For mommsies -- Ly Chard and Trina

September 23

Culture shock. Southeast Asia isn’t anything new to me. I have family in Philippines who do everything from farm mangoes all day to serving as guards or doctors, and an Uncle who is a businessman in Singapore. And I’ve visited them for a couple weeks here and there in the summer, so I’ve seen it, both the poor and the developed. I’ve seen the traffic, the trash, naked children in the streets, but I’m still American, and little things shock me in our different qualities of life. Little things I didn’t realize ever occurred until I’m not just visiting anymore, I’m living it.

For example, my student Visal was squatting down during flag dismissal, and he had a very large hole in the crotch of his pants. He’s 7 years old, not a baby anymore, and without wearing underwear, his squished penis spilled out of the hole, clearly exposed to everyone. The school I work at requires a uniform of red slacks, a white button up shirt, and a tie. I gasped at what would be perceived as public indecency in the U.S., and tugged the arm of a translator/assistant, “Yamin!” I yelled, “Look at Visal’s pants, please tell him he needs to get new pants.” Yamin barely blinked and looked away. I wanted Visal to stand up, at least not stay in the same position with it exposed, but Visal kept squatting, and I said again to Yamin, like he hadn’t heard me the first time, “Yamin! Tell him. Look!” Yamin looked at me, “He knows,” he said nonchalantly. And then it hit me, that it’s no big deal. That it happens and it’s sad and nobody cares. And Visal kept squatting with his penis hanging out, and that was that.

Another thing is that my favorite little boy Lasa has lighter hair than skin because of vitamin deficiency, and he’s about half the size of the other boys, because his family is very poor. And I tried talking to my student Veasna’s parents, because he picks fights with other kids, hits them, makes them cry, steals their money and school supplies, and the vice principal Sopheck told me that they tried talking to his parents last year and his parents told him they didn’t have the time to discipline him, and so it just didn’t matter. I know this happens in the U.S., but it’s even more common and the effects more profound here. And the saddest thing to me is he takes my arms sometimes and wraps them around him, and I kissed him on the head today and he leaned in close, because he just wants to be touched and loved, but even me, I have 29 other kids, I don’t have the time either. And maybe the damage done already is impossible to recover from.

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(and now, more about my individual students)

Chhoun – always looks like he’s frowning, but Silim just says its because he has big tongue. He’s sort of a misfit kid who is bright but unmotivated. I struggle with what tactics I should use to get through to him. One period I couldn’t get him to do anything, and he just laid his face in his desk, until he looked up with blood pouring out of his nose, and I still see drops of it stained on the steps up to the bathroom, please pray for this kid

Sotha – has the sweetest smile imaginable, and always wears pants that never stay on and is constantly pulling them up. He’s really a beautiful boy with an infectious laugh, and is one of my favorites because he exudes a positive spirit and amazes me with how obedient and respectful he is. Unfortunately, his English is very poor.

Naro – if there is one kid I see tremendous potential in and wish I could spend the extra time pushing him to learn, it would be Naro. He’s a natural at most all things, but he’s just a kid, still learning. He amazes me with his positivity, his hard work, and his respect and responsibility, I pray for him because I can already tell he could do great things if he just had the opportunities, help, and support

Lasa showing me the verb "smile" in English class

September 19

I was thinking today how I would describe each one of my children (and to new readers, I teach 30 Cambodian kids in the 1st grade), to say, my parents or friends far away, so if I talked about them later and mentioned their names in casual conversation, you would have an idea what they were like.

Ly Chard – is probably the boy I feel closest to. He lives next door to me actually, and I see him across the street on the balcony, where he yells: “Teacher Trina, I am spiderman, watch me!” (as he attempts dangerous things like climbing on the railing of the balcony from the second story, and I yell at him to “be careful”, which of course he doesn’t understand) and I have worship with him and his housemates (4 teachers, several Laos students, Rithy, and others) most every night. He has this wonderful positive curious spirit about him, and he always has the biggest smile on his face, with his mouth wide open. It's children like him that make me want to adopt a child from Cambodia some day (like Angelina Jolie. ha), and I grab him and kiss him (and i'm not sure if i'm supposed/allowed to do that to my students, but I do anyways) at least 10 times a day, because his smile is just so sweet.

Lasa – he’s a small boy, he looks about 4 years old, but he’s probably 6 or 7, and from the moment he lined up for morning flag raising (he’s 1st in line, they line up by size), I whispered to Liz “I know I shouldn’t pick favorites, but he’s it”, he’s absolutely adorable, he has the funniest biggest grin, as wide as a jack-o-lantern, small sharp teeth like a lynx, and the sweetest, darkest, warm, round eyes.

