Rats

Rats have always been all around me. When I was in the US, I used to breed pet rats--and I promise you they are some of the most wonderful pets anyone can own. Now that I live in Cambodia, I always see them nosing through the garbage, squished on the streets, or jumping into holes as I walk past. One time, I left my kitchen window open, and one got in and started eating the flour and rice. That was how I learned to keep my window closed.

There are even rats at my school. But these rats are a bit more vicious--they're people. People who rat out other teachers. There's one guy in particular who, despite the fact that I like him personally, has just made everyone's life a lot harder.

Now, before I start this tirade, I should probably state my own position: I'm a hard-hearted bitch who doesn't care about other people or what they do. I care about doing my job, and giving the students under my care the best education I can. Admittedly, with thyroid disease "my best" has been minimal; with my own lack of English education, I am hardly well-qualified to do my job. Some days, it's hard for me to show up early. I'm usually 5 or 10 minutes behind in most things, including starting (and finishing!) class. I can't help this; I move in slow motion. Moreover, someone's constantly adjusting the clocks at the schools I teach at, making it impossible to know the real time.

That said, I certainly do not show up 15 minutes late and end 30 minutes early, and I never will. Apparently, though, some teachers do this, and this has set off the person I have referenced above.

He put up a big stink when he noticed that one teacher didn't show up for class one day but still counted everyone present.

My first reaction: That self-indulgent loser. Who cares, I'm not sick and starving anymore.

His first reaction: *calls our boss and tries to have her fired and her pay taken away*

He's also done this with folks who smoke marijuana and/or drink alcohol before class, or haven't graded papers, etc. Now, I don't blame the guy for being upset. That behavior is reprehensible and frankly embarrassing to me personally as a Western, English-speaking expatriate. It makes life harder for me when I have to explain over and over again that I'm not a slut or stoner. I might criticize the individual to his/her face for their bad behavior, but no way would I take it to the administration.

Why? Well read my prior post about social injustice security. Since 1994, no English teacher in this school has received a raise, and yes, some of them have been working here that whole time. We receive no benefits. If we get sick or injured, we're screwed. If higher-ups get sick, the school pays their leave and their medical bills--in addition to the raises I am sure they give themselves.

Do I care if someone rips off the system? My personal disgust at such individuals' behavior aside, no I do not. If the school doesn't want human refuse teaching their classes, stop treating us like human refuse. It's that simple. Give us benefits and pay us higher wages, and I promise you will have a wide selection of qualified, rule-abiding teachers to chose from.

I feel compelled to rant here, because now letters have gone around to all the staff reminding us to be absolutely punctual. The admin guys also now have to check in on us in every class to make sure we "showed up", and they're now required to mark down everyone who deviates by even a minute so our pay can be reduced. Everyone's life just got a lot harder, and the underlying corruption just became even more enforced.

That was so petty and small-minded I could scream.

Social Security--or--the Reality of Teaching in a Third World Country

This Sunday, I spent the afternoon at a benefits-BBQ with my coworkers and my friend Thearea. Ten dollars for a plate of food and you too could be part of a meaningful contribution towards combating the suffering of mankind.

You probably would like to know what benefits we were funding. Food for homeless Cambodians? School supplies for some orphanage? Proceeds for a new church/school/hospital in the provinces?

Nope.

All proceeds went to our co-worker Geoff, who, like me, is a Western expatriate. Geoff had a fall teaching class and badly broke his arm. In the hospital, he managed to contract a spinal infection (drat those unsanitary conditions) and is now lying in hospital bed in a state of abject misery and pain, unable to resume work.

He's been out for over a month. Given that employees are paid hourly, and not according to a salary, he hasn't earned money in over a month. Given that we're paid monthly, even if he resumed tomorrow, he still wouldn't be paid for quite a while. Given that none of us receive benefits of any kind, he's screwed.

Apparently, he's burned through all his savings, and is now unable to pay his rent, food, and especially not the hospital bill. And this is a country where they don't treat you if you can't pay.

The school, of course, won't pay anything, despite the fact that his accident happened on their property, despite the fact that one of the administrators got 3 months paid leave and $3000 to pay for an operation in Singapore when he got sick. (I wish I got 3 months paid leave when I was sick for months. Lord knows I needed it far more than some overpaid bureaucrat whose daddy got him the job). I cannot let another human being suffer as I have done--I was there at the BBQ with as many friends as I could muster (in my case, I only have one friend...that's 100% anyway!). Thanks, [school of employment]...I'm definitely not going to wear my nametag now.

Well, this is the reality of 3rd world countries--there is no social security except for those who have wrested it for themselves through aggression and corruption. The rich get richer, the rest of us have to look out for ourselves. Our only security is family, friends, and savings enough to pay the hospital to treat you.

Maybe now you can understand why I am forever bringing up my paranoid financial issues in my blog.

PS--AMERICAN RIGHT WING, I AM TALKING TO YOU. BENEFITS FOR WORKERS ARE VERY IMPORTANT, AND BE GLAD YOUR TAXES ARE GOING TO THE TREASURY, NOT STRAIGHT INTO SOME CORRUPT OFFICIAL'S POCKET.

The Unsettling Incident at 90 Meat Product

I was not having a very good day. I was very hungry, and there were no donuts in the donut-case when I walked in to school that morning. Due to female problems, my abdomen really, really hurt. The Nametag Guy was spouting off obnoxiously elaborate accolades to all the teachers as they came in for work. Class was moving ever more slowly as the morning wore on.

I knew that the supermarket down the road could solve all my problems (except for the Nametag Guy), so I resolved to go there during my 15 minute break.

Upon walking in, I saw that the food aisle was blocked by other customers, so I took a more circuitous route, looking at All The Pretty Things as I walked. My eyes rested upon a coloring book in one of the aisles, and as I stopped to examine it, her eyes rested on me.

A little girl, the owners' 8-year-old daughter, had followed me down the aisle, stopped 3 feet away from me, and was now watching me examine the coloring book. I passed her a glance, being perfectly used to things like this. Feeling a little awkward, I continued walking, rounded the corner and walked up the next aisle, then down the next one.

