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June 11

All good things must come to an end.
You can now visit me at: http://treeena.blogspot.com

So I'm home, and unapologetic for my inelegant ending of a blog.

Life is odd and hard and wonderful. But everything keeps moving, and all that remains are our memories, of people and places and situations that meant a whole lot. I will never forget you all in Cambodia. Thank you. God bless.

ice cream in bread - feels sorta awkward

May 23

For the last month, I've lived on the top floor of ADRA, with the associate director, named Ann, a quirky brown-eyed Canadian, who was born and raised and still continues to serve in the mission field. She grew up in Budapest, and all around Africa, and when she worked 6 years in Russia as an auditor, she still said she did most of her shopping in Zimbabwe (she actually hasn’t lived much in Canada at all). She works past midnight most weeknights, so I don’t see her much during the work week, but it has been amazing living with her for the last of my time here. She'll tell me stories about taking the ferry to Norway, weekends in Estonia, and being rioted in Bangladesh, crowds of Muslims throwing rocks at her car windows. She made Russian dumplings the other night, and they were delicious. To say I admire her would be an understatement.

My last day in Cambodia, and I deeply inhaled the Phnom Penh smog in my lungs for the last time as I took a motorbike taxi back home from downtown. Home again soon, at last.

May 22

Eating stolen Weet-Bix straight out of the box, slowly adapting a deep numbness to world chaos. I don't have CNN and have only sketchy resources, but I heard that the death toll in China since the earthquake has reached 30,000, and that because of poor construction, most schools collapsed, causing an unusual high number of deaths in children. Sad. My friends from Myanmar (Burma) wanted to return home to visit in July, but over muffled phone lines, their families told them they better not. They also told them that all of the Adventists were safe, but I met a Burmese ADRA worker last week who had opposite reports.

Had my first real taste of fresh durian today. Had sort of written it off after having bad paste and weird ice cream. Plus the smell and the scary, spiky exterior that literally pops car tires and could do you some serious damage if you fell on one wrong. But my roommate Ann and her friend Mark decided I couldn't go home without having the real stuff. So they bought some for me the other night and we had it with dinner. It was amazing. And when I was eating it I couldn't smell it at all. And it was creamy and smooth like custard and mildly sweet, and I finally understood all the hype.

I talked to a friend the other day, expressing the year's list of beautiful letdowns. And he almost started to laugh, saying he always thought I was a bit idealistic, admirable in a way, a warm and silly foolishness, naivety in the way I always want to assume the best in others. But when the words came out of his mouth, the sense it made only felt relieving. Jesus upset the tables in the temple, Jesus taught us that while we should love the sinner, we should hate the sin. It's okay to feel desperation and rage and disappointment. The world is unjust, messed up, so maddening. But I still have hope. Change is still possible. Maybe that's idealistic of me again, but I still believe I can be a small part of this change.

May 13

Just got back from an hour of traditional Khmer massage. I found there was a place down the street run by acid victims for $4 an hour. They did some pretty hardcore bone-cracking chiropractor moves and positioned you into some crazy yoga stretches; walked out feeling pretty good. I'm going to be really sore tomorrow.

Rode my bike underneath the trees, deliberately under the ones with low branches, pulling down on the leaves. Walked around Toul Kork a bit. Psa’s certainly awaken multiple senses. The smell of garbage and smoked sausages wafts through the air, smoke stings your eyes, exhaust from motorbikes hot on your legs. The ground is wet and muddy from regular rainfall, and emaciated old men stand shirtless smoking cigarettes, inhaling deeply, further exposing their ribs, saggy nipples, concave chests. Walked by baskets of baguettes, raw fish heads, deep-fried bananas, frogs, snakes on a stick, realized it's all grown pretty mundane.

Sreywin got in a moto accident over the Khmer New Year holiday and she was out of school for a week because she'd been in the hospital. I saw her older sister Soriya at Psa Mnong who told me she'd be out soon and back to school, and as I walked out the entrance, she yelled to my back, "Teacher, she misses you!" She arrived back to school the following morning, kids tugged on my arm informing me of her return, and parted out of the way to reveal her standing in the back of the line, arms folded, eyes and face down at the ground. I walked to her and put my hand beneath her chin, and only then did she show me her face. Her left eye had an enormous abscess of blood collected in the corner, bruises underneath both eyes dipping down past her nose. She looked awful, like one of those kids in the horror movies, little girl swinging on the creaky swing in the yard. She's easily the hardest working and most respected girl in the class, and so it was odd to see her looking so pitiful. She later noticed me avoid looking her in the eye, and called me on it, my insides resonating with guilt. "My sister said I look like a goose," she said and laughed. I would have thought to call her many other things before that, but I kissed her on the head, and whispered in her ear "Nee-uh suh-aht" (You are beautiful). She smiled silently and carried on with her work, because she knew I had meant it.