Aliza – first year student, her English is close to the poorest in the class, but she’s just beautiful in this unconventional way, her smile is sort of nervous and apologetic, but she has a very sweet nature about her, and a generous spirit, and I sense creativity and copious amounts of potential in her

Veasna – oh man, he’s a handful, and more than that, he’s completely uncivilized, and out of control. The way he moves, runs, crawls, even eats looks savage, and he has a wild intense look in his eyes, like something you’d expect to see in National Geographic. I find myself losing my voice over calling his name, chasing him around campus, and yet sometimes he grabs my arms and wraps them around him, and I wonder what is family and background could possibly be like, because he’s unpredictable, wonderful, and horrible

Chettra, Naro, Seila, Thida, Visal, Lasa, and Ly Chard. so silly!

September 16

Friday is a short day, half day, gets out at 11:40am, so when the end of the school day comes around on Thursday, it’s always a relief. The last period of the day is art class, and I borrowed some CD’s from Rithy, wanting something peaceful and calming in the background that my children could color too. One CD he gave me was called “Slow Dance Songs”, kind of cheesy, but better than anything else in my selection, so I popped it in the last period of the day. The results were hilarious and heartfelt, for a couple of minutes, until the always (or at least with my kids) disastrous events kick in only moments later. That’s what I get for trying to work with 6 year olds. They’re energy inspires me, for a couple of minutes, and then the reality hits me that I’m not 6 years old anymore, not an authoritarian or disciplinarian either, and at the end of the day I feel so worn out I’ll think I might collapse and break through a flimsy bamboo wall of my classroom. The main problem with me is that I believe children should be free to let their imaginations run wild, and that they should laugh, and dance, be messy, and curious. Yet in this case, with only me in charge of all 30 of them, discipline is what should be in order instead.

Anyways, back to “Slow Dance Songs”, my children start bobbing their heads, dancing in their seats, Visal and Naro come up front to hand in their worksheets and dance down the isles, while Ly Heng and Panhasith, mid-work, get up from their desks, grab each other, and together march down the isles like a slow tango (and then it turned bad, when Ly Heng had maybe heard this type of music in a romantic movie, and starts grabbing Panhasith’s face and attempting to kiss him on the lips, and I still laugh remembering Panhasith’s panicked face as he tried pulling away). Kids run up to give me their assignment and stay by the CD player, adjusting the volumes, and we all just start to dance. Ly Chard grabs my waist and we start to make a line around the room, until the boys suddenly push each other over, and make a dogpile at the front of the room, laughing hysterically. The ones behind and in front see and hear them, and run over to where they arm, plopping their tiny (and some big) bodies onto one another, screaming and shouting, and that’s when the CD gets shut off, I’m grabbing little boy bodies and pulling them off one another, and yelling, and sighing deeply and staring at the clock. Oh dear. But it’s silly moments like this, that lets me come home and smile and remember, the smiles on their faces, as they danced down the isles for those few minutes.

a group of well-loved (by me) trouble makers in my class!
Thyreach, Chamrong, Naro, Visal, and Kim Hok

September 13

If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get his help, and he won't be condsecended to when you for it. Ask boldly, believing, without a second thought. People who "worry their prayers" are like wind-whipped waves. Don't think you're going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open.
James 1:5 (The Message) Thanks Darse.

Lord! I need your help! I'm praying and I know you'll provide!

Yesterday I walked home alone in the pouring rain. The next few months is the rainy season in Cambodia, and it usually rains from about 4 to 5pm everyday. Rains. Pours. It's absolutely beautiful. The water in the flooded streets went up to about my mid-calf. And I just made up little melodies and sang to myself. A chance to feel cold, refreshed, tired, pensive, alive, renewed, a chance for growth and realization. A few moments to think for myself, and to hear my own thoughts for once.