By that time, I was in the food aisle, and tried to decide what I wanted to eat today. Then I saw that the little girl had materialized at the end of the aisle, again. It was apparent she was following me.

I'm pretty used to being stared at on account of my black and white hair. I'm also pretty used to small children following me around, begging for (sometimes demanding) money. Sadly, I'm also aware that a lot of store employees follow me around--I guess making sure that the obviously drug-addicted barang isn't going to steal expensive things and sell them to fuel her drug addiction (I seriously don't know why else multiple employees in every store would follow me to the extent they do; no one else seems to have this trouble). But today, it looked like I was getting all three rolled into one.

Being intently watched made it difficult to choose what I wanted to buy. I gave up and walked to the next aisle, looking for feminine hygiene products.

And there she stood at the end of the aisle.

Getting really annoyed by now, I raised my eyebrows at her to affect a questioning-but-annoyed look. There was no real response. Choosing my product, I went back to the previous aisle and tried to select some cookies.

...And then:

She left me no choice...I had to do something about this highly awkward situation. As kindly and sweetly as possible, I asked what it was that she wanted from me. Strangely, given her keen powers of observation, she seemed not to know what to say, and fumbled for words for a long time. It was rather strange.

Then she disappeared around the corner.

But it leaves me wondering, What did she want from me? Why do store employees always follow me? Do I look that much like a thief? Why couldn't the school just serve donuts today?

I chose a box of Chips Ahoy, paid at the front, and got the heck out of 90 Meat Product.

A Stereotype?

Today, the landlady tried to accuse me of not locking the front gate when I come back "late at night". Given that I generally stagger back home at 7:30 pm, exhausted, roll into a ball trying to ease the stiffness of my hypothyroid muscles, and never go out again, and that I always re-lock the front gate when I find it locked, I must say I took real offense to that.

Why? Because she blamed me first, and that makes me feel like I'm falling prey to some ridiculous stereotype: ALL foreigners stay out late partying all the time and come back late and carelessly don't lock things.

Central Phnom Penh can actually be kind of a rough neighborhood, and there are these drug dealers/addicts that pool around the alleyway out front after hours. If you leave the gate unlocked, they can get inside the apartment complex and do random stuff (honestly, I'm not sure what they could possibly do that's so bad, except make noise I guess).

Anyway, there were words. Why should I be the one she blames?

Prevent Animals from Flying around Your Apartment! Get a Screen!

Two months after moving into my new place, it is finally finished. Today, some guys came by and put a screen over my ventilation window. Now the mosquitoes can't get in as much, nor can the geckos, which like to sit on the wall and poop onto my things. I can finally host guests at my place once more!

It was kind of strange, though. I had someone call a business that puts screens over ventilation windows; they had to come by to measure the window and I had to hide so that they didn't see me as a money-laden white person and overcharge me.

Then, this weekend, two fourteen-year-old kids came to my apartment with a metal frame. They then proceeded to comandeer my apartment in order to physically put the screen (like an actual roll of metal screening) in the frame. They hadn't brought anything to cut the screen with, so they had to use my only kitchen knife.

Then they proceeded to try to put it on, except that they didn't have a ladder. What kind of home-improvement business doesn't have a ladder? They tried to argue that they should put it on the inside of the window (which, to me, is ugly and can let outside debris build up on the sill). Anyway, progress was temporarily impeded while we searched around for a ladder from the neighbors and/or landlady.

Anyway, $35 will get you one of these for your ventilation window:

Prevent Dengue Fever! Get a screen!

Now that everything is all in order, I'm going to clean this place up and try to show you some pics of the apartment I have re-awsomed with my own hands and ingenuity.

Bats Are Scary

This got into my apartment the other night. It only illustrates why I need to get a screen put over the ventilation window at the top.

Hedgistan

Well, it's about time you all knew it: I got another hedgehog baby.

Actually, I got him about two weeks ago, and I kept it quiet because I didn't want him to die again.

He came from another pet-store--the first one had sold out of the little guys. I assumed I would never see anymore li'l hedgies in Phnom Penh, and walked through around in a cloud of sorrow for the next week or so. Then, on my way home one glorious Friday afternoon, I saw an aquarium filled with four terrified balls of spikes. MORE HEDGEHOGS! They came from a hedgehog farm in Thailand, and I bought the first one that didn't suck.

He was a little orange thing, smaller than the others, sleeping stretched out in the heat. Trying to decide which one I would take home, I put him in the cage I had brought. He rolled over and began chewing on the T-shirt I had left him to snuggle in, so I took that as a sign that, unlike the others, he did not roll into a ball of spikes because he was not anti-social towards humans.

The little guy was covered in mud (why, though?) so I gave him a bath. And after he'd been washed and dried, I discovered that, like the first one, he's actually white and possum-like. Red-eyed. Ugly. He's an adult as well, and one who was not hand-raised. So he's not cuddly and sweet-natured like the first. Actually, he's shy and inclined to say, "Hmph!" while trying to stab me with his quills as I pick him up. Not a great start.

Nonetheless, he is a smart little guy, and based on what I've read about ill-socialized hedgehogs, is about as sweet as they come. I don't believe I've ever met an animal who is so reponsive to music. Here is his picture.

How can you not love the little guy?

My Stupid Life

I haven't been into updating much, because of stupid school. It's like all I do is work. I only work 6 hours a day, but I have doubled my walking time by moving to my new apartment, so that eats a significant proportion of my day. I have a 3-hour lunch break, and generally spend that time sleeping because I keep waking up at 5 am and not being able to go back to sleep. If I don't take the time to rest during lunch break, I'll have a crash during my evening classes.

Then that leaves me 8-11 pm to do everything else. My first act is to make food, which generally takes me till 9 pm, because I'm exhausted all the time in the evenings and go slowly. Internet cafes close at 9 pm or so, so I'm stuck grading papers, which I generally forget to do. Then I have to find time the next day, making it even harder for me to find the time to blog.

If only my body weren't so high maintenance these days. Anyway, I haven't been up to writing all that much. And there hasn't been too much to write, but there are a few things I want to get off my chest. Hopefully.

