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Obviously by the sheer lateness of this blog you will be thinking really he doesn’t want to talk about it. But the real reason is that I have been touched by lethargia and felt no inspiration to write, but it's back now.
A month or so ago I went to Vietnam, and it was some real good fun with Mikeal, my German friend with whom I toured the Mekong Delta. We had no guide book only a road map with some tourist spots marked on. Alas, the map producer was a bit overly keen on splashing these symbols about. Outstanding natural beauty = Leading us to a Beach made of sharp boulders with a crashing pacific storm spraying us while we took a Milk Coffee – equivalent to a couple of espressos mixed with condensed milk and sugar. It also led us to a hill that had been used in the resistance movement. Atop which stands some downed US aircraft and a US weapons cache. We were invited for a spot of lunch with the Radio station guys who also work on top of the hill now but unfortunately they stopped me from climbing up the radio mast. Along with these
things we saw a number of beaches and such, hills and fishing villages and not too many tourists and as such not too many tourist tainted locals. Here are some photos of the above interspersed into my ramblings below which hardly relate to the same topic.
I was once told that a good travel blogger gives insight into not only the places they go but the person they are. The point being that it is not a travel review but a personal story. So here are some thoughts at the forefront of my mind at the moment on my time as an expat in Cambodia.
After about two months of staying in the same place a great urge starts to well inside me, a sense of not belonging, that I am a parasite to a place and that I should leave before my host realises and rejects my presence. I find that my communication skills and language levels are good for the passing visit, and I can take and give interest to a local’s day but although my instantaneous communication skills are good, non verbal communication is not sustainable. The language of the host must be absorbed and used
to weave good relationships. Otherwise friendships and relationships stagnate at the functional level and do not expand to that of your inner thoughts and deeper questions. My skill and motivation to do this is low, and with the growing sense of misplacement my motivation only wanes.
So what happens, I seek refuge in places where I can express myself fully, the English speaking western communities. I don’t do this because I want to avoid local communication, on the contrary, I would love to have in depth discussions about the state of politics, society and the lives of the locals. It is rather that such communication takes years to befriend someone sufficiently.
Whilst residing here in Phnom Penh, I have hidden myself safely away dancing and participating in expat events. But over time this world of semi-temporary relationships and the claustrophobic nature of smaller communities starts to grind and I feel a rejection even from this host within a host.
After five months of living here, I find myself feeling ignorant of reality and more ignorant of people who I see every day and their realities.
Two years away from home and some friends have fallen to acquaintance to old acquaintance
or to a person I knew once. But here in this temporary community, constantly morphing as people go back home or move on or indulge in their work, I feel myself becoming a grey man whilst still being here, blending only to the backdrop of expats as no-one makes a close friend out of someone who is so temporary. It could be this or it could be a dislike of my playful-obnoxious personality but either way I find myself here, with few who know me and less who want to. (To those few, thank you)
All this does to my temperament is dull it, my comments filled with superlatives to hide my diminishing feelings. The ardour of routine mounts and I feel flummoxed when trying to think of a solution, to break out of this melancholy.
I look back on the people I left behind causing a feeling of anguish and regrets at my own actions. Facebook tells of the life I could lead and an empty inbox on my phone and email tells of the predicament that I chose for myself. I start to become a chronic inbox watcher waiting for any communication only to be falsely excited by
some mailing list email or advert that gives you a hope until you maximise. I send out emails to busy people who were once good friends and now have other lives and who may reply in a week or two, more likely not at all.
And I am here, in this country where I barely communicate with anyone, let alone the locals and you ask yourself why be here? Why not somewhere else?
My only solution is to vanish, as it is the grey man’s only asset. To break the crust of this fermenting bowl of noodle soup that asphyxiates and drowns me. To return to the truly temporary, where relationships are expected to last a day. And I can meet people who you can laugh or argue with, with the knowledge that when dawn comes they or you will be leaving. Where reputation and what came before and hanging conversation are of little consequence. Where frank honesty or outrageousness can be accepted in the personality of another. For to be truly temporal or truly permanent is easy on the mind but to be in the dangling state of semi-permanence is to send me insane.
Sorry if this is
a little depressing, no sympathy required, but thought it would be a change from my usual stuff. I will try and write a bright one when I can. Actually I feel much brighter than when I wrote this, the feelings are the same but just not so negative!
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Joan
non-member comment
Hang on, I sent you an email a short while ago didn't I?! Cheer up Bad News Bear, I'll send you another one in a few minutes' time =)