Transitional Zone

Three Great Events I Won't Be At This Week (also, Videos)

2013-06-03T23:03:00.001-07:00

Woke up with Quincy's "Summer Days" song in my head the other day, which of course made me think of Los Angeles. I'm always thinking of Los Angeles.

This week is thick with events! Some of which Audrey Kuo has recorded me performing at.

Tuesday, June 4 - Tuesday Night Cafe

From last July, my last time featuring as an LA resident. Holding of cities and lovers, which doesn't contain the piece I actually read: "morning glory."

Thursday, June 6 - [common ground oc]

CG is the first and only reading I've done this year. Perhaps with the coming of summer I'll find myself reading in a public (or, more likely, public-ish) setting in Oakland. No hurry. Marinating on my 2013 chapbook, which I've declared will be done by late summer.

Video taken, again, by the dear Audrey. This is my entire CG reading. Someday I'll actually watch it.

Friday, June 7 - OUTspoken Sessions

I remember Equal Action's first announcement at TNC back in 2009, my first year as stage manager. A queer youth of color open mic. I was delighted. I'm so glad they are still going strong as an organization, and that I've seen them transition to having youth take on more and more of the leadership and facilitation roles. No video of myself there. Their theme this show is intersectionality, which they've posted this quote to help define:

If you're in LA, pick at least one. If I were in LA, I might go to all three.

Dayshot: Creatures in South Berkeley

2013-05-20T14:06:00.000-07:00

I wonder whether both are feral. Coming from Los Angeles, biking is a significant change of pace, a way of moving more slowly, being able to stop and pay attention. And now, with things even closer together, I realize that there are things that I miss while biking, too. Walking is the next change of pace, the next slowing down.

I took a long walk with my housemate and his pup last week and came upon these two creatures:

Cat napping in front of what could be some kind of auto-cat.

I am greedy for time, greedy to feel that I have it in abundance. Slowing down is a way of laying claim to my time and feeling like a human being, not only a human doing. Not everything needs to be done as fast as possible.

Unless, as in this case, you have a jar of gelato melting in your backpack and so you forgo the urge to pet the auto-creature and cat and settle instead for a quick snapshot.

Beautiful Things At & After Mr. Hyphen

2013-05-06T20:24:00.003-07:00

I went to Mr. Hyphen recently. It was my first foray to an Asian American event since beginning life in North Oakland in late March. The magazine and event have been on my mind since college, and it was a little surreal to be there. For some reason, this event just seven hours away felt very far from me when I was an undergraduate at UC Irvine all those years ago. I take it as a good sign when it feels like things are coming full circle. Which brings me to the winner of Mr. Hyphen: Sean Miura, curator of 1st&3rd Tuesday Night Cafe, among other things.

Photo by Intwined Bows

Beyond dancing and wrapping cable with him in Aratani Courtyard, I recall midnight forays for carne asada fries in Gardena and long talks about each of our histories in consciousness of Asian Americanness and the Asian American movement. We've talked about our processes of politicization, and shared passion over the music of the API movement-- artists who came through TNC, artists on other coasts, artists from thirty years ago. He shared a wealth of MP3s with me and I fantasized about him leading a TNC dance crew. We talked about history. A lot.

Photo by Vincent Trinh

At Mr. Hyphen, I got to see an integration of everything Sean is on stage at Brava Theater: his humor, his sincerity, his passion, his (sigh) puns, and all of it rolled up into his dance:

Watching Sean made me wistful for Los Angeles and moved me to write poetry of questionable quality. It was evident that he had put a huge amount of effort, care, and energy into preparing for Mr. Hyphen, fueled by a deep commitment to Tuesday Night Project. I'll be celebrating in spirit with everyone at tomorrow night's TNC for all the gaff tape the $1,000 prize will buy.

---

Photo by Vincent Trinh

I was inspired by Niño-Pierre Galang's discussion of the importance and power of knowing our mother tongues. Thinking about my fluency in Khmer has always been a big part of my struggle as a poet and writer-- it is so strange to think about how such a big part of me has always felt in a way separate. He talked about how important learning Tagalog has been to him. What place does language have as we reconcile our Asian/American identities? Is it a novelty? How do we make a place for language?

Last week I went to have lunch with family for a cousin's birthday. One of our relatives has an adorable baby daughter. Conversation around the dim sum table veered to the other parents telling her to read to her daughter every night. She recently immigrated from Cambodia and English is her second language. She joked that her daughter would be reading to her soon enough. A feeling boiled up in me and I asked her whether she also had books in Khmer to read to her daughter.

I could have cried when she said yes. I was relieved that this little girl will grow up with a different relationship to language, to Khmer, than I grew up with. She's second-generation as I am, or maybe she's 2.5, and she's growing up in a different emotional climate; one in which the echoes of war are farther back in time, and in a different socio-economic status. I know this doesn't mean negotiating her Asian American or Khmer American identity will necessarily be any easier, but it's comforting that perhaps she'll be literate in Khmer and will able to relate to her parents in a healthier way than I did growing up.

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Not being fully employed and also not yet receiving paychecks means I hesitated to buy the $30ish dollar Mr. Hyphen-plus-magazine subscription package, but it felt good to spend money supporting a community institution-- and realizing that thirty dollars is less than I would spend on gas for some climbing trips. And now I'll get stories of Asian America delivered to my doorstep.

Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month!

"You're Gonna Move To Bishop, Aren't You?"