Ostriches

Every so often, I have an incident in class that is so outlandish, I feel the need to report it in my blog.

First, I have a very strict "no cell phones" policy. I hate when a student takes out a phone and blithely answers it when I'm trying to teach. I HATE it.

I also hate it almost as much when my students leave the room to answer the phone. They go in and out all day, and that's very distracting.

So I tell them they're in an American classroom, and we don't behave that way in America. I tell them they're gonna get the best American education ever, and if they ever apply to study abroad, they can tell the admissions officers that they've already studied in a western-style classroom.

And today, I had a student deliberately ignore everything I have lectured the class about over the last 6 weeks.

First, his phone rang loudly. "Turn it off," I said, continuing to write the assignment on the board. Rather than obey, he raised his bootleg copy of Academic Writing over his head and proceeded to answer.

I could hear the metallic voice on the other end before I could see who exactly was talking on the phone. Turning around, I saw the kid with the book held over his face, answering the little mechanical voice he was trying to hide. As if I wouldn't notice someone clearly hiding his cell phone usage behind a book.

Me: What's wrong with you? Do you think I don't notice you holding the book in front of your face? Come on! I can hear the person on the other end of the line. How retarded do you think I am? TURN IT OFF!

But I ask you: what would even possess someone to do that? We all made fun of him for the next 5 minutes or so.

*Another time, a student of mine suddenly bent forward and buried the top half of his body in his bookbag to avoid my wrathful gaze as he answered the phone. Like I wouldn't notice that, either.

The Happiest Hedgehog in Cambodia!

I originally typed this up a few days ago...and when I went to publish it the next morning, the little guy was gasping his last. That's why you don't type anything up, I guess.

I was and still am incredibly sad about this turn of events. I thought I would skip the entry entirely, but then I thought I'd like to show you a little bit about pet ownership in Cambodia. I'd also like to do something to honor his memory. He brought me such intense happiness, for such a short time.

The original text is below.

---------

I have a confession to make: I am a small animal addict. As you may have gathered from my obsessive love for abandoned baby sparrows and wingless butterflies, I'm the sort of person who needs a pet or two around the house to feel complete. Every day, I walk home from school past the little curbside petstores. I have to touch every animal in every cage, talk to each, tell it how wonderful, special, and loveable it is, and then walk away dreaming about which one EXACTLY I will buy when I remember to bring enough money.

I'm like one of those mentally-ill pigeon ladies in New York City who just sort of lives under a cloud of cooing birds, carrying all her possessions in a large bag: I just like having animals around me, to a creepy and excessive degree.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, one of the petstores had a new cage, filled with four tiny spikey things: BABY HEDGEHOGS. Each day, I planned my strike: one of those insanely cute little balls of quills would be MINE. I just had to amass enough pocket change and read up on how to keep them.

In a couple of days, one disappeared, then the other a couple of days later. Starting to panic, I returned to the store to choose among the remaining two.

By this time, I'd read that male hedgehogs make more laid-back pets than females, who tend to get nestie. (I've kept pet rats before and know how this can be with them). Luckily, one was male.

Unluckily, though, he was albino (read: ugly and possum-like). He was also in bad need of medical attention, having his right arm badly injured. It had been cut to the muscle all the way around. Seeds were matted into his bloody fur. His arm was swollen and immobile.

You know what that means--the little alarm bells went off in my brain: it needs you, holyrockthrower...IT NEEDS YOU. So I bought it.

You know what? Hedgehogs are expensive, in the US and in Cambodia, too. I basically had no spending money all week since I spent it all on the animal (I know, I could just go to the bank, but I'm trying to save up for a motorbike), and I had to eat slices of bread all week...but he is MINE. ALL MIIIINE!

Anyway, I've got some pictures. His injury is healing, and he's pretty much the cutest little baby I've ever seen.

Sleeping baby.

His little piggy nose.

Ugly and possum-like. (Damn right he's between my breasts.)

Aww...

Here's a video I made of him:

What Animal Is This?

I was at the Japanese Thrift Store (Toto) recently, and I saw this thing. What kind of animal is it supposed to be? A tapir? Anyone know?

It was too cute. So I bought it.

Something Strange

For some reason, as I was walking to various places today, two separate people cut me off, and both of them said "Sorry" to me for it. In English!

The first one was a shriveled, but statuesque, old lady riding a bicycle. The second time was a girl on a motorcycle.

Given that I've lived here almost a year and a half, I've yet to witness anyone ever apologize for cutting anyone else off in the streets. Especially a pedestrian. Especially in English.

ESPECIALLY TWICE IN ONE DAY.

Happy-Lucky Chinese New Year

This week is Chinese New Year. Even though Cambodia isn't part of China, it's still celebrated here as part of China's sphere of cultural influence. Although I'd rather be celebrating Chinese New Year in Cambodia than in China itself, it is nonetheless not without its challenges here.

First, most every institution gets the week off--except mine. The founder of this school stubbornly clings to the notion that he runs a Cambodian institution, dammit, not a Chinese one. Therefore, taking Chinese New Year off is an impossibility.

I like that attitude, actually, but unfortunately the Cambodian public does not share his sentiments. Most students don't even show up all week. Some teachers don't either, leaving the students who actually did show up wandering the hallways for an hour and a half, waiting to see if their next teacher will show up for their next class.

So far, I've cancelled two out of the three classes (you may guess that I'm typing this entry during one of my cancelled classes--because there's nothing else to do till my next class begins). In the first one, no one showed up at all. In the second, one student showed up--but she hadn't purchased her textbook yet, which she needed to do the exercises. What choice did I have but to let her go home? She'd been sitting there for an hour and a half, because her other teacher never came.

The classes you don't cancel, you're stuck entertaining about 2 to 5 students for an hour and a half. You can't teach them too much, or else you'll have to repeat it for the rest of the class, whenever they come back. You can't do too little, or else there's no point in holding class anyway. It's kind of a tough spot to be in.

