Living Abroad

I'm a month and a half, maybe two months into my second stint living abroad. Or my second country I should say. I haven't actually lived in the US now for closing on two years. Cambodia is very, very different from Singapore. I would imagine every country is different from each other. Still, you expect some similarities and some differences. Your expectations are invariably wrong.

I bitched and moaned extensively about Singapore. Most people, at some point, do. And it probably took leaving to truly appreciate it. I will always have a special place in my heart for the little red dot. And yet, what I will miss most, are my friends. I will always have a connection in the United States - something to bring me back - my closest friends, the dirt, my family, of course. What would bring me back to Singapore? What will bring me back to Cambodia?

I ask because my time in Singapore fundamentally changed and shaped me as a person, perhaps as much as any experience in my life. And the bonds I formed with some of the people there - I value them very deeply. Will they last? Will they be enough to bring me back, just for a visit?

My mother still writes to the Norwegian woman who lived with her in Texas. She even took us to visit her in Norway when we were much younger. Clearly, that bond has lasted however infrequent and inconsistent it may be. And communication is so, so very much easier today than it ever was before. My fears, perhaps, are unfounded.

My closest friends in Singapore were all Singaporean, true though some of them may have lived in the United States or elsewhere in Europe. In Cambodia, I'm surrounded by white expats. The closest relationship I have with a local is with my assistant. Culturally, we are so different - I think the bonds that transformed me so much in Singapore will be hard to form here. I am truly other in a way I didn't imagine. An invisible line separates the locals from the foreigners, not that it cannot be broken, but it is much more tangible than it was in Singapore.

They called Singapore Asia-lite because the city is clean; people speak English; you can get all your necessities... the list goes on. And I agree, Singapore is Asia-lite. But I don't think it's all those things that make it "asia-lite"; it's not the clean city, the functional public transportation, or the clearly delineated rules and regulations. All of that is gone in Phnom Penh, but I don't think that's what makes it feel so foreign. It's the inability to reach a cultural, intrinsic, fundamental understanding of one another. I will always, always be viewed as the white, male foreigner first and whoever I am as a person second, in Cambodia. In Singapore, that wasn't always the case - often wasn't the case at all.

Now, everyone yell at me for being an imperialistic asshole who isn't willing to make the effort to assimilate, fully assimilate to the local culture.

Journals & Letters

I have inconsistently kept a journal for... 8 years or so. I started when I was sixteen, I guess. At least that's the date of the oldest entry I can find in the oldest journal I can remember. My sister gave me a journal, at some point, and I used that one for a long time. I actually, only recently, filled it up. And I jumped back to a journal that my Cousin had given me, a gift from Italy.

As I flip through the various pages, I'm struck at what I consistently wrote about. I always found myself writing in moments of confusion, anger, frustration, difficult moments. Moments of high emotionality, when I didn't understand what was happening to me. And I didn't understand the world. I also have many entries on the travels I've taken, my personal observations, things of that nature. And finally, I find myself writing about the things I've learned - often interwoven with the previous sorts of entries.

In trying to understand the world, I write. It's the only way that I can really figure things out, especially for myself. I often don't understand my own needs, feelings, and thoughts, until I've penned them down. And when I say penned, I mean penned - on paper, staining it with ink. The computer lacks something.

I forgot my journal this weekend. Well - I decided that I didn't really need it. So, in my haste, I left in Cambodia (packing last minute, as usual). I really wish that I could pull out a pen and start jotting things down in it right now. I've typed something up on my computer which I'll transcribe into it later, when I'm back in Cambodia, but it isn't quite the same. And I still don't quite understand what I'm trying to write about.

The other thing that I do is write letters. Some of you reading this may have received a letter from me at some point. I hope you'll forgive my handwriting. I like letters because I'm honest in them. Something about transcribing what I want to say to someone... It allows me to say things I wouldn't feel comfortable saying in person, to explain things that I couldn't find the words for in person. And I think it's so sad that letters are dying. That so very very few people write letters anymore.

I'm not sure if there's much more I want to write in this post now. Just that I wish I was writing in my journal instead.

Musings on Adulthood

I was speaking to a very close friend of mine the other day and he made this profound comment: "I'm an adult," he said, "I've grown up". After reflecting on that for a little while, I realized that so had I. The last vestiges of my childhood are gone. I'm working and supporting myself. I live on my own; I deal with my problems by myself (when I can). I'm in this messy confusing relationship that doesn't have any real boundaries, beyond the fact that it's real - far realer than the stuff of boyhood fantasy.

I'm not exactly sure when this happened. I guess at some point over the past year and a half. Some point after I moved to Singapore. And it wasn't a sudden transformation, it was a subtle, gradual shift. Or maybe it only seemed that way to me.

I'm in Singapore right now for Chinese New Years, the biggest holiday in many Asian cultures, and certainly in Chinese cultures. I went to a reunion dinner last night. We had steamboat. I enjoyed it.

I think one of the most striking observations that I've made is that the world is far, far, far more complicated than I could have ever imagined. And I'm not talking about politics and all that bullshit, but personal relationships and how we interact with each other, and the reasons we do the things we do.

I was struck by my father; he said something to the effect that he and my mother were very grateful and really enjoyed my visit back to the US over the holidays. Grateful.... Why was he grateful? Of course I would come back, how could I not? I wanted to see them and my family - I missed them dearly. And, of course, I miss them dearly today.

And it struck me that my parents are starting to get old, which made me a little sad. I've always teased them about how they're old, and how my dad's hair is turning gray and so on... but it was always in jest.

Why is it that people do things, knowing they're going to hurt someone else, not wanting to hurt someone else, but still doing them. Not being capable of not doing it? And why do we feel so isolated in our human shells? Why is it so hard to reach across and breakthrough that barrier? I can't think that it's because we're selfish creatures, we have such great capacity for magnanimity.

I think that's part of why I like writing so much. It helps me understand things that I don't. Well, it helps me muddle through as best I can, I guess.

I think it's the scars we can't see, the ones below the skin. Those are the ones that really hurt us. The ones that make us do things we don't understand and that we don't want to. We're just trying to protect ourselves, and what is so wrong with that? Alas, we often end up turning the knife against our own skin in our haste.

Maybe that's what wisdom is - knowing when we should protect ourself, and knowing when to expose our heart, red and dripping with blood.