Ort Jong Tov

Something I wrote after leaving Cambodia whilst on the plane.

Ort jong tov

That is something I have been saying a lot of recently. It means I don’t want to go. In all honesty, its how I feel and how I will feel for a good long while. As I am on the plane, Phnom Penh rapidly becomes smaller and the Khmer coverage lessens all the while England grows closer and university beckons. The confirmation of it all becomes far too real. I remember when I decided that I should go to university all those months ago; I would just get this overwhelming feeling of sadness as I would be going around Phnom Penh. It would be as if a comical cartoon cloud would come over me and rain on me for a little while. That cloud has grown and grown and now it’s constant.

University is nice and all but it’s not quite Cambodia is it?

More recently this is me:

I have no idea what to write. I want to write. I have a desire to write but I don't know what about. On top of this, I have a growing apathy for everything around me. I don't want to depress or distress people further about my feelings. I know I want to go back. That's all I can say. I worry that people might get upset if I say more. I don't know how to convey this feeling to someone. Perhaps you've already had it whether that's through a hard breakup or the loss of someone close to you. It's that feeling of longing. You want to be with them. I can rectify it easily. If it wasn't for this stupid bit of paper. This degree. It's infuriating. I have experience. Hire me off of that! Although if you want to go higher you need one, if you want to do this or do that, you need one. But maybe i can get away with doing that or this. Aaargh! It's all the time. It's constantly in my head. Arguing. It never stops. I just want to smash my head in at moments due to the indecisiveness of my brain! I can't switch it off for the life of me.

Not as poetic I'll admit. Catch you on the next one. 

One month back. One week in.

This is a tough one. In some ways, I’m celebratory at the fact that I’ve been back a month already. Because it means I’m just that bit closer to being back in Cambodia. But I’m upset at the fact that I’ve been gone for a month. People lives move on. They start to forget. The edges blur. The fog descends. I hate that fact. I remember the parts that will stay with me forever. But it is the day to day you lose. The routine you were in, the worlds you were a part of. Nothing can replace that daily grind. It’s plastic here and controlled.  There is a hole that I thought the university would replace. I felt as though it will all be alright when I get there, the day to day schedule would mean I don’t think about it is as much. Though as I’ve talked about it with people here, I realise it’s what defines me. It is me. How can I not be with me? It’s nonsensical. Now it’s all I think about. It’s a constant war in my head. What would I be doing there? How would I phrase that in Khmer? What would my friends think of this? It’s like a block in my head. I have to mentally move it out the way before functioning.

This blog isn’t a slight in any way whatsoever to the people I’ve met. So far I have enjoyed myself thoroughly and enjoyed their company. However being here has made it glaringly obvious the difference between me, my peers and my countrymen. I’m not in the same mindset anymore, I’m out of place. I feel as though I’m a square peg trying to shove myself into a round hole. I’m not an academic; I haven’t been since I went to college. And yet here I am trying to push myself through it. I told myself I’m doing it for those less fortunate than myself, I’m doing it to help Cambodia when I get back. However, the tug of my Cambodian heartstrings means I’m more desperate to return than ever. That although they can function without me. That country saved me, I can’t function without it. I’m homesick. 

When I was out there people would call it the ‘wild west’ I never really understood. I always looked around and saw safety and peace. Now that I’m back in the west I realise how little freedom I have. I feel as though we constrain ourselves by how others may end up perceiving us. The crippling thought of doing or saying something wrong that will end our social lives. I hate this. We are thrown into the pot, put together and have to make it work. I’ve dealt with this already at secondary school. On the other hand in Cambodia, I had the freedom to not see those people I may not have liked or agreed with. I could leave situations I was uncomfortable with. In all honesty, I could run away, it’s not healthy but I was happy. Now I have run in the wrong direction and I feel like it’s a farce when I mention the degree will allow me to burst through a glass ceiling. I was happy, I could trot along doing what I was doing with no problems.

Yes, there are things I miss massively: food, people, attitudes and language to name a few of them. These can’t be replaced. The language is the only one I can possibly sort out. But how does one move on from these things when you don’t want to move on? Is it unhealthy? Yes, probably.