I remember last year. I was just coming down with subacute thyroiditis, and I really didn't want to teach class. I was happy to see that in one of my classes, there were no students. The thyroid problem made me overheat, so I just sat underneath the air conditioner and waited for the next class.

Some guy from admin came in. "No one showed up to class?" he asked me, which I confirmed. "You have to stay here for the entire class, or else I'm not going to let them pay you for work today," he informed me.

That sounded like such bullshit to me, that I called my supervisor.

Me: Hey Barry. No one's in my class today.

Barry: Well then, you get paid free time!

Me: About that. Some guy from admin was in here and he told me that I'm not getting paid if I don't stay in the classroom. Please tell me that's rubbish.

Barry: He was from admin? Really?

Me: Yeah.

Barry: He was on his own little power trip. IGNORE.

And I did ignore it, only to discover the same guy had bothered a lot of other teachers in the same way. Not all of them were as graceful and dignified as me--some of 'em went down kicking and screaming! I guess it happens every year. No admin staffer will prevail over our right to get paid for slacking off, dammit!

And that's what I call a traditional Chinese New Year. At least they're not power-tripping this time!

Now if only no one would show up for my high school class this evening... (then that would mean I would have to walk 40 minutes only to have to walk home again--but at least I wouldn't have to teach those brats)

Rant: Why I Hate My ID Card

School's back in session. It's been back in session for two weeks actually, but I haven't been able to muster the motivation to comment on it.

My major issue this term is that I now live twice as far from the campuses as I did before. And that's an unpleasant distance to have to walk.

My other issue is just my anti-authoritarian control issues rearing their ugly head again. People who know me, know how resistant I can be towards someone making a perfectly reasonable request--and I still don't know why I do this.

Somehow, somewhere, someone decided that they needed to have an "ID Card Check" at every entrance of every building. Now there's some stuffy looking guy from admin informing me that I have to wear my name tag at all times.

I don't want to wear the name tag. Why? Because it's a liability. It's the first thing that's going to be lost. I'm going to put it in my pocket, and it's going to fall out. I'm going to take it off and accidently leave it on the table at KFC. The same reason that I had to pay hundreds and hundreds of dirhams to the American University in Dubai after I kept losing the dorm keys. The thing is better off staying on my table at home. I'm completely irresponsible with my things, and I don't want to wear the damn ID card.

And, not to carry the gripe futher than it needs to go, but what is this? Nazi Germany? "Where are your papers, ma'am?" I'm a responsible adult; I don't wanna be treated like that.

In all honesty, though, it really shouldn't be the problem that it is for me, especially given that You must wear your ID Card at all times is posted in the sheet of rules I was given when I first started working here (and is posted multiple times in each teacher's lounge). So it's not like they're wrong. Everyone else wears their nametags; no one else seems to have issues with it, either, just me.

But how is it that I've managed to go for more than a year--AN ENTIRE YEAR--without anyone ever once saying anything about my missing ID card? And now suddenly, they've got a guy at every door, not letting people inside who don't have nametags? It's retarded. I guess the word must have gotten around about the renegade teacher who refuses to wear her nametag (because that's what they spend their time and money discussing)!

I really don't wanna do what they've been telling me to do...but on the other hand, I really don't want to turn such a retarded issue into some ridiculous conflagration. Crap, I hate being in this position, though.

*I somehow made it through grade school and high school without getting in trouble, in case you're wondering.

Housekeeping

Hello my dear readers.

It may seem as though I have disappeared off the face of the map for the last week or so. And basically I did.

I told you about my new apartment, and how it isn't nearly as great as I kept psyching myself up for it to be. Well, I had to spend the last ten days restoring it to the glory I had dreamt it to once have had.

Just like Mars, the whole thing was covered in red dust. With a scrubber and a sponge in hand, and tile cleaner in bucket, I launched an all-out assult on the walls of filth around me. I don't know how the previous tenants had lived like that: orange-brown liquid rolled down the walls, running into filthy-looking pools on the floor. By the time I had washed and rinsed all the walls, I saw that they were made of white (not beige) tile. And shiny! I then scrubbed the grime out of the kitchen, to discover that it was lined with the same white tile. The same for my bedroom. Man, I was even scrubbing the ceiling--yes, it too was filthy. I could even taste the filth in the soapy, mouse-turd-laden water that dripped repeatedly into my face and mouth. Then it was time to mop up the floor.

I don't know if the previous tenants had ever cleaned it once during their time there, if the wall paint that easily melted off the tiles was any indication.

All this scrubbing took me several days--it felt good to actually be able to use my body after a year of literally lying around doing nothing. My cleaning frenzy was also briefly interrupted by an illness...I don't know what it was, but I managed to develop a fever (with no other symptoms) as I came home from the store one night. Given that I developed diarrhea later that night, I can only assume it was something I ate...and it left me with an aching stomach for three days, thereby causing me to call off the cleansing mission during that time. I blame the ranitidine for that incident.

After cleaning was over, I still had nothing in the apartment. Just an old bed frame and mattress. A stinky fridge and an old TV on top of it. That's it. I had to put my blankets over the mattress in the absence of a sheet. Lying in bed with my stomach grumbling and aching, I realized how incredibly depressing it all was:

• I possessed nothing but the junk-filled plastic bags on the floor
• There was no hot water
• There were rats in the ceiling
• Everyone could see in through my front door
• The washing machine didn't work
• There was no way to keep the disease-ridden mosquitoes out
• It was located right across from a welder's--it was just like the constant obnoxious home improvements that plagued me throughout the month of November, except it would never go away.
• And now there was nothing soft to lie on, even in illness. Not even a pillow.

Had I screwed this new apartment thing up or what?

So I had to spend the next several days re-awesoming the apartment.

I managed to get a wicker sofa and chairs and small table from the landlady. I put the TV on a pretty cloth and hooked it up to the PlayStation. I bought some wicker shelvery and a small desk to keep the water cooler on. I put stuff in the fridge, and bought some pretty mats to keep more dirt from getting tracked in. I stored things in expensive new plastic containers from Paragon. I printed some epic pictures of dinosaurs, ships, and naval battles and taped them on the walls of the bedroom.

