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.”