Our three-day weekdays really are heaven-sent, not to mention the endless supply of one-day holidays.
In Cambodia, 90% of the country is Buddhist, with the remaining 10% claimed by Muslims and a handful of Christians.
Buddhist holidays are peppered throughout the month like candy.
Random, but I’ll take it.
Every single week this month we’ve had a one-day holiday with no school.
None of the kids know what the holiday is for, of course, but they know they don’t have to come to school and be yelled at by me so I guess that’s good enough.
It’s been really nice because we’ve worked only 3-4 days each week and then we have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to tramp about the country.
Last week, on our mysterious-Buddhist-holiday-that-doesn’t-celebrate-anything, some friends and I took a little day trip over to Koh Dach or Silk Island in English.
This was the second time we were attempting to get to the island.
Yeah, you can imagine what the first was like . . .
I had researched Silk Island extensively because I had wanted to go there from day 1.
I mentioned this to someone in passing and our group leader KimLay overheard and said “Hey, yeah! I’ll take you guys. We’ll go on a bike tour this weekend.”
Ok, awesome. How perfect! What an amazing coincidence.
That’s what I’m thinking, right?
Well, three days before Friday, we’re out having dinner and it turns out that KimLay has told everyone that I’m in charge of the bikes and I will let everyone know where they can rent them.
hmmm.
What?
He literally never asked me or even talked to me about it.
But okay! I would figure it out. In Kim’s own words: “In Cambodia.. go wi de flow and always jus smile”
So I tell everyone that there’s a bike rental place on the island and we just have to take the ferry up by Kbal Kaoh, this is all on the group chat.
Of course, KimLay, 20 minutes before we’re meeting, proclaims that it’s “too hot” today and we should do it another day.
…
Um, Kim? It’s hot every day if you haven’t noticed. We’re sweating our eyeballs out whether it’s 3 am or noonday, rain or shine.
So we go without him.
The boys (Michael and John) are convinced that the port is further south, which is about where Addy and I are having breakfast.
I am sure that the way I had researched was nowhere near this port, but not wanting to be a control freak I consented to follow and we showed up to the port after they had already left.
“Syd you know, you’re not always right. John has been traveling Asia for three years, he probably knows what he’s doing. Maybe this really is faster or something…”
We show up and the boys have left on this mystery ferry already, not a big deal though, we’ll just catch the next one.
Only one little teeny tiny red flag:
there are no people getting onto this ferry.
I mean there are people, just all these people happen to be driving their cars and their motorbikes onto the deck of the ferry wearing construction gear and masks for dust and pollution.
No one is on foot except for us.
Hmmm.
Okay.
Not exactly the “tourist” route then maybe?
I’m still trying to convince myself that John knows what he’s doing. I’m really trying not to think about how I’m going to kill him if we just spent money to go to a random island.
As we’re wedged in between construction equipment standing next to the pit of grinding motors underneath the ferry I can’t hear myself think. Lucky for John.
We spend 25 minutes standing, wobbling, in the midst of vehicles spewing exhaust and covering our ears from the concerning groans of the ferry below deck.
Stumbling off what we could call a ferry, nauseous from the pollution, we pay our way out while some guards and workers jeer and laugh at us.
There are no sight-seers here, unless of course you’re interested in heaps of burning garbage and petrol stations where off-duty workers are squatting and drinking beer.
We walk around and quickly realize that this is definitely not Silk Island and as I’m about to vomit into the infested shore while boat drivers stop and stare I also quickly realize I am definitely not listening to John’s directions ever again.
We sheepishly board the same exact ferry, much to the worker’s amusement, and I’m in such a sour mood I snap at the lady collecting fares as she tries to rip me off 50 cents.
“T’laina, kom gao knyom” I say with the stink eye of someone who’s been here a few weeks.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise and although the mask over her face covered most expression, her eyes conveyed a certain sense of respect. “Hm, this white girl is really gonna catch me for fifty cents and tell me in Khmer? Stingier than she looks.”
Probably made her day.
Sweating and ill, we arrived where we had started.
The tuk-tuk drivers don’t bother suppressing their laughter as we walk of shame our way back up the street.
John and Michael had already made their way off their return boat and were out of sight by the time we got off- good thing too.
I don’t know if John would be in such good shape if he hadn’t hustled himself out of my view.
The most frustrating thing is I knew it was wrong but I just let myself follow the “wise” just because he’s older (27) and patronizing to the point of exhaustion where I would rather comply than fight on every issue.
Men and their egos.
ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES TO DIRECTIONS.
MY GOSH I thought it was a joke.
Nope.
Anyway, Addy and I decided to go home and chill rather than make the trek all the way up the city to the right ferry.
Besides being a little dirty, we arrived home content and laughing about our mishaps.
