home

I looked down through the airplane window to the fields of rice, the modest huts and houses, and the meandering roads, and the heaviness I had not felt in over a year set in again. Tears came to my eyes as my journey became clear before me, as it never was before. Even as I write this, the tears flow freely, from a source deep inside me, a source that only being in this place can reach. I am sad, I am happy; I am scared, I am excited, I am home, yet I am more lost than I thought I could ever be. There is a purity of life here, beneath the rugged streets of Phnom Penh, a purity against which my own mind has no defense, a purity that sears my heart more sharply than anyone would hope could be possible.

As I approached passport control, I found that I had packed my passport photos in my checked baggage. Worried that my incomplete visa application would pose a problem, I went to the end of the line and hoped that it wouldn’t be a problem. As I stood there waiting, a man walked up to me and said “American, too?” I was holding my passport, which he no doubt saw. I nodded and said yes. He said he had forgotten his photo and didn’t have enough money for the visa application (20 USD). I froze, knowing that when someone asked for money, it was usually a good time to decline politely and walk away. He saw my hesitation and said he’d give me Thai baht for the money (although I had no real use for baht, other than that I assumed I would be back in Thailand sometime in the next few months). Then he offered me 1000 baht for $10, which is more than double its value. I accepted and gave him the money, which he gratefully accepted. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time except that I knew I was getting a good deal. When it hit me that $10 was the equivalent of about 400 baht and that I had just gotten more than twice that, I felt a little bit bad. Then I realized that exchange rates were very subjective depending on where one is going. The USD is very valuable to me (since I can’t carry very much – if it’s stolen, it’s just gone), whereas the Thai baht was virtually useless to him (he was done with Thailand). I think we both won in that transaction.

So we got up to the counter, and I said “Hello” in Khmer to the man standing there, hoping that would give me an edge. He asked if I was Khmer, and I struggled back a response along the lines of, “Yes, but I only speak a little.” Having exhausted most of my Khmer language skills, I added in English that I was coming to Cambodia to learn the language but that I didn’t have the passport photo. He smiled at my efforts (how often do you see a uniformed Khmer man smile?) and gave my passport and visa application to a pretty young woman behind the counter. I think that was the trick. After struggling to reply to several people that “Yes, I am Khmer” and “Yes, I have family here, I was awarded something I couldn’t possibly have thought I’d get – a permanent visa. Cambodia gives Khmers from abroad these visas for free. Mine was $10 (halfway between the regular tourist visa and the free Khmer visa), which may have gone into a pocket rather than into the register. After a few more skeptical looks and amused responses to my excruciating Khmer, I was through the airport.

Since I was among the last to exit, my welcoming party (and boy, was it a party) found me easily, and I was greeted with a large flower necklace (traditional) and a huge group of people of several generations. The grandmother took me by the hand and led me to a car awaiting us. I was seated between two young girls, one of whom I think is to be my wife by the end of the year (more on that below). Asked whether I had eaten (it was 9am), I said no, so we went to a restaurant and took up two large tables. Something was ordered for me, and when it came, I realized at these two full tables of my welcoming party, I was the only one eating, and I was the center of attention. Tol (though not a great translation of her name, it’s the closest I could get) opened and poured my Coke for me. A sign of things to come. Somehow I managed to eat my food (chicken over rice), despite the audience, my heavy exhaustion from being up the entire night, and the fact that Cambodian chicken has more bone than meat (a fact that is not immediately apparent until you’ve bit down on what looked like a large piece of meat). The grandmother took my hand, walked me out of the restaurant and back to the car, where we all piled back in (again, Tol was not arbitrarily seated next to me), and headed for home.

Traffic in Cambodia is nothing like that of Bangkok. While it’s still chaotic and breathtaking for anyone unfamiliar to it, the fact that it only takes place at about 25 mph makes it much easier to relax. Tol said to me at one point, “I don’t know what talk to you.” My thoughts exactly – what was I supposed to say? I think expectations are high in this area. Amid a heavy silence punctuated with random, short questions and answers, we arrived at home. Not quite the air-conditioned mansion with servants and a private room that I had fantasized about, but it was still pretty nice. I was showed to my room, which has two beds in it – one, mine, fitted with bright red sheets and a pattern cartoon character, and the other with a pink, lacy floral design. I have nothing against flowers, but when offered a choice of beds, I think the choice had already been made. The room is quite large, and there are two fans (one ceiling fan and one wall fan) perfectly positioned. These houses are designed for the heat, so with the windows open, airflow keeps it quite cool. There’s also a bathroom ensuite, complete with a bidet (or incomplete, as it lacks TP).