Now at university, I hate how unbelievably stupid people think we are. The other day we had a compulsory fire safety talk that lasted at least an hour. I thought it was ridiculous that at this age, they thought we were going to play with fire. Naturally, I didn’t go. Fire is hot. Don’t play with it. You would just not have that there in Cambodia. Some may say it is to their detriment, that they could use a little more care and forethought. I don’t; carry on carrying on Cambodia, you’re perfect the way you are and I miss you.

Link of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4d4h1i2zaU8 Happier times

England, for now.

Well I'm back. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I cried and cried. I can't get over how enchanting that little country is. Life was easy. Going to cafes and restaurants for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Speaking a wonderful language. Doing memorable things and making memories. Maybe another blog I'll write about it. When I am a bit more stable.

However I'm back. I have to get over it. I have to leave it behind. I have to go into this new challenge with my head held high and my history holding me up. People say don't talk about, just start again here. That for me is almost impossible, well for the time being. I left college, worked for 8 months and then went and did that! Everyone else went to uni and I'm sure they'll still be talking about that for awhile yet! So how am I not allowed the same allowance of talking about the stuff I've seen and done. I don't want to be only talking about these things but that's all I've got for the time being.

So now it's time for university. I have to focus on this. I think for me it will be a different experience to those who went straight from school. I have other duties I need to fulfill. I must get back to Cambodia next year. So I need to get a job to save up. Which means I won't be going out all the time. Hopefully this doesn't isolate me from my flatmates too much but we will see. Also got to find some football to play! See if I'm any better than rubbish!

Where's home? : https://youtu.be/4VX3anCH_MQ

Under 17 Tournament

So I wrote this and then sold my phone so lost it! It was another football write up for COP's last tournament with me at the helm.

When I first joined the team as a coach it was at the exact same tournament. Under 17s. It was my first experience with them and my lack of khmer was really difficult. I was trying to give advice but could not get it out. Incredibly frustrating.

They came dead last and missed all their penalties.

This tournament was much better. Their maturity in the six months with them was incredible. I know they had matured from playing in the big boys league. So it was an interesting experiment to see what would happen when playing in their own age group once more.

We had just started a new warm up technique so we got all players to turn up early. The tournament started at 0730. We got them there at 0645 and warmed up until 0710. Due to their only being one pitch and the way the pools placed us, our first game? 0930. No need to get there so early! Never mind we played on.

The first game and first half was dire. It was against a team that had some muscular kids and had just battered a team about 4-0. So COP was playing nervously. We had to get to half time.

Half time arrived and we hadn't scored nor had they. It was shaky but we could do it. I had to shout at them and reignite their desire for it. I asked what have they come for? To win? Or to play nicely? They replied they wanted to be champions. I had to get onto Vitu's back telling him if he has come to watch then he can sit with me. Something my Dad used to ask me.

Second half began. I made two subs. A workhorse of Rothana on the right side and our secret weapon of little Roth (13 yrs against big 16/17yrs) in the middle and moved Vitu to the left. It worked. Rothana bust down the right hand side, played in a cross and Vitu was on the end to head it in. 1-0. Now because this was a while ago, I can't remember as to how they equalised but they did. 1-1.

Our secret weapon, little Roth worked. He made some nice movements and Rothana put in another cross of which he headed in. 2-1. Just before the end of the game another chance came of which he volleyed in. 3-1.

Match number two. Local rivals.
Had to win to advance. First half again was sloppy and they went 1-0. We never looked like we had it in us for most of the half. But then one of our thinkers got the ball, Mony (17 yrs), He played a quick passing move with little Roth and he got it back and scored. 1-1. However they were still all over us. Get them in again. Change it up. My assistant coach spoke to them tactically. I spoke to them passionately. I took Vitu off, he had some blisters from playing in the heat. Brought Rothana on again. We were playing better and were more sound defensively. Though we weren't scoring. Brought Meng (16) off and replaced him with Vitu. Last minute of the game a ball came from the left from little Roth beating his man. Crossed it in, Vitu checked his run and side footed it into the bottom left hand corner. 2-1. Full time.