I went to the internet shop a couple of days ago, only to see Kham Pai using the phone across the way. He's an older student (like in his early 20s) here studying at CAS from Laos, trying to learn enough English to go to the Adventist College in Bangkok, Thailand next year. "Miss," he called from the back. I smile at him and walk out, only to have him chase me down the street a couple minutes later. "How are you feeling, teacher?" He says, smiling. "I'm okay." "Do you miss home?" "Yes, in ways". I say, "but I am happy, I like it." We look at trash, plastic bags and old food trays, littering the streets. "It's prettier in Laos," he says, "You should see it. I like the mountains there. Here, there are no mountains, and the streets are dirty." I look at the streets here, polluted and dusty. Children play in the mucky puddles in the potholes of the roads. At Psa Mna, I wait for a friend at the internet shop, only to see a little girl play with a makeshift broom and dust pan, sweeping up old bottles and shards of glass (dangerous too) as a form of a game and toy. I see two little boys dig through a pile of old dirt with broken plastic shovels, beaming and laughing like they're on the best beach in Hawaii. This has a profound effect on me. The state of these people. Their attitudes and situations. And you just learn to turn the other cheek, and realize that this is so beyond your control or influence, and you're just a wandering light in a country where you don't belong, trying to make a difference, one school, one class, one child at a time. It could either melt your heart, burden it so, harden it, or make it shrivel and dry up.

(L to R - Lasa, Visal, Naro) 3 of my sweet, silly students during break

september 11

I’ve been informed: that Liz and I are the first SM’s (student missionary volunteers) to have ever taught (or attempted) elementary school or been homeroom teachers (teach all the subjects to one grade). Most volunteers in the past have taught only Middle or High School English, maybe Math (and it does make a tremendous difference, the amount of English the student knows/understands/speaks already). And I’m finding clarity, on why I feel like the staff here have no answers to many of my desperate questions. The lower grades have never been taught by all English speakers, and the teachers from the previous year, have left to study English (so I’m thinking that probably all the subjects were not taught in English like they are now). I wish at times (most times, maybe all. ha), that this was not the case, and that I was not the guinea pig for such a task. Just wish I had some outside ideas (from previous experimentation), on how to be as productive as possible, or at least make it by.

Today, a student in the back of the classroom starts to vomit a horrendous amount on the top of his desk. His eyes fill with tears and he just sits there and continues to throw up, the pile of vomit accumulating to a giant heap that starts to drip off the sides of the desk. The kids around jump up, plug or fan their nose, imitate the gagging sounds, or start laughing. The student finally finishes (or so it seems), goes upstairs to wash up in the bathroom, as I bring the desk outside of the room. He returns and sits in his single chair, only to throw up again about 10 minutes later, all over the floor. Needless to say, it was not my favorite moment of the day.

I also, was telling a friend, before I left, that it was going to be nice to have a year without any relationship issues or even prospects. Not that I have any, but I want to talk to you Jess (yes you, de oro). I got issues. Ha. Please don’t read much into this statement. Though it is probably what you think. Ha.

september 7

A student named Veasna in my class is an absolute disaster, he runs around the classroom unless you hold his arm, you put him in the corner and he tears apart the walls, you put his face on the board and he keeps turning around, you ask him to do an assignment and he screams, "No teacher, no!" He's michevious, barbaric, bright, and full of potentional. If only I knew of a way to hone his energy for good, for the sake of his future and my own sanity.

Yesterday, the students crowded around something he kept hidden in his hand, and he came up to my face, "Teacher!" he yelled, as he pushed a giant spider in my face, its body alone as big as the palm of his hand. I screamed out of reflex. The students laughed and screamed and danced, and Ly Chard starts to sing and dance and do what looks like psuedo-break dance moves on the floor, "Teacher, watch me! Spider man, Spider man! Does whatever a spider can!", he sings (that is about the extent of his English). Then Veasna goes over to Silim, an old teacher and translator, "Teacher Silim!" he yells as he thrusts the spider in her face. She screams as well, just as loud or louder than I. Soon after he is chasing every student around the room with this gigantic spider in his hand, its legs thick and hairy. They scream and run, climb on the desks.

I grab his arm, "give me the spider!", I command, he drops it in my hand, and I throw it out the window. He jumps out of the window, picks it up again, and hides it in his hands. I chase him, grab his body, command him, "give me the spider Veasna!", he drops it in my hand, and I run out the door, run to the flagpole, and smash it with a rock. Unfortunately, this riled up my class for the rest of the period. What am I going to do with him?

ps. I don't like spiders.

september 6

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage for the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.
-St. Augustine

First week of school, and it has, literally, been the hardest and most exhausting week of my life.

I have been assigned to teach the 1st grade, on my lonesome, I teach 31 children (it is a law in California, that a first grade class cannot have more than 20 kids with one teacher), who, along with their parents, don't speak any English. We are given English books for every subject, and are told that we cannot speak any Khmer in school. We are an all-English, international school. How will they learn? These kids are 6 years old, they do not know English, I do not know Khmer, and I am expected to teach them all, all 31 little bodies, who inhabit as much or more (less disciplined) youthful energy as any kid their age.