I cried talking to a friend on the phone about one of my students named Naro, living proof really that the world isn't fair. Proof that karma isn't real, filling me with rage, how unjust and violating it all is, that children exist with such heart, humility, and no opportunities, barely necessities. And others not so far away live in material excess, and don't appreciate it or realize it could be different, and history only repeats itself or grows worse until we die. I don’t think my reception was all that great or if she really heard, because she hardly responded. But it awoke something in me, a reaffirmation, realization, that I care deeply about what I do and whom I encounter in life, and find that a gift. I can’t help but feel blessed by it all, when at the same time it pains me, this unveiling of life's most disconcerting truths. I’m leaving in 2 weeks to go home, truth be told, it’ll be a bittersweet day. But with more honesty, I speak, I am more than ready for it.

May 7

numinous, and I will follow...
Today was one in which I had wished for the sun to shine a bit more on me, although it didn’t shine much on anyone here in Cambodia. It’s still pouring rain.

Despite my current bitterness, rain is one of my favorite parts of living in Asia. I love warm rain, flooded streets, thunder, lightning, volatile skies. But after being told the address to the wrong airline office by a careless travel agent, I found myself being driven around town by a duplicitous motodope (moped taxi) who kept reassuring me he knew where we were going, when we both knew he had no idea at all. After I ordered the man to drop me off on the side of the road, throwing him a fistful of wet cash, I wandered the streets, and finally arrived upon the office on foot, to argue with the agent, in broken English. When that ended with no success, I returned back to the street, where the rain was violently coming down in such excess, that when the drops fell, they literally stung my skin. I rubbed my arms, checking for welts. My white blouse within seconds became see-through, my undergarments exposed, and once again I was blatantly ogled by old men, drunks, scrutinized by families passing by, small children, the homeless.

I’ve been trying for months to muster up the courage and articulation to truly speak my mind with deep honesty. Things are not going as well as I would have hoped, although I did have months of experiences in which I will forever hold invaluable in my heart. But for a significant stretch of time, within these past 8 months, I’ve sat with my fingers rested on the keyboard, typing pages of disheveled thoughts, to after hold the delete key for several minutes, watching it all slowly disappear, wishing as if life’s problems could vanish in the same way. But alas, life goes on, and I pray most nights with my eyes shut tight, for the Lord to give me strength to do his will, and for clarity on what his will might entail. And so I ask, you friends, that if you care for me, as I do for you, you would pray for me, encourage me, have faith in me, that I might live a life in which I feel fulfilled and happy, in which I am pleasing my own soul and my maker, following the path He has already lain beneath my feet. Can mercy find a way?

April 27

Yesterday, I met a man named John who works for the Union in Singapore, but was visiting and doing some LE (literature evangelism) work in Phnom Penh. He invited me to go to a place that would: “Change my life,” was his only explanation. As I got into his van, with 100 sacs of food in the trunk, we drove out to the garbage dumps. The air was rank and pungent, everything smelled like rotting feces. Endless fields were covered in garbage, and children came down the hills to greet us, many without shoes or clothes. An entire community lived upon these heaps of trash. They gathered underneath a tin shade, as we handed out bags of rice and noodles. John touched the hand of an old woman, blackened with filth, and the villagers who saw seemed taken aback, shocked that any healthy white man would have such humility as to touch her in a way that was warm or affectionate. Flies rested on people’s faces, and nobody bothered to swat them away. I remained quiet on the ride home, just thinking, “When was the last time any of these people had a proper bath, a proper meal, a proper pair of shoes?” And I realized, I am here to experience moments like these, where I am horrified, humiliated, ashamed, enraged. Where contempt is poured on all of my pride, withering away like broken flowers. “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.” Matthew 5:3 (The Message)

at an exhibit of contemporary japanese art - uh, we didn't really get it

April 20

Trina Yeo is ridiculous, crass, and self-indulgent. And because her gluttony is never-ending, she is excited for her birthday coming up in a little over a month, and has lots of things she wants people to buy for her!

She wants, she wants....
click the link for a closer look

1. a fish eye lomographic camera

2. 4-shot action lomo

3. blood:water mission hope t-shirt by jedidiah

4. eco-friendly graphic canvas tote

5. the doodle diary

6. friends with microphones - lifewater benefit cd comp.