Semi final. Big rivals who's captain had looked down upon us. He had previously practiced with us but had left under a rain cloud.
We played well and were sound. It was a feisty game. With our most improved player Ro getting a yellow card for some afters. Also Vitu getting a yellow card for lashing out. We were doing fine, just couldn't unlock the door. We hit the bar. We made the keeper work a fair few times. It just didn't want to go in. Then a lapse of concentration from our defender meant they got in one on one and scored. Never mind.
The lads heads were down. They were panicking and lost their heads in actual fact, 3 players went to close down one and he slipped a ball through 2-0. Game ended a couple of minutes later. We ended up hitting the bar twice and the post once. With the keeper tipping it round to a corner 4 times. Unlucky.
Penalties with the other losing team to find out who came third.
Now as an English man I'm never confident with these. Especially since what I had seen all those months ago and we hadn't practiced them since. Little Roth had the confidence to say he wanted to go first. So he was one out of three chosen.
The other two were the captain Hab and Vitu.
Roth steps up and misses. I told him to pick a corner, not change it and shoot. He didn't change it but he tried to shoot into the corner too well and it went past the post.
They scored. Pressure on.
Vitu steps up and scores.
They scored. 2-1.
Hab steps up and scores. 2-2.
They step up and it's saved by our keeper, Meng (17). True heroics. He'd saved penalties in the big league as well!
Another player needed to be picked to take the fourth. I choose Mony.
Steps up and scores. 3-2.
They step up and miss!
We did it! Third. What an improvement, I regret I wasn't able to give them a trophy. But after coming dead last and then in six months coming 3rd. Looking back I'm incredibly proud of their efforts and the result. Of course, the fairytale would be champions. Though it didn't happen. I will remember it forever. Thanks COP, you made me, yourselves and our fans incredibly happy and proud of you. To the next one.

Link for the day: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RJqimlFcJsM

6 Months ago

Hab stepping up for a penalty

Waiting for the first game

Dark photo but, third!

The CISC family

I wrote this once and it got deleted so let's go through it again. The lovely, wonderful and dysfunctional CISC family.

I worked at that school for two years and I'll have memories for a lifetime. I'm not going to go through all of them. As you haven't the time nor do I have the patience or writing skills to do them justice.

The students were, of course, lovely. There are the ones you didn't particularly enjoy teaching as they were difficult but they could also be the most rewarding some days.

The first year was a massive learning curve for myself in a school environment and it was such a far cry from working in the volunteer school. I certainly didn't think the year before I left England that in a few short months I would have been the a teacher and main speaker at school events of an international school. How incredible is that? At 19, I was writing and presenting performances for the school. This continued through to my second year. I ended up doing 5 or 6 events in total. Even at one point dancing! Although I don't think they plan to do that again!

In the classroom I learnt a fair bit. How to teach, how to not teach. What to do and what not to do. Then because they saw something I got a contract to be a primary homeroom teacher which means teaching everything else.

I got very worried the day before school started because I thought I was going to let these kids down and get found out. I think I did right by them in the end though. I tried my hardest and they got through it. With my silly antics and all sorts of stupidity! The first year was a learning curve. The second year was a year of maturing. Rapidly. Having to constantly care for children. Constant worry about 'are they okay?' 'Do they need anything?' I once read that nowadays would-be parents forget that when you have a child, you no longer come first. Try having 6. 6th in line for everything. However it was wonderful as they pick up some of your traits and mannerisms. They essentially become mini yous and it is really nice. Maybe my siblings wouldn't appreciate having 6 mini mes running around. I did though!

Other than that though the students were just a small part. What made it worth going to school were the staff. My colleagues. They were always supportive. Always helpful. Always there. If you had a question they'd help. There was no backstabbing office politic rubbish. If you needed help they would be there for you. My morning chats with one certain member of staff. The jokes with the others. It's something I will miss in the day to day. There was so much comradery. Something I will miss in the coming years. I really want to thank each and every one of you. Enjoy the next school year.

It's a bit jumbled and not as nice as my previous version. But we'll go with it. I haven't got a link today. However I do know in the next couple of weeks with my return to England. I will be writing a lot as a type of therapy.

See you on the next one.