Now my bedroom is cozy (except for the lack of pillows). The living room is still somewhat less cozy, but I suspect that a futon and throw rug will go a long way towards improving this. The kitchen is functional, and so is the bathroom (except I miss having a sink and hot water. And toilet paper).

I still haven't managed to touch the upstairs, however. There are still no screens on the windows, and people can still see in through my front door. And the sawing and drilling coming from the welder's at 7 am is permanent.

BUT NOW--my landlady is talking about selling the building...so should I even bother to care? Should I even make any further efforts? Makes me wish I hadn't wasted a week re-awesoming this place at all. Fuck.

Oh Crap.

I made a mistake in thinking my new apartment was gonna be so awesome.

It was awesome by virtue of the fact that it was cozy, and it was cozy because it was filled with furniture and people.

Other apartments have all been furnished; I assumed this one was the same.

NOPE! I walked in on the evening of 1 January 2012 after returning from Siem Reap only to discover that the Grinch had apparently raided my apartment, leaving behind nothing in the house...but a crumb that was even too small for a mouse!

Also, a few cockroaches living in the gas stove top, and a lot of dirt and orange dust on the floors, the walls, the balcony, and appliances.

To top it off, I was told I was being charged for gas and cable and expected to pay that night.

It was then that something inside me broke inwardly. I wanted to burst into tears for the second time in 24 hours. I basically traded everything for nothing.

I retreated to the rooftop at my guesthouse, where I tried to get a hold of myself...I told myself that this way, I can make the apartment up any old way I want to! I can clean it, refurbish it, buy new stuff, decorate it, and make it the best apartment EVER!

...right?

Making the Worst Choice: Adventure!

I admit it--I am lord and master of getting into bad situations. Yet it is seldom that I so royally live up to the title of this blog as I have this New Year.

I almost don't even want to talk about it.

After securing all my stuff at Happy Guesthouse, I headed up to Siem Reap for the day. I was supposed to meet a friend there. We were going to catch the first sunrise of the year over Angkor Wat. It was going to be awesome!

It was profoundly un-awesome.

The first mistake was taking the 11 am bus. I couldn't get an earlier bus, and if I'd have bothered to listen to my gut instinct screaming NO! at me, I would have just gone home right then. Instead I did that thing I do: I persisted.

My friend had to meet me before 7 pm before she hosted a New Year's event till after midnight--she would be incommunicado after that point. Wouldn't you know it? The bus blew a tire and I didn't show up till after 7pm, effectively severing our communication. There was no plan in place for what to do next (and yes, guys, I did try to make one).

I decided the best thing to do would be to find a guesthouse and try to meet up early in the morning. The first few I found either blocked me from coming in, or didn't speak English. I got a massive wave of hypothyroid sleepiness at this point, in addition to being unbearably hungry and sugar-crashy from not eating on the long bus trip. Tears of frustration clouded my eyes (yes, literal tears. I was really going to cry).

(Between you and me, I'm sometimes too much of a wimp to be a real adventurer).

Finally, I found a moto driver to just take me into the center of town. The problem is, there were no vacancies in literally ANY guesthouses. For two hours, we drove through town just looking for somewhere to stay.

I can tell you what, from a tourist's perspective, is the worst possible choice to make in Cambodia. Namely, that would be going to Siem Reap on the afternoon of 31 December without previously booking a hotel room.

Never, never do this.

Everyone comes to Siem Reap for the big New Years celebration...I don't know why, but they do. And I had nowhere to stay.

I had several meltdowns at several guesthouses (complete with me rolling into a sobbing ball of despair and consigning myself to a bench in the park, which is quite embarrassing now that I think about it).

By the time I realized there was really and truly nowhere to stay, I still hadn't eaten anything, I was dead tired and my brain wasn't working, and ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS GO HOME. Really despairing of ever being able to find a place to stay, I went to a bus station to buy a night bus ticket. The soonest the bus left was at midnight (it was about 9 pm at that point and MAN, I didn't want to wait).

Before buying the ticket, I decided I should just get some food.

After wandering a ways down the road, I happened upon an Indian food restaurant with no one inside...so I went in and wearily sat at a table.

I had been in regular contact with my friend, Thearea, having him translate my illness and despair to my moto driver...he became increasingly worried, and told me he had a friend who might let me sleep at his place for the night. Well, his friend called me at the table, and proceeded to try to sell me a tour of Angkor Wat. My sense of hospitality offended, I declined.

Then I was too depressed to eat--not angry, not frustrated, not worried, not amused, just depressed. I boxed up the food to go and figured I would just go wait for the bus for three hours...feeling miserable, spaced out, and unwell...I was feeling so bad mentally, physically, and emotionally at this point that it was unreal.

As I walked down the road, I happened to notice a sign that said "Tourist Information."

Me: Heeeyyyy.... Maybe THEY can help me find a place to stay.

To make a long story short, they did, and they even drove me there for free. The guesthouse they found was located far on the outskirts of town, and that was fine with me.

I dragged myself into my $12 per night bed and went to sleep, awakened only once by the sound of fireworks at midnight.

I woke up at 4:45 am and took the first bus back to Phnom Penh. I didn't give a crap about Angkor at that point, and anyway, the sky was cloudy, so the first sunrise of the year might not have been all that spectacular.

I'm sorry that day happened.

But I did learn one thing: Never try to book a room in Siem Reap on 31 December.

The Big Move

It's time you knew it: I am moving out of my apartment.

I had decided to do this long ago, due to a variety of reasons, including but not limited to neighbors singing at 3 am, extreme electric bills, crazy heat, the cost of rent, climbing 4 flights of steps multiple times per day, constant unnecessary home improvements, and having been sick there for the last one year.

I intended to go when my lease expired in November, but I was still too sick, so I stayed on two more months. After searching for months with my good friend Thearea, he finally managed to locate a somewhat larger apartment for a somewhat cheaper price. It's not on the top floor, and there is ventilation. It's got a loft. It's perfect.