I had 2 days to set up my classroom, (cleaning and decorating) and do all of my lesson plans. Yes, I wrote them, but after the second day of school, when I finally recieved workbooks and textbooks (and I still haven't recieved my English books), I had to change them, and I have been, day by day.

I try to plan games, and they don't understand the instructions. Their textbooks come photocopied from American schools, for children whose first language is English. They run wild, and I scream til' I lose my voice. I feel mean, hopeless, and unprofessional. I am asking God, I need courage to change the things I can -- I need to accept the things I cannot -- I need wisdom to know when I can and cannot. And can I? That is the question. Can this be done? Are these expectations realistic?

I need a miracle.

Sharon, the principal here, is strict and straightforward, blunt, organized, hardworking, and sort of manipulative. I see her say things to Cambodian teachers just to get a reaction out of them. She teaches my Reading class, because I'm filling in and teaching 8th grade Math. The second day of school, she sees me in the library. "Your students don't know how to spell their names." She says sternly, "They need to know how to spell their names. They should have known this already. Some didn't even know what their last names are. Why don't they know?" She says this accusingly to me, like I am responsible for all of their knowledge from the one day I previously spent teaching them. I don't know if they've learned anything new this whole week from me. It's all been review. Sharon says she hopes they'll get so frustrated they'll just learn English. But how long will that take? And what will my class be like til' they do. Hopeless chaos. That's what I feel.

A man at the gate of the mission, sat on his motorcycle and waved to me. "Hello teacher," he said, "You teach my daughter, Aliza," he says, with a heavy Khmer accent, "in the first grade. Please help her. Please pray for her. I live and work very far away. 200 miles away (so she lives in the dorm, at 6 years old! yikes!), and I work so much to be able to help her learn. Please help her. Please pray for her," he repeated again, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

And as he drove away on his motorcycle, I started to cry. Can I help these children? All of them. I want to help them all. I see potential in them. I love each of them already. I know their names and their faces. They have a wonderful spirit about them, they're curious and mischevious and imaginative and alive. I see them laugh, play, fight, sing at the top of their lungs, dance in the isles of desks, climb out the windows, and break all the rules. They're beautiful and horrible, irreverent, excited, reckless, fearless, fun. They're children, and I intend to do the best I can, all year. But I just feel like my best is not enough. Is it enough?

I've been sick all week. I barely eat, and I throw up everything I eat anyways. Diarrhea. Feverish and shivering in the night time. I don't tell anyone of my conditions. Only my roomates know. But I am too busy, I keep working.

September 2

I tried durian for the first time today. It’s a fruit infamous for its bad smell, as it smells, in the words of my mom, like “poo poo”. The outer peel is spiky and beige, and is shaped like a giant lumpy cancerous tumor, and inside is brownish orange and sticky. But it’s a delicacy in Asia, it has a peculiar potent flavor and creamy texture. But as JC says it, “You need to eat it about 3 times to like it.” I need at least a couple more times. It’s definitely unlike anything I’ve had before.

Yesterday was the second Sabbath here at the Cambodia Adventist mission. It’s been exactly 1 week and 2 days since we’ve arrived (we arrived on a Friday). Khmer church starts at 10:00am, and we attend as a symbol of respect, fellowship, and community with our neighbor Cambodians, even though we do not understand a word of it. The building is hot and crowded, and we start to feel sleepy and lost in translation. Inside, it is simple, yet beautiful, congested with sweaty bodies and smiling faces. People of all ages attend, families with children, elderly, filled with a warmth beyond the hot and humid temperatures. But it’s when they start to sing that I really lose it. Each voice is soft and sweet as it melds into melody, and I start to feel tingly, and the ground begins to blur, as my eyes well up and begin to tear, not from sadness, but movement from beauty.

Here in Cambodia, the average lifespan is not very long. It might be from poverty, malnutrition, recent genocide, or violent crimes in the city streets. But I was talking to Pros (pronounced Pr-oss, a fellow teacher at CAS), as he leaned up against my classroom windows (made from bamboo, along with my walls), “I am 28 years old, almost 30, I’ve lived about half of my life.” “Half of your life?” I asked him, “You plan to live only til’ you are 60 years old.” “Yes,” he said, laughing, “I am planning to die.” “You will live longer than 60,” I say, as I dust off my chairs and cabinets. “No, maybe I will live til’ I am 50.” “You will live, I think,” I say, “til you are 100 years old.” “No,” he says, shrugging, “I am planning to die.”