Crunch Match

As a child when we used to play in the mighty Strides FC down on Chesham Moor one of the parents used to kindly volunteer and write up a match report. So as it was coming to a close I thought best to try and do something similar. All credit of this idea goes to Simon Standish.

It was a relatively coolish afternoon in South East Asia for that afternoons game. Well, cool for Cambodia.  We arrived knowing this was a crunch match. If we lost, we would not be going to the quarter finals. If we won or draw, we would be. We had worked incredibly hard for this. We had had some tough games in the run up to this 6 pointer. Memorable games as well. Perhaps if we had won games we drew, and drew games we lost, we might not have needed to worry about this game. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. We were the youngest team in the tournament by far. Our average age was about 20. The other teams were probably 25+. They had experience on us, we had energy on them.

The lads were raring to go. The team we were playing had slowly been creeping up the league after changing most of their players. They had some quality but we knew how to shut them out. Due to unforeseen circumstances football training and friendlies were not played in preparation for this game.  Was that a mistake? We would soon find out. The team talk was held. Do it for the supporters today, do it for our defender with a broken leg, do it for me, do it for yourselves. The flame was lit inside of them.

The referees blew the whistle, handshakes and bows were done. The teams lined up and off we went. We started lethargically. Not much energy, no focus. Green Max smelt blood, they attacked from the off. Within two minutes, they had passed themselves through our defence and from about 12 yards out from the left hand side they shot past out goalkeeper into the right hand corner. 1-0 down. The worst possible start. The team that needed a win desperately could now sit, defend and frustrate. We had never had to deal with this before. To break a team down, the one thing we hadn't learnt to do.

Their key midfield player had decided to play in defence. This meant he could ping the ball and recycle possession all day long. I, playing in midfield, could not get close.  This doesn't mean we didn't have our chances. I got a knocked down ball, saw our striker with his blindingly bright green new boots making a run in behind, scooped it over, he got onto it. We were all screaming shoot, everyone was leaning forward in their seats, wishing and willing him to score. He did shoot! He fluffed it a bit but it was going over the keeper! It was a goal! Come on! I can remember it now! The slow motion movement of it all. It hit the underside of the crossbar and unlike Lampard 2010 no goal line technology was needed, it bounced away. We, of course, screamed goal. We all knew it wasn't though. That pretty much set us for the rest of the game.

We had many chances from many different players. Even two phantom goals! Two crosses from myself to our target man, who finally had learnt to head the ball. It was in! I screamed and yelped and jumped for joy. Then wondered why no-one else was. Much like English grassroots football the side netting had a hole in it. Twice, our striker found that small hole but not the net! We hit the post a couple of times, the bar a couple more times. At one point, I was sat in front of the goalie after falling over and the ball came into the danger area and I tried heading it in from a sitting position. Cleared off the line. Clearly need to practice my heading from sitting down!

We did have some luck though. Our second goalkeeper was in nets. Only second purely by the fact the other goalkeeper is just slightly better and older. The attacker was brought down in the box. Penalty. Soft, but a penalty all the same. Yellow card as well! In these nets and this tournament unless the player actually misses or puts it down the middle, it's generally a goal. With fingers crossed and prayers said. The player stepped up and put it down the left side. Our goalkeeper dived to his right and made the save! Strong hands to put it round for a corner. Our hearts swooped! Always rated our goalie! We were still in this.

Our striker with his new boots wasn't firing on all cylinders. Slow to shoot and when he did it was going over. My shooting wasn't much better. But for love nor money that ball wasn't going in. Whipped in crosses were being cleared whereas previously they may have been own goals or handballs. Shoots were being fluffed, or going past the post. It just wasn't going.

Then as we were throwing players at this impenetrable wall  of skin and football boot. We won a corner they got the ball and quickly countered. A ball over the top and a mix up from our two most experienced players, the defender and goalkeeper, meant that the attacker ran round them picked up the ball and passed it across the pitch for the other player to score into an open net. Against the run of play but they smelt blood and they took it well. 2-0. Mountain to climb.