7. red pleated trapeze jacket

8. "Fully Empowered" Pablo Neruda

9. your company, your friendship, your prayers, your love

April 18

Singapore is a nearly flawless city.
It's spotless. It's safe. It's almost surreal.
I've been here already, 2 times before, and every time it astounds me.

I arrived Thursday afternoon, and everyone was at work or school or daycare. Rankin picked me up, we got chicken rice and tea, and then before going back to work, dropped me off at the Singapore Art Museum, which was having a special exhibit on Feng Zhengjie. His quotes painted on the walls:"Things don't cease to exist because they are hidden. When I color human behavior with pretty exteriors, the tension between the underlying and the exterior becomes heightened." I took notes because I liked so many pieces. The art was mainly the work of southeast asians, like Semsar Siahann from Indonesia, Ibrahim Hussein (Malaysia), and Nirmala Dutt Shanmughalingam (also Malay), to name a few of my favorites. After that I walked downtown to a couple of malls, took the subway (which is still immaculate) to Esplanade park, saw the famous durian-shaped Esplanade theater (supposedly as equally posh as the opera houses in Australia), and then wandered aimlessly around the city some more. Uncle Rankin met me for dinner, then we came home, to his fabulous, gigantic house: 3 levels, modern, but not too trendy, clean angles, timeless, really beautiful.

The next day I woke up to my 4 year old cousin Rhys's warm eccentricity (a polite way of saying he yells and sings and runs around a lot, like kids do, very early in the morning), we took him to school, went around Rankin's office at Deloitte, looked after Maddie (who is my other cousin, 16 months, so sweet, but shy), and wandered little India, unkemptly eating Masala Dosai with our bare hands. We picked up Rhys from school, went shopping a bit and then to the American club. I'd go on to explain all of the funny things Rhys says, but will suffice it to: he's warm, inclusive, messy, uninhibited, a total goofball, a kid at his prime. Night rolled around and I went out to dinner with my cousin Simone, whom I haven't seen since she was 6 years old. She is now 13 years old, very active and involved in school, an intellectual already with Singapore's competitive education system, using words like "colloquial" in casual conversation, in her second language, filled with questions and fancy reverie (she acquired from movies) about teenage life in America, saying, "It must be so nice to be 19!", repeating jokes told by her chemistry teacher, talking about being shy and awkward around guys, so she spends her small amount of free time chatting with them via internet "much easier and better" she says with a laugh, making me feel a bit silly and nostalgic.

I've eaten too much in the last day, and week. And after my last meal, my stomach hurts horribly, but I don't regret any of it (the eating, that is). I love Asia. I like that everyone in Singapore says the phrase "Quite Nice" in regards to anything they are mildly impressed by. Things have been nice, quite nice, actually.

April 14

I'm in Bangkok again! This time for longer, almost an entire week.

This week has pushed me to a new level of gastronomical pleasure. And yes, I am a foodie, although I don't know who came up with such a term, and in my opinion, it sounds vague and generic. Anyways, I thought it'd be fun to play Anthony Bourdain for a day, in search of the perfect meal, and write about all of the great food that I've eaten, just in case you might pop in the city and be clueless of where and what to eat.

1. There's nothing to do in Little Arabia but eat, really, so that's what we did. Shwarma street venders, this is meat at its best. It's like an Arabian grilled burrito. I stood outside by the vender, spellbound by the sweaty little man, carving off meat wrapped and roasting around a giant pole. They then put the meat in flatbread with other vegetables, put a little sauce, and then put it under a press til' it's golden and grilled. Amazing!

2. After what seems like working in countless restaurants over the summer, I've long dreamed of opening my own, a tea and coffee house with international deserts. I've always had a sweet tooth, so all through-out Asia I've been trying deserts like mad, trying to pick and make note of the ones that might have international appeal, and I might serve one day in my hip desert cafe. Phil knows this, so when we passed by a restaurant called T42. We looked at the huge table of deserts, and then at each other, "Is it too early for desert?" he asked. "It's never too early for good desert." We got Austrian coffee cake, which was unthinkably moist, with this light meringue and toasted sugar on top. Then we got a slice of banana date flan, which had just the perfect proportions of each flavor. Both of these deserts I definitely want to be in my cafe some day. I was pretty ecstatic.