I mention this whole situation not to complain but to shed light on the reality of traveling. Sometimes things really go wrong and you have to be flexible.
People have different backgrounds and cultures and are not going to respond to communication the way you expect.
We live with two Brits and work with another five who are located around the city.
You’d think it wouldn’t be an issue because culturally we are way more similar to them than we are to Khmer people, however, there are a lot of differences that make plans difficult sometimes.
A lot of them aren’t explicit, and avoid conflict like the plague. They perceive American communication as “hotheaded” and can’t have a conversation with tension without being severely uncomfortable. Even when there is no real conflict, just a difference of opinion, many of them will avoid discussion on an interesting topic just to keep the peace. Many times we end up going round and round while making plans because no one wants to speak up and make a decision.
When Addy and I are discussing something we disagree on (not fighting) many of our British friends try and make light of it and change the subject as quickly as possible, when all we are doing is trying to figure out some logistics or heaven forbid, discussing something we disagree on.
If you know me you know this goes directly against how I communicate and approach group situations. Granted, I’m probably a little frank even for the U.S., however, I find that this cultural difference is present and can wear on you when you spend a LOT of time dealing with it. It’s something to keep in mind. I would have never thought that American-British dealings would have their issues. Never crossed my mind!
In a less developed country, many sights are not explicit in their details and you have to do some bushwacking to find what you’re looking for.
Money will be wasted.
Hours will be spent wandering.
People will lose patience.
The weather will turn unexpectedly.
Attractions will be disappointing and nothing like the picture.
The food will be terrible.
And of course, the hot, hot sun and 93% humidity really don’t help.
Sometimes the best course of action is to abort.
I continually resist this because the small part of my brain sees it as a failure.
But really is there any failure here?
Everything I do here is for the purpose of growth. I can’t really say that I’m living my life for success or failure. I can’t really say that either of those things affects me right now.
I left the States because I was tired of living by the standard of success and failure.
I felt like something was missing.
Even though I love school and academic learning, it wasn’t filling me up and I think I’ve figured out why.
Ultimately living by the fear of failure or the hope of success won’t sustain you long-term.
There is something more.
We forget that there is something more.
We can live in a state of perpetual growth undefined by failure.
The word failure really doesn’t exist in my current world because ultimately, you define failure and success.
And because we can define it individually, having it control our behavior is a choice.
You can choose to include every happenstance, good, bad, and ugly, as part of your unlabeled existence.
I sought out an experience that would change me holistically and not just academically.
I live in a state of learning that is undefined by numbers and shame, and consequently, I feel no pressure when things go awry, because has it even “gone awry?”
Truly, failure is only a deviance from your perception of the world, isn’t it?
A change of the winds that you had predicted.
A discrepancy between reality and the motion picture in our heads.
When you live with the purpose of having your perceptions dashed and rebuilt continually, having something “go awry” is a welcome event.
It’s liberating to know that failure only exists if I believe in it.
It only exists if I try and set expectations for a future that I cannot see.
And who are we to predict the future?
Who are we to assume we know best?
Basing our self-worth off of things that haven’t happened yet is futile, is it not?
If you believe in failure you do not believe in God.
Imagine a world where the expected and unexpected, and our reactions to each, have equal place at the table.
Imagine a world where growth is prioritized over outward success.
Imagine people living for the outcome of becoming instead of doing.
What I love about Jesus Christ is that he suffered the literal consequences of failure so that we don’t have to.
He took upon Himself the cause and the effect in order for us to be left with the experience.
How sad would He be if we lived in the shadow of something that He already overcame?
How tragic would it be to look back and see all the chances we didn’t take, only to realize they weren’t chances at all?
Christ’s gospel teaches that we can truly live in the light of holistic growth: one that does not hinge upon shame and regret.
To God, there are no events in our lives that are failures because from up there it is only a fork in the road, an opportunity for change, a reconstruction of a paradigm, a moment where man can gain the sight of the Greater.
The best part about this is you don’t have to move across the world to rid yourself of the word “failure.”
It is possible in every country, every era, every circumstance, and every culture.
The light of life without bounds exists because of Christ, and it exists wherever you are, whoever you are.
This I believe.
It rings true to me with every change in course that I slowly realize is for my good.
It rings true with every hammer that shatters my cultural bounds.
It rings true every time I learn and once again am reminded of the grand and diverse human race coexisting here on Earth.
It rings true when I watch a dance I do not understand, sing an unfamiliar song, or reach a hand towards a face I do not recognize.
The light in them speaks to the light in me and overcomes any numbers or matters of titles and degrees.
It overcomes any importance of academic success, career achievement, or material concerns.
It overcomes any worries of failure, disappointment, defeat, or unplanned “misfortune.”
It is the more that was missing.
It is the fill to the almost full.
If we are but dust, we can only get better.