Then the ugly side came. We have never had too much luck with referees this tournament whether due to our youthfulness or what, I don't know. That day was just another level. There were at least two or three penalty shouts from handballs or pushing. They were leaving feet in, they were stepping on players boots. Bullying. Pure bullying. To frustrate and distract. These kids haven't experienced it. So it's another lesson learnt. Although it's a shame they had to do that. We had our other foreigner square up to one of their players after constant little kicks and pushes. The funny thing is, our guy is about 195cm and the guy that pissed him off was about up to his waist. The other player knew he'd made a mistake and backed off pretty rapidly. I was swearing at refs. It got to a point where a player bounced off me and fell over, then quickly it went for a goal kick which I didn't see. I thought the ref was calling a foul on me. So I gave him a few choice words (in English) which the crowd didn't understand but they knew from the intonation. Then when I turned around and realised my mistake. I had to laugh and the crowd followed suit after. I apologised to the ref afterwards.  RESPECT and all that.

Then it was over. There were tears. We had a team meeting. I let them know that we have all learnt so much. Don't stop now. This was all experience and how they can be proud of themselves. I am really proud to have played with these guys and to call myself; coach and captain of COP. Hopefully we can get them into an U-17 tournament and they'll tear it up with their new found experience.

End result: Green Max 2 - 0 COP

Consequence: Knocked out the tournament. Final position in the league 9th out of 16. 

The team - The one time I don't smile, they do.

Handshakes

Check out No.11 new bright green boots, trying to blind defenders.

Do it for yourselves.

Centre of Peace

The orphanage I've been helping out at for the past couple of months with football and English teaching. Their blog -http://geckocry.blogspot.com/

The days are like those long summer evenings you never want to end. The nights are like the end of parties when it starts to die down and you're left with your close friends and just talk into the night. 

The relationships are as warm as the glowing embers of a bonfire. Every time I drive over there it's like being on a rainbow. For I know, at the end there is a pot of gold. After a long day of work, to just go there and chat is just the most wonderful thought. It calms on the days filled with frustrations. It warms me on the days when I'm sad. It fills me with excitement on good days. It's inexplicable. The dreary greyness of the outside world is shut out and the love and warmth of humans is kept in. 

There are problems. The main one being I can't be there all the time, the other being I can't speak more complex Khmer to fully explain concepts or get my idea across. However the kids make concessions and speak simpler for this white foreigner in their midsts. 

I now know how my dad used to feel every Sunday night. When he would take me back home after spending the weekend at his house. It's like leaving a piece of your heart behind. The realisation of how truly alone we are in this universe comes crashing down on your back like a tidal wave. If you're lucky enough to have shared this feeling with another person, you truly care for each other. I have it with all the kids in the centre. 

Sunday mornings have become my favourite part of the week. I get up at 5:30AM make my way to the football field for coaching for 2 hours. Finish that and pack everything up and take it to the centre. Then we all listen to the director/teacher/mother talk and teach with some prayers and songs. It's enlightening and relaxing. Now, I'm not Christian. However I can see the appeal. To come together at the end of the week, sing, joke, laugh, learn, enlighten and pray. The songs and prayers are in Khmer but it adds to the charm as they are beautifully sung. Not like churches in England with old ladies wailing through the hymns.

It's these memories that I cherish. It's these kids I will miss. It's this pot of gold, this corner of the earth, this place that I will miss. However it will always be in my heart when I'm on the other side of the world. 

Link for the blog : https://g.co/kgs/unJw7y

Two years over. Two months left.

How can I begin to explain my relationship with this country? It's a place I now call home. For the past two years, the sights, smells and sounds have filled my senses. Soon these will disappear and be replaced by the modernity of a western country.

When people have visited they have said it smells, it's dirty and so on. For me that's what makes Cambodia, Cambodia. It's what I think endears us all to this country. It's like that scruffy toy we all have somewhere from our childhood. When anyone else looks at it they think it's disgusting, but to the owner it's the most perfect toy in the world. That's how I view this country. Other's coming in might think; look at the rubbish, look at the child, look at that noodle truck in the middle of the pavement, look at the smelly river. They can't understand it. For us, it's Cambodia style. We know it has problems, some much bigger than others. We love it all the same.