2013-04-30T20:47:00.001-07:00

Very very tempted, especially now that Black Sheep has a beautiful big new space-- I've been told that they have beer and an open mic night now. I could write and share more rock climbing poetry. I might move to this climbing paradise some day, but not any time soon.

For now, I'm enjoying Oakland and looking forward to trips to Yosemite and South Lake Tahoe during the coming warm months.

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Some photos from 4.5 days in Bishop

We drove through the night on Wednesday and arrived early Thursday morning. This is how I felt:

Photo by feesh

It was interesting being there for a bouldering-centric trip. There were a lot of bouldering pads. So many that I slept on one and used another as a desk:

I still managed to get two days in at Owens River Gorge. I climbed a lovely long route with great exposure in Upper Elbow Room. I can't wait to try more of the areas that are farther from the approaches. China Wall, All You Can Eat Cliff, Warm Up Wall and Pub Wall see so much action, but there's a lot of fun to be had just a few more minutes in.

The group got motivated enough to wake up before dawn so we could watch the sun come up from a hotspring:

Being outdoors all the time makes it feel healthy to have bacon, bread, and eggs for breakfast every day. This day, I happened to also have avocado. Don't forget the Tapatio (which is made in Vernon! LA love forever).

I got so wrapped up in trying boulder problems that I hardly took any pictures during the days at the Happys and the Buttermilks. But someone did!

I fell soon after this photo was taken. After I'd gotten through what was supposed to be the harder part. Forgot all about my feet because I was busy sassing someone (not pictured). Next time, Green Wall.

Photo by kilajoules

A bunch of us tried this problem with a swarm of mosquitoes devouring us:

Photo by kilajoules

So much fun climbing with a bunch of awesome women, many of whom are involved with developing a climbing app.

Climbing, poetry, and community. So far 2013 and Oakland have been pretty good to me.

All I Want is Some Sunshine and a Nice Place to Climb

2013-04-26T14:28:00.001-07:00

I just returned from five days in Bishop, when I got to climb at Owens River Gorge, the Happys, and the Buttermilks (trip report-ish thing coming soon). I haven't been very interested in celebrating my birthday these last few years, but the trip was a great way to begin a new year of life.

Now, I'm back in Oakland, enjoying the gentler sunshine of the East Bay, but missing all the rocks. I live two miles away from a very nice climbing gym, but with long summer days on their way, an empty wallet and a wealth of time, it's hard to think of climbing indoors. Indian Rock, Mortar Rock, and Cragmont Park are just a few miles away, perfect for getting my climbing fix in between the longer trips.

On Pegboard. Photo from Superbeta

When I do go to gyms, Bridges is my favorite for being small and homey and reminding me most of Hangar 18 in Hawthorne... and because they have such a good Groupon deal. ;)

If I Were in LA Tonight: Generation Return // Anida Yoeu Ali Art & Justice Tour

2013-04-13T10:28:00.000-07:00

Days before I left Cambodia, I finally gained the will to step out of my hermit/incubation period to take an opportunity to sit down with Anida Yoeu Ali at Java Cafe & Gallery. We were able to talk for a precious half hour or so about her work with Studio Revolt, our experience as a Khmer American woman in Phnom Penh, reconciling our Khmer and American identities in Cambodia, poetry-- listing the topics we brushed against makes me realize what a concentrated conversation that was. Perhaps this is what it is always like in the diaspora.

Tonight, Anida's Art & Justice Tour lands in Long Beach, just in time for Khmer New Year. If I were in LA, and if this weren't in conflict with a shoot for TWSS2, I'd be there.

Catalyst Network of Communities will host artist, writer and global agitator Anida Yoeu Ali in her public performance entitled “Generation Return: Art & Justice Post-Genocide and Post-9/11” during the 2nd Saturday Artwalk of Long Beach, CA.

Ms. Ali will present and discuss her works and ideas about contemporary justice and its residual effects on the Cambodian American experience.

Ms. Ali is actively engaged in international dialogues, community activism, and artistic resistance to multiple sites of oppression. She upholds the belief that art is a critical tool for individual and societal transformation. Ms. Ali, born in Cambodia and raised nearly all her life in Chicago, returned to live in Cambodia in 2011 after nearly 3 decades away. She is part of a returning diaspora of artists and thinkers creating narratives of Cambodia beyond war and poverty. Through her spoken word performance and video clips, she will present a body of work which provocatively considers the diasporic past/present contours of the Cambodian American experience. The video works include her collaborative media lab, Studio Revolt, and their cinematic works with the Khmer Exiled American community (who constitute the deported diaspora).

Art Exchange
356 East 3rd Street
Long Beach, CA90802

It's my third and final New Year of the year, and I'm celebrating by giving my bike some much-needed love today, and spending tomorrow at wat with my aunt and her family in San Jose.

Not until Khmer New Year arrives, one quarter of the way into the Gregorian new year, do I really feel like the transition from the last year is complete. Since the first new year on January 1, I've transitioned between continents, cities, and living situations, and now, with the arrival of my final new year, I feel firmly grounded in a time of building.

National Poetry Month Begins Tomorrow

2013-03-31T23:11:00.000-07:00

And with it, National Poetry Writing Month.

As I did last year, I'll strive to write a poem a day at Long Cool Hallway. A little nervous about this as I'm also occupied with my transition to Oakland, but I remind myself that there is always time.

Easing into Oakland

2013-03-31T18:38:00.000-07:00

I lived in eight different places in