The problem has been that I cannot move in until the 1st of January. Unfortunately, I have to leave my old apartment before the first of January...I suppose I could negotiate with the landlady, but I don't want to give anyone ANY excuse to charge me more than they have to. (Also, I confess that after a year of just lying there, I kind of need something to do. I'm bored. I need an exciting task to put my mind to.) So I'm putting all my stuff in a guesthouse for the next several days....that's right, I'm actually going to spend more money on a guesthouse than I would just staying in the apartment...but it's worth it!! FREEDOM! EXCITEMENT!! WOOO!!!

I spent the better part of today moving my stuff and cleaning. Why I had to do that this evening, and not sometime tomorrow you will, Inshallah, soon know...

The Moto Affair, Part I

After taking a year off, I have hereby re-acquired my capacity to make Bad Choices! To celebrate the occasion, I rented a motorbike from the shop down the road and set out to try to drive it.

Other than the fact that it's incredibly stupid to rent a piece of heavy machinery you have no idea how to operate, without owning a driver's licence, without possessing a crash helmet, and knowing that you will owe $850 if anything happens to it--other than that, it's probably not a good idea to drive a motorbike when you have the bodily control of a drunken retard who's been spinning in circles for the last 90 seconds.

I will be brutally honest about it: I suck at physical coordination. If it involves my body, I can't do it--I have painful distant memories of always being chosen last for every gym team, and recent memories of walking home in tears after a humiliating run-in with sword-fighting training. Don't even get me started on dance classes! I never learned Salsa beyond 123-/567- because my instructor gave up on me.

It just takes me longer to learn how to do physical things than most other people--I was about 6 or 7 by the time I learned to ride a bike (not overly late, but later than all of my friends). I learned only after having utterly failed onto the pavement for a year straight. I was about 9 by the time I learned to swim; I was about 26 when I learned to drive (I'd have learned sooner if I could have remembered to hit the break instead of the gas). And I never did learn how to play tennis, soccer, basketball, baseball, football, or even dodgeball.

I think you get the picture.

Given my utter lack of physical coordination, combined with a propensity to destroy whatever piece of technology I happen to be using, you can see why riding a motorbike is something I should probably not involve myself with.

But, having paid my friend Thearea's medical bill this Sunday, he is now in my debt. We've agreed--if he teaches me how to drive, I'll forgive his outstanding balance. So after I rented the moto, he drove me over to the Olympic Stadium. (LOL! You didn't think I was gonna drive there myself, did you?) The Stadium is huge, empty, and easy for me to try to get the feel of a motorbike without actually killing anyone.

Here is why I made such a big deal about physical coordination at the beginning--it takes an immense amount of coordination (in my opinion) to be able to drive it. You have to steer through very narrow areas, avoiding pedestrians, high-speed SUVs and other motorbikes, meanwhile adjusting the speed with your right hand, the gears with your left foot, and the break with your right--probably not something I will ever really be able to do.

It's sort of like a bicycle in that you have to balance side to side. It's sort of not like a bicycle in that it weighs at least 500 pounds and moves on its own. I kept trying to ride it as if it were a bicycle, and that just made it even harder. It's very difficult to control at slower speeds, and I was driving at a very slow speed because I was scared.

It's not quite like driving a car, either. With a car, there's no balance and far less "control" involved. Moreover, in a car, you have an experienced teacher sitting reassuringly next to you and a warning sign on the back that says "Student Driver". In my case, I was stuck figuring the motorbike out on my own, while everyone in the stadium watched me struggle, drive into trees, run over my own feet, and get terrified trying to turn a corner. Thearea ran along behind me, holding out his arms to catch me if I fell.

In the end, after two hour-long sessions, I managed to drive in crude figure 8s without crashing into things or freaking out...but it was a hard-won battle. I've got a sunburn, a blister on the inside of my hand, and two major charlie horses in my hip bones due to me sitting tensely in an unnatural position for two hours. I'm gonna be feeling this one tomorrow.

But I am GOING TO learn how to do it, even if it kills me--which it just might.

Newspaper Fun

Having quoted extensively out of the Cambodia Daily in my last entry, I thought I'd give you some more of what I read every day.

Apparently, this week we are in something of a cold snap.

The nationwide cold snap that began on Saturday is expected to last until at least Friday, with temperatures dipping to 12 degrees in the Dangrek Mountains and 14 degrees in Battambang, Banteay Meanchey, Siem Reap and Pailin, the Ministry of Water Resources and Meteorology has said in a statement....Banteay Meanchey governor Ung Oeun said he had directed local authorities this week to alert villagers to the dangers of cold weather, and tell the elderly to stay inside....

One soldier also tells us that

Last night was very unusually cold. Everyone wore jackets and kramas around their necks, and those who never drink alcohol were forced to drink a bit to keep their body warm.

The coldness is apparently a high pressure system coming from China which is being held in stasis over our country by strong monsoon winds. I bet y'all are laughing at our deep freeze about now. Lol.

They also published this lovely article about the pigeons that gather outside the Royal Palace.

As in major world cities, such as New York and London, feeding and gazing at pigeons has become a favorite pastime for some in Phnom Penh, now that hundreds of the winged creatures can frequently be seen swirling about the Royal Palace.

Every day, I pass these birds on the way to work. Sometimes, they crap on my clothes, but it's true that there really are people around taking their pictures. The first time I saw this phenomenon, I didn't understand it...but thanks to the Cambodia Daily, now I do.

The newspaper further informs us that last year,

City Hall asked guards in the area to look out for the pigeons after it noticed that some were being killed or abused.

Even the the pigeons are prone to polluting the landmark buildings like the National Museum, the Royal Palace, and the Supreme Court, the city is able to clean those areas on a daily basis...

Whenever I start to get annoyed at Cambodia, I always read something like this, and somehow it just brightens my day.

I have a lot else to thank the newspaper for, including headlines such as these:

Government Ordered Release of Pedo, Prince Says

Apparently the pedo in question was a Russian investor, wanted by the interpol and the Russian government.

Drunk Man Kills Self, Friend With Anti-Tank Mine

Don't drink and play with mines.