Over two years, those problems I am used to and am no longer bothered by. They could drive a little better though and perhaps drink a little less. How can I leave? That is a question I don't know the answer to. It's going to be like a tongue stuck to an icy lamp post. It will be a wrench and it'll hurt a lot. I know I have to. For my prospects to improve and for my future to be more assured I have to leave and study at university. This Greg hates it, however I think future Greg will be very thankful. It's just incredibly difficult to see it now. I want to be here for as long as possible. In fact, I only just booked my ticket yesterday.  The ticket I did book is last the possible date I can be here.

I will have parties and I will have goodbyes. However it's not just those people that I will miss. It's the old lady who sells me my breakfast in the morning, it's the lady who sells me my mangoes, it's the people who make up the background of this place but make it all the richer. The ones who come in and out of our lives but will know something's amiss when the white fella doesn't come anymore. The goodbyes are going to be the hardest part. I have already written about goodbye being the hardest word when I finished at the volunteer school all that time ago. That was a temporary goodbye and I made good on my promise to go back and do it again. This time, for everyone, it is permanent. How do I say goodbye to people that I have made immensely strong connections with. They are from a different culture, different backgrounds,  a different country and speak a different language. How or when did that happen?

I don't want to go.

So for the last two months, I will finish work. I will begin to sell my things. I will begin to prepare myself mentally. I will have parties. I will pack. I will go. This isn't something I want.

How can I leave my volunteer school? They are all so hopeful and filled with life. How can I leave the orphanage? They have taught me so much about life. Truly humbling people. How can I not speak this language I love? It's incredibly complex and interesting. How can I leave my international friends? It's going to be a bubble burster. We all live in this little Cambodia bubble and I have to blow it up.

I don't want to go. However I must prepare for it all the same. 

Link of the day : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9Vh_z9mtv8

Class A Volunteer School

Orphanage Day Out

Orphanage Football Team - I coach them.

I cried on Wednesday

I cried on Wednesday and I haven't the foggiest idea why. So I thought it'd be a good idea to write about it and try to work out why. As most of you know I have my normal work in the morning and generally every Mon-Wed-Fri afternoon I go to work at the volunteer school for a couple of hours teaching English to high schoolers. So far I have enjoyed every minute of this and don't tell my boss but I much prefer working there than at my school with a salary. Every minute is filled with laughter and joy and stress-free. If I could bottle up that positive energy these guys give off I'd be a millionaire. The class I teach already know a fair amount of English so although there's no seen progress I always feel as though they learn something every lesson. They might not, I don't know.

Anyhow that's the basic run down of my volunteer school. I mean I could write about the students for hours with all their niches. So back to the crying.

An old volunteer came back after not being there for two years. So to her all the students have grown up. The students haven't been coming in on time much due, to studying in extra classes, so I got talking to this volunteer and she seemed nice and she said she had presents to give. So we were waiting for them together in the classroom. Then two of the students with the brightest outlook on life, that are right peas in a pod as well, arrived. They remembered the new/old volunteer and with that there was a heartwarming moment of the three. She then gave them these gifts. Just two lunchboxes for 15 and 16 year olds. Probably not much use for them. But you know what? I teared up. I couldn't look at them but they worked out what was happening. I left the room and went to the toilet and ugly cried for about 15 minutes. Incredulous at myself for being so emotionally weak. I calmed down went back to the room and everytime I thought about it I got all teary eyed again. Then more students came a bit later and she gave them books as well. I was more prepared for this and only got a little bit weepy. The effect of this was me feeling all diminishing for the rest of the day and shaky.

This is still playing on my mind and has been for the last couple of days. Any idle moments I sit and wonder why? Now this is an unusual occurrence for me. Last time I cried for something that was happening in real life (i'm discounting movies) was about 7 years ago when my Grandad died. I understand why it was strange as it has been a length of time since I have cried. However I can't fathom as to what struck the chord, what lit the match, what made me blub like a little girl. I have spoken to people close to me to try and work out as to why and I think it's an amalgamation of many factors of the following:
Emotional weakness due to being sick. Last week I was very sick and in hospital. Getting an injection in the bottom for a stomach infection.

