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I'm going to miss him terribly, like how all the cheesy similes and metaphors would put it.

Cambodian foodies alert!

a cellar of lavender
the door of discontent;
death to courage
the cab rides into Manhattan tonight.
comforting silence
the sounds of far away.
the sun rays, it permeates;
vexes the blinded.
the moon yellows,
it captures in photographs,
it lacks in brilliant color.
dawn breaks,
and it misses the fragile night.

Here are some pics of cuteness:

Here are some pictures taken at the health centers we went to last week in the Kampong Cham province:

Cambodia was once known as The Land of Paradise. That was until an infamous psychopath better known as Pol Pot turned against his own people and turned paradise into a communist hell hole - everyone feared death, parents betrayed their own children to save themselves and vice versa; the intellectuals were massacred, those who were dying of starvation were more 'fortunate' ones compared to those tortured; innocence and justice were foreign to Pol Pot's army who had turned in their countrymen to save their own lives. 2 million Cambodians died by the end of the Khmer Rouge genocide in 1979, after only four years. And to think that the country went through that much barely 30 years ago makes me want to go there again.

I have no idea how they deal with forgiveness and post traumatic stress, but after spending time with those who experienced the 1975-79 carnage, I have only admiration and partial disbelief at their warmth and vulnerability to forms of goodness and hope. I was ignorant to the atrocities the people faced until almost halfway through my week there, which meant spending time with people whom I knew little of, although technically they were all strangers to me. And when I began hearing stories and learning of the way the people have been cultured through the traumatic experiences they went through, it humbled me. The way they respond to questions, the way they are so orderly and patient, the way they look out for others: ill history shaped their hearts into broken ones that are ripe for hope and love. And it even reflects on their faces sometimes.

I went there with 11 others from GBC, my church back in Penang: 4 doctors + their wives, GBC chairman, and 2 others (one of them can speak Khmer quite well, both were my roommates). The trip was organized by Healthcare Christian Fellowship (Malaysia) or HCF in short. HCF has been frequenting Cambodia for the past 4 years (among many other countries worldwide), giving free medical treatment to different provinces of Cambodia. For this particular trip, the places we went to were new to HCF-Malaysia and also HCF-Cambodia. Four women from HCF-Malaysia joined us GBCers plus others from HCF-Cambodia to form a happy team of happy people. We were also blessed by the company of 14 medical students from the University of Medical Sciences, Cambodia who helped bridge the language barrier between Malaysian doctors and Cambodians seeking treatment. They also made the trip 10 times more interesting.

We went to about 4 communes that were near the Vietnam-Cambodia border, and like many other communes, the people were very poor and excited that free medication was finally coming their way. The team managed to treat 1456 people including children and dental patients in 5 days - the other 2 days at the end of the week were spent resting and shopping in Phnom Penh. And hundreds of people came to know Jesus: children and their parents and their parents' parents.

The trip was one that made me reflect and ponder about many things and these thoughts were uncomfortable and depressing at times but necessary for me to understand more about compassion, the message of the gospel, self-righteousness and sewing seeds through proclaimation and touch. I also felt a whole lot of awkwardness and inadequacy as I tried to communicate with the very little Khmer language I had learnt on the trip itself (only enough to ask questions :/) to a lot of curious faces that I tried to soften by minimizing the way we Malaysians stuck out like sore thumbs. Or even worse, the way we appeared to them as their lifesavers.

I had wanted many times to wear the checkered headscarves almost every older woman was wearing and spit on the ground like they did but then after thinking a little further, I realized that my fitting in with the people and my personal thoughts on the usage of appropriate approaches were less important compared to the emotional and spiritual needs of the people I was trying to 'reach out' to. They needed more than my ability to squat with them and look like their equal - and that something was and is beyond all my successful attempts at channeling indirect messages to them through body language that I care for them.

As some used the Heaven/Hell doctrine to evangelise during our time there, I felt even more miserable thinking about the balance of truth vs. gentleness; the balance of converts vs. disciples, and a thousand other things to balance about in my head. As much as I wondered about the intimidating (honestly, it is) approach of sharing the Heaven/Hell theology to hundreds of eager ears/vulnerable hearts and to have them say the sinner's prayer (I have about 10 different questions regarding the sinner's prayer too but that's for another late night) which seemed only most natural after hearing that they might die tomorrow and end up in hell, I began to understand the urgency of them hearing the truth. The message was and still is, most important.

Although I struggled with the use of that approach on the people and had many times built some kind of emotional defence in me for them, I came to realize that at the end of day, we just have to do our parts - sew good seeds, and surrender the rest to Him. It doesn't mean being ignorant of ideal ways to preach the truth to different people - I think between sincere effort and love for people births the special way to touch others and connect with them, although the truth stays the same whoever we speak it to. It definitely 'pays' to study others, to be more familiar to their backgrounds and knowing what gets them thinking, stuff that they relate to with ease. And the truth doesn't have to lose its essence.

Other than that nyeheheh, I enjoyed Cambodian food (LOVE THEIR SOUPS & FRENCH LOAVESSSS) and using my spastic Khmer on people who have the warmest hearts. I got to know many people whom I hope I will keep in touch with. Several have no mailing addresses or telephone numbers, so I guess I just have to hunt them down the next time I go to the Land of Paradise.


I posted a few pics, many more to share.

I'll be off to Cambodia tomorrow :) I'm looking forward to being there, I hope I don't forget to pack in my passport. I haven't started packing. Flight's 3 something pm; returning next Sunday, the 13th. I'll be going with 8 others from my church in Penang, plus others I do not know of who are from NGOs and medical students. Will take many pictures if I remember to hehe. Message meeee


Toodley.

We're very much the same in different ways,
and the differences that lead to equal similarities -
they remind me of a union,
and it's calming.

Undemandingly simple when we choose to equate more; calculate less.


Coolies.

Thought I'd share this funny quote I came across by a P.J. O'Rourke:
"Never fight an inanimate object."

Hohohoho


No water at home in ss2. And I have diarrhea. Ayacaramba.

I'm updating this post with mixed feelings *insert action of mixing up your hands like how you would before you give someone a Kung-Fu* of being lazy to do so + wanting to type about something (although I really should be sleeping now because I feel a cold coming, teehee).

I'm now habitating in ss2!! The comfort and relief of being close(r) to company (friends and strangers alike, because once you're in civilization after being away from it for almost 3 years, you are very thankful for those you don't even know flooding the streets, shops, etc around you) is something to smile about. And I get to go to the pasar malam! Wheeee.. I have a soft spot for ss2, I confess.

I officially moved out of Cyberia on the 31st of July 2006, with the help of Simon, Balan the Lorryman, his son, and my friend Vincent. Des helped also when we reached ss2. Thank you - I really appreciate every bent back, strained tendon, drenched shirt and drop of fuel.