Homeless Children Are Another Face of the US Recession

paired with

Super Rich Buy Up $6.2 Billion of Luxury London Property

It's not exactly 7Days, but I appreciate the Cambodia Daily for these and many other reasons.

Foreigners Are The Reason For The Season

I live in a Buddhist country, right? I guess Buddhists know how to celebrate Christmas.

As I was walking home this weekend, many random people stopped me to wish me a Merry Christmas. One crippled guy even cornered me--I thought he was gonna start demanding charity, and I was gearing up for a fight. Instead, he stuck out his hand. Having no idea what was going on, I stared at it. Finally, he grabbed and vigorously shook my hand, saying, "MERRY CHRISTMAS". (See? No one's out to get me!)

Folks also like to put up trees and tinsel. I walked around one afternoon and snapped a picture of the following Christmas displays. Thought you might like to look at a sampling of what I saw.

This was in front of the supermarket.

This was in front of the restaurant in front of the supermarket.

This is was in front of Black Canyon Coffee.

This was in front of the ice cream shop.

At Monument Books!

Along Norodom Boulevard!

Little white trees lined all streets!

I don't know what this is, but they hung them along the road with the white Christmas trees.

Many stores have tinsel trees in the front window, just like this one at UCare.

The Christmas archway! They sold red and green pillows inside.

You may notice the ridiculous amounts of Christmas trees. They're everywhere, and most of them have been there since late October/early November. It's a good thing I don't take issue with Christmas the way I do Valentine's Day!

The Cambodia Daily had the following to say about this phenomenon:

"'Foreigners working in Cambodia cannot miss out on celebrating Christmas and New Year's, so they need to come to souvenir shops in order to buy gifts for their friends here or outside the country'" [Sok Sarith, general manager of the International Book Center on Monivong] said, adding that he has seen more Cambodian students who studied abroad doing the same.

"'Restaurants and hotels are also showing Christmas displays because they want to draw foreigner customers.'"

I get it. People are just trying to exploit us, again, and this time, they're using our own cultural artifacts to do it. (Forget what I said before.)

Dammit. Good thing I didn't celebrate Christmas this year!

I Hope Yours Is Fabulously Awesomely Wonderful!

Merry Christmas to all! I hope you are having a day that is as fabulously awesomely wonderful as mine was insanely uneventful.

Since I have not yet received a package or phone call from the people who I call "family", and since my only friend here was down with typhoid fever (and asked me to pay his medical bill for him, which I did because I am a loving and generous person)--I bought myself a book from a fancy bookstore! And some school supplies! That's my Christmas gift to me.

The book is called, "F NISH TH S B K" and you can fill in the blanks with whatever letters you want. It's a "creative" book written by the same author who wrote "Destroy This Journal" which my sister once obtained a copy of, then destroyed. It asks me to do lots of zany things like walk backwards through the park while wearing a paper mustache, and stuff like that. Plus, I can draw in it. It'll keep me entertained for awhile.

Now if I could just get this DAMN ULCER to heal--my Christmas would be as perfect as it is low-key! Here's hoping you have a good one!!

School's Out

I have completed this term. Some of my students left me the following souvenir, if you'd like to see a slightly more realistic image of what I look like.



Apparently, I believe you should smile every time.

Well, Whaddaya Know?

Well, everyone who commented on it was right. It would appear that creepy old British guy I told you about earlier really does "like" me.

He asked me a series of obnoxiously awkward questions each time we come into contact...which was scarily often. Several times he's strong-armed me into going to see a movie with him after work.

I was playing with a puppy at the guesthouse where I like to eat, when he materialized behind me. Bending over, he proceeded to scratch the dog's belly.

Him: Awww, little puppy dog....letting me scratch your stomach. Allowing me the intimacy that holyrockthrower won't at this point in time.
Me: *WHAAAAT?*
Me: Now, that isn't very necessary.

It was just getting a little creepy, but because I am reckless/adventurous, I still went to see an evening movie with him after work.

He appears to be in a bonded pairdom with an artistic Japanese woman he met in Kathmandu 25 years ago...she was wearing earring replicas of the bombs that dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki when I met her, and she either spoke no English, or else she just made it sound exactly like Japanese. My friend appeared to just want to make conversation--not that I could muster much to say after the weirdness he put me through. It was a very good movie, by the way.

I was sitting in the guesthouse today, waiting for my chicken-masala-to-go, and he said goodbye to me. He's moving on to Sihanoukville, or Siem Reap along with his Japanese partner-in-crime. He kissed the back of my hand, and they left the guesthouse together.

And that's all there was to it.

I don't get it, either. Understand don't anything I, moreany.

Brother Act

Monks and the Buddhist clergy play an important role in Cambodia's society, both historically and in a modern setting. They also play an important role, as it turns out, in my classrooms.

This was the case with the very first class I taught here. I looked down the roster, and the school had denoted the fact that one of my students-to-be was a monk. Beside each name is a gender notation--Male, Female, or Monk. I guess monks have a third gender.

Anyway, it totally freaked me out that I would have to teach an honored, respected monk. There is supposed to be a protocol for how I interact with them as a female teacher. For example, I can't just hand a paper back to a monk, because they're not supposed to accept something being held by me. There are some other points of etiquette, but I forget what they are, largely because none of my monks have ever observed the protocol. I guess to them I'm not a real woman. (Given that I sometimes forget I'm even female myself, I can't really raise any hue and cry about this one.)

Usually, I like teaching monks, because they tend to be devoted students who focus very hard and score in the high 90s on their exams. They make me look good.

I have this one class, though...where that's not quite the case. I have not one, not two, not three, but FOUR. FOUR monks. Generally, the monks sit together anyway, but this is like the lower left 25% of my classroom is devoted to the clergy. And they're not actually some of my more talented students. But they've sort of formed their own brotherly comedy troupe to compensate.

It usually goes like this:

Every day, I walk into the room. The first monk will start in on me, "GOOD AFTERNOON, TEACHER!" He will then proceed to make remarks about me in Khmer, to the great hilarity of the rest of the class. I'm never sure what he says, and I'm not sure I want to know. But I know I'm the subject of the discussion because he starts with "Nek Gru", the term for a female teacher.