Although I was feeling better, it may take longer to become more resistant to the poverty again. The amount of it I see on the daily is mind blowing and becoming resistant to it is part of life here. Much like our ignorance to the homeless in England. That Wednesday morning I ignored a beggar that I wish I hadn't.  I was with the private school children and had just been given a free water by one of the workers of the place we were at. I ignored him. Why? I don't know. I rarely ignore them and more often than not give money. Their lives are mind blowingly difficult and being unacknowledged as human by me ignoring him just adds to it. I really wish I could go back and just look at him and shake my head. Even better would have been me giving him the water on a hot day like it was. I'm a role model to these kids they're very privileged. They need to see these moments of human kindness between people. So that when they're in control of the money they can do some good beause they saw their teacher do it when they were younger. Now all they saw is me dehumanising a beggar. I wish I could slap that version of me in the bus and give him some sense. So then the afternoon happened and it added together to create what happened.

It could be my love of Cambodia. Cliché, I know. I have taken a lesser salary just so I can go and work at another place for free. I could easily go make more money taking on tutoring and working at places to earn. However I don't want to. I want to help and then seeing someone else who has had the forethought and cared enough to spend money on children that aren't hers. It was a physical representation of what I was doing with my time. She spent money, I spent time. And amongst all this poverty that I see; there was this woman who was was a reflection of me essentially. Just doing something for the love of it rather than the reward. It was such a smack-in-the-face realisation. About how much I care for these people, this country, these students that in the moment of clarity I was a punctured balloon. The tears came I patched it back up and hopefully I can improve as a person because of it.

I think also the fact she was remembered added to it. The definition of success to me is:  "To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. " So for me her being remembered because she had made 'a life breathe easier' was huge she had achieved my success. It's what I'm selfishly chasing. I want to effect people enough that they remember me and tell others about the time their teacher got through to them with English or something of the like.

As I've been writing this it's finally relaxed me which is what I wanted. What made me cry was the fact that she was remembered, something I want, then also the realisation of how much I actually care about everyone of these children. Due to me not being an outwardly emotional person. It hit me in the face. I do care and not just that, I care a lot and I do want to be remembered by them and care about what they have. I want them to have enough on their plate every night. I want them to be happy, safe and healthy. This person giving them something made me realise this but at the same time that they are poor and sometimes don't have enough and giving them something as simple as a lunch box, just set off this chain reaction of realisations that were unyet known to me and set me crying. I'm so glad I've written this and I can rest easy now for my Chinese New Year break. Phew.

Link:https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Wd-4XkEZQgw

Better days

Another week swims past in this river of life. The flow went one way and I went the other. I was sick, well, violently sick, just getting over it in fact. In my delirium I sat and wondered what could I write about. Be it a story about me and my motorbike/scooter/moto? Give flavour to the many lost in translation stories I have posted on facebook of which I have many to do. Although I suppose I have many stories because that's what life is. A collection of stories and chapters until the big book closes and we call it life. I know this current volume would be called 'Cambodia' and this past week would be entitled 'Sickness'.

It started with me eating some food from the market which is a normal tendency for a cheapskate like me. They didn't have any of the super scrumptious stuff so I went for one of the lesser chosen ones. Pork and some unknown vegetable. It tasted a bit weird whilst eating but, of course, you eat it anyway. Next day was a Friday and I complained about feeling funny. Come Saturday all hell broke loose. I'll spare you the details but I saw the back of one door. A lot. Obviously I slept a lot to try to recover. This led to me passing out and waking up in the darkness. So to try to fall back asleep I went to go and get some water. This meant creeping past my roommates room. I came back to my room and tried to go to sleep. Although I couldn't thanks to a load of children outside my flat screaming and playing in the street, at what must have been midnight or beyond. I was furious at the parents for being so neglectful to their children at this hour. I couldn't sleep so i decided to read a bit to calm the mind and wait for the children to go back inside. About half an hour later they were shepherded back into their respective pens. Peace and quiet, I could finally sleep. I just decided to check the time before I went back to sleep and make a mental note to tell anyone about this children who were outside playing at .... half past seven pm. My roommate wasn't even home yet! I'm putting it down to sickness that I didn't check one of my many electrical devices for the time.