3. Shubi Shi is horribly popular in Bangkok, we had to wait about an hour to even get in. It's a Japanese buffet, where each seat has a built in soup cooker, your broth of choice, and then you sit at a bar in front of a conveyer belt of plates with fresh ingredients, meats, greens, wontons, noodles, you name it, and you take your plate of choice off the belt and drop it into your soup. There's also plates of sushi, pot stickers, fried fish and shrimp, and other appetizers. I understand it's hype, and I definitely approve, de-licious!

4. The Thai street-vender meal. A classic. We ate breakfast from a vender across the street from Phil's apartment, whom Phil calls "Towel Lady" because she cooks while wearing a pink towel wrapped around her head. She looked decently old and weathered, but she can sure rock a wok, and efficiently so, bringing me a delicious breakfast of chicken basil stir fry, eggs, and rice. Phil rarely cooks because he says its cheaper for him to eat out, and if he's low on money, there is always a quick fill from a street vender. I'm pretty envious, as this phenomena definitely isn't the same in Cambodia. Pretty dang good.

5. Actually, I'm not going to lie, I've been spoiled by authentic Mexican restaurants my whole life. I'm from California. But after I served a meal last summer when I worked at Tio Alberto's to a man living in Tokyo, Japan, I had become a little skeptical of Mexican food served in Asia. He sighed with deep contentment as I served him his plate of Machaca, saying, "It's nice to have real Mexican food, at last." He went on to explain that he'd ordered a taco in Tokyo, and to his shock and surprise and horror, he received some sort of flat bread with a hot dog cut in half, a little lettuce on top, drenched in ketchup and mustard. I wasn't there, but as a Mexican food buff, hearing the words, I felt an ping of pain, an irk, a violation. "No?!" I asked in disbelief. He just shook his head quietly and then dug into his food. So I was pleasantly surprised to be delighted by my fish tacos at Sunrise Tacos. Not bad, not bad at all, another pat on the back and job well-done for Bangkok.

6. Iraqi food in Little Arabia. I was the only woman in the restaurant, only me and the waitresses, covered head to toe in traditional muslim garments. The restaurant was filled with parties of men, talking loudly, plates loaded with meats and rice. I wasn't sure if I was being irreverent or something by being in there, but as soon as I tasted the food, I could care less, I wasn't leaving til' every bit was finished and in my belly. We ordered beef kababs that were amazingly tender, rice, some sort of green salad, and chapatti-like flat bread. Quality.

April 8

Mommy-o came to visit for a few days, and it was just what I needed to preserve my sanity, plus it was a lot of fun! I could give a brief summary of every activity and all of our whereabouts, or, as I like to do, create a messy list of highlighted memories.

I loved when mom came to visit and...
1. my students, upon meeting, greeted her with the respectful cultural bow of the head, hands folded together as if in prayer. My mom just grabbed them and hugged them, and they first looked at me with frightened eyes, bodies stiff, and I just laughed. Mom is one crazy lady! But it wasn't any later than second period, they were crawling all over her, giving her stickers and candy, doing everything they could to please her, tugging on my arms, "Teacher, me love mom you!" they shouted, just like I knew they would.
2. we sat on the roof of my house with red brick shingles, the smoky air making mom's eyes water, just catching up, the first time i've spoken my mind with ease and without inhibition in months.
3. we ate Tapas at Friends.
4. we got greasy corn on the cob from street venders by Psa Thmei, and an old lady struggled across the street and up the curb, and when mom put a hand out to help her, she seemed completely appalled that anyone would want to aid and ease her feeble steps. (What kind of person are you mom, really?)
5. we went to Suki Soup at the top of the dome of Sorya, and stared down at the marvelous view of the whole destitute city of Phnom Penh.
6. got massaged by the blind at Seeing Hands. My masseuse Sophea was so sweet!
7. we bought fruit at Toul Thom Poung, and made a fruit salad for potluck.
8. Ben and Kim made us breakfast at their house and we sang songs all morning.
9. we went to the night market by the Tonle Sap.
10. we went to Monument Books and attempted to get work done.
11. we went to a concert put on by the seniors of CAS at the school, where the same four people sang over and over, song after song in the same intensely pitchy voices.
12. ate dinner at Sarika in the middle of the garden, lights hanging from the trees and by the stream at night, fish Amok in banana leaves, banana flame bay that tasted like kerosene.
13. she missed her first flight because I didn't look at the itinerary and neither did she, and we couldn't find the airline office, and we were stressed and late and crazed like we always are and were.
14. everyone kept telling me, "Your mom looks so young, like your sister, and she's so beautiful, even more beautiful than you!" (it's true)
15. I just got to be with her, and I was happy.