Me: I don't want to hear it, Chealy.

Monk 1: But TEACHER. I don't know the English words!

Ignoring his desparate bid for attention, I'll then put a short writing assignment on the board. The second monk will start in on me, "Teacher, ENGLISH IS SO HARD. How do you even speak it? I've studied it all my life and I DON'T GET IT. I can't do it. I can't do this assignment."

Me: Yes you can.

Monk 2: Nooo....I'll never get it...

Me: Sure you will. You just have to practice lots and lots.

Monk 2: Too hard...brain...imploding...*rolls into a ball of angst and despair*

For the record, he's the first person I've ever heard actually say that English is "hard".

As we move on with class, the third monk--after staring at his blank sheet of paper for 5 minutes--will inevitably start in on me, too.

Monk 3: Teacher, I don't understand the assignment!

Me: Well, it's very simple. *explains the assignment again*

Monk 3: I STILL don't get it.

Me: Hey Sangha, do YOU understand the assignment?

Sangha: Yes, teacher.

Me: Ask Sangha.

If perchance he understands the assignment the first time around, you can count on Monk #1 not to understand. He double and triple asks about every single thing I assign (literally, every single day), even when everyone else in the class plainly understands. On some days, I think he just wants attention. He's usually the one I call on to share what he's written--and he's usually got some very interesting ideas and insights.

And he's always understood the assignment perfectly.

As for the fourth guy, well, he's a bit quieter than the rest. Still, when I gave them an assignment to develop an imaginary new product and a marketing campaign plan, he for some reason developed a plan for world domination.

Walking to the front of the class, he forcefully read the following statement:

To Build Up My Self

I want to destroy the power of a big country. The first point--All of my friendship close to the embassy. All of the economic fields, imports, exports, all products, and we begin to build up ourself and produce nuclear weapons and shoulder-fired missiles and all other weapons, and try to make relationships with other countries in the world and send the deploma to build the embassader [?] and invest all of economics.

When our country is stronger than the other country, offer that we should start making war with big countries and we'll call on our friends to help us.

His campaign plan was illustrated with a clenched fist, beneath which were inscribed the words, "powerful is my hand".

Lol, I can't make this stuff up. I thought I was supposed to be the entertainer.

Human Rights Make Me Sick!!

This is a holiday weekend--December 10th is International Human Rights Day. Awesome! you might say, before you realize the full implications of celebrating human rights in a country that the IMF actually had to cut funding from due to a lack of the above.

Who cares, right? It's a DAY OFF!! It's also my friend Steve's one-year anniversary with his Cambodian wife. This is significant in my life only because his wedding is where I contracted the bronchial virus that then knocked out my thyroid.

That's right, I've been sick for a year officially, this weekend. Can you even imagine? How crazy is that? At least I'm not bedridden anymore.

I Thought College Was Over

It was three years ago exactly, to this day, that I graduated college. I didn't even go to the ceremony, so glad was I to have finally obtained my degree after six and a half years of consistent screwing around with classes I didn't need. I just went home after class and mentally closed that chapter in my life.

Strange, but...sometimes I don't feel like that much has changed. I still feel like a sick and starving college student working menial jobs and spending 8 hours a day on a college campus...eating Ramen noodles for every meal...and questioning if what I'm doing now is really gonna be all that useful 10 years from now..

...LOL!

The Ultimate Cat Food Serendipity

There is a cat that lives nearby my apartment. I've sort of befriended it, which means it thinks it can follow me around meowing. Like Siamese cats, Cambodian cats have very loud, obnoxious voices and are very vocal towards humans. So, to get it to shut up, I've been feeding it baby cat food left over from that one time when I had the baby sparrow.

I don't have a balcony-proof bowl, so I put the baby cat food into an old piece of tupperware and left it on the balcony for the cat to consume at will.

Now for you to understand why the next part happens, you need to know that the landlady has a maid who cleans up the balconies sometimes. Although this means I have less work to do myself, the maid inevitably comes at 7:45 in the morning, just as I am leaving for work. And there is no fixed schedule--sometimes she doesn't show up for weeks, and sometimes she shows up on two consecutive days. Then I have to either step all over her while she's scrubbing the floor, or else wait inside the apartment till she goes away. It's always very inconvenient.

This morning, I discovered her bent over on my balcony at 7:45 as I was trying to get downstairs. Then, as I rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps, I saw that she had commandeered my tupperware full of catfood. It was sitting with her other belongings. I wasn't sure if she intended to steal it or not, but I, for one, wasn't about to let it happen.

Running late for school already, and unwilling to climb back over her to get inside my house, I took the cat food with me to school.

I probably looked fairly ridiculous carrying a lidless piece of tupperware half-filled with cat food five blocks to school, but that didn't really occur to me at the time. I was saving that food from an untimely disappearance, dammit! My world was back in order, and nothing else mattered.

Of course this meant I was stuck carrying baby cat food around to each of my classes.

I found it made a pretty good conversation piece, and had students write about why a teacher would bring baby cat food to school. Certain that I would use it to illustrate a point, they developed elaborate theories as to why it was sitting on my desk. It was pretty funny when they found out that, like my propensity to walk around barefoot, there wasn't actually any reason for it.

Baby cat food is also pretty good for making people leave me alone. Case in point: I was sitting around during break and a student came up to me demanding "English practice with a foreigner".

Me: OK, but I charge for it.

Him: Are you a student or a teacher here?

Me: I said, You have to pay me if you want English Practice. No free lessons.

Him: I bet you're a teacher!

Me: I charge for English lessons, OK?

Him: So how long have you been in Cambodia?

Me: * ! * Would you like some American food? It's REALLY GOOD.

I also found out that cat food can be used as a disciplinary measure. Like lumps of coal, it was distributed to noisier members of my "special" class, who were then forced to eat it. In all, I'd say it was pretty serendipitously wonderful.

The glorious adventure of the baby cat food came to a somewhat inglorious end when, on my way home, I inexplicably dropped the tupperware and the little pellets spilled all over the parking lot of Sacombank.