This got me thinking when else have I been sick and been stupid. Although this time it wasn't my fault as such. To set the scene, in Asia they tend to overhire staff so that people have jobs, pharmacies tend to be one of these places. I went into a pharmacy to get some medicine for a runny tummy. Pharmacies in Cambodia tend to hire pretty girls for some reason. I manage to wrangle the owner's attention and call her over. The owner was an old plump lady.  No-one else was now being served by any of the pretty calls working there so they all came over to listen to what was my ailment much to my annoyance. There they stood, watching, listening. There I stood with my runny tummy. So I, with my best Hugh Grant impression quietly said 'I...uh,...umm....ate...some...uh...bad....food.' Hoping this lady would clue into the situation. She clued in alright just not how I expected. She paused, focused and like a tiger before a meal, licked her lips and loudly replied 'Diarrhea?' I turned a shade of beetroot, she feasted off of my embarrassment, got her fill and then some. I rapidly paid ( I hasten to add, I've never been quicker with correct change. Not before or since.)  and left the shop in a haze of embarrassment.

Anyway enjoy those, I'm finally better with some antibiotics from the doctor. The only problem is my right foot a la Christy brown; so I still can't play football, 6 months and counting. Hopefully it's better soon.

Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKVrVAA7E7I

New year, new blog

I've made the decision to come back to England because I've been enjoying teaching so much, I know it's what I want to do in life. In the process of applying for university I said I write a blog and have my own style of writing, whatever that is. However knowing I said this I feel it is necessary for me to at least try to pick it back up again. Hopefully in the coming months I will be able to write a little bit more frequently about life out here.

Since it's been over half a year since I wrote a blog. I'd like to say why. Mainly it's because I haven't had the inspiration nor the interest to write about life out here. Although since my recent trip back to England for Christmas, it became glaringly obvious how much I had assimilated into life in Cambodia. Things that are normal for me, just aren't normal for others.  I would like to try and write about those things no matter how long or short. Although this blog will mainly be about my teaching over the past couple of months.

Phnom Penh's consistently long dusty days that drift lazily by; me drifting with them. My only anchors being work and volunteering. My work starts as it always does in the cool mornings at 7.30 and finishes at the peak of the heat at 12. This, of course, runs from Monday to Friday. It's never a fight for me to get out of bed in the morning. The only fight I deal with on a regular basis is the one of chiselling children into  being perfect sculptures with all those perfect human imperfections. Half way through the year I have been pleased with how my sculpting has gone.

I was first enticed by the job because when it was first offered, apart from it being part time, was that the children really do become mirrors of yourself. This thought interested me and it pushed me towards accepting the job. Having now had 6 months on the job I can honestly say that they have. To show that I have 3 stories.

1. One day, I saw a student arriving at school. I quickly ran into the classroom and made all the children play dead. This went well and everyone played it to a tee. The student came in and after a while everyone started laughing. Now I didn't think much of it until a month and a half later. I quickly nipped out to get something from the office and returned to all of my children pulling the same prank on me. Couldn't believe it! Cheeky wotsits.

2.I was sat enjoying my breakfast (rice and pork) one morning when a student came up to me. He saw my food. Took a bit of pork. At this moment, may I just say I was sat gobsmacked in the fact that this student had had the gall to take some food and then jokingly put it back. But then he didn't put it back, he ate it with the smuggest smile i'd ever seen. He then left. Not one word had passed in this interaction. I couldn't say anything out of pure dumbfoundedness. Boundary pushing cheeky wotsits these children are.

3. For Christmas, my brother bought me a lovely pen set. I told the children to keep their 'dirty mitts off of them because they'll break them.' This past week I left them out in the classroom for break time, not too bothered as the children would more than likely leave them alone. At snack time a bit later on, I came out to check on them and a child came up to me and said 'Your pen broke.' I was perturbed to say the least. My reply came sharply 'Who did it? I knew I should have put them away!' The student then went on to say 'only joking!' Then off she scampered confidently.

So not only are my students boundary pushing and cheeky wotsits. They're lying boundary pushing cheeky wotsits that I love dearly and will miss upon my return to England next year.

Link of the day : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksJ6QP8BYn0