Shortly after I got here, I confessed my exhaustion, so I was ushered into my room to take a nap. After sleeping soundly for about three hours, I woke up and was promptly fed. It had rained while I was asleep, and it was cooler but very humid. Tol served my food, got me water, and poured my water for me. When I thanked her, she corrected me and said, “Don’t thank you.” While I was eating, people came and went, and at one point Tol came by and said, “I clean your clothes.” I explained that I didn’t need them cleaned yet, and she nodded. While I was eating, it started raining again, and the rain is really beautiful here in Cambodia. Maybe it’s the openness of the house that makes the rain seem more intimate, almost like a personal gift. Whatever it is, I commented on it, using my meager Khmer, and my comment elicited smiles around the room. Now I’m back in the privacy of my room, enjoying my fans. I’m not sure about internet access here, but I’m going to look into the possibilities.

Although this is a really nice place, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay here indefinitely. It’s too far removed from the city and the work that I need to be doing. Although I’d rather be out here than in the city (cleaner, nicer, quieter, safer), I have work to do. I may take up two residences and alternate between them, depending on workload and hours. I need to scope out my options soon, though, because I’m supposed to start work next week. But now, my tears have dried, the rain has stopped, and my fingers are ready to work on a different piece of writing.

Rainy Day in Bangkok

A typhoon in Vietnam that caused thousands to evacuate Hanoi seems to have manifested itself in a rainy afternoon in Thailand. I revisited a site from my last Bangkok visit - the Merry V Guesthouse, near Khao San Road. Jeff and I went there for lunch, and I had my usuals - tom kha gai, pad see ew, pineapple shake. The ever-cheerful, ever-enthusiastic waitress was there, and after some prodding, she said she remembered me, and I think she really did.

It rained most of the afternoon and evening, and I got fairly wet taking a tuk-tuk to see if the tanks were still outside the PM's house. They were not, and I ended up standing in a fairly hard rain trying to hail a taxi. Oh well - I saw where the tanks were, which is almost as good as seeing tanks.

Bangkok is a city of mystique and beauty, but it also one of a darkness and a tragedy that sees no end. At first glance, it is a wonderful place with exotic people and a rich culture, and it is. But looking deeper than the eye of the ephemeral tourist is a city that is dead - hollow - in at least one respect. Bangkok is a city without love. There is a sex industry here that thrives from tourism and creates an environment void of love and commitment. The word "love" in English darts through conversations as much as the motorcycles in traffic - they are insignificant and fleeting, ubiquitous and fragile. There is a false sense of welcome; well, perhaps not entirely false, but it is not universal nor is it pure. Foreigners are an easy target for lies, swindling, theft, slander, and not entirely undeserved. Having talked to several people (Americans) who have lived here for some time, it is easy to find sex here, but difficult, if not impossible, to find love. There is an exotic lure to the city, but there seems to be nothing deeper, at least not for a foreigner, no matter how long he's resided here. If love does exist here, it doesn't permeate skin color.

Additionally, the nonconfrontational culture seems to me to have more problems than benefits. Education entails regurgitation, recitation, and memory. Independent thought and original ideas need not apply. For a country aiming to move into the future, these are not forward steps. I fear I will have the same report in Cambodia. In fact, I expect Cambodia to be an even poorer situation.

Today, I ate at a sushi buffet (elsewhere, "all you can eat" is a foreign concept...even at the buffet, there's a time limit on your stay). It was quite nice to sit in the AC for a change...makes eating spicy food a little more pleasant. Until I saw the clams opening and closing on the food conveyor belt. Live clams...just toss them in the boiling water. Not my cup of tea. Aside from the live clams, it was a nice lunch.

Although I may be presenting Bangkok in a fairly negative light here, it really is a magical place. Of course, it is tainted with foreigners and those attempting to exploit them, but looking deeper than that, there is a beauty here that nothing in the Western world can match. After tomorrow and some time for reflection, I think I can present a more balanced and encompassing view of this place. Until then, I'll summarize Bangkok as a sweet poison unevenly mixed with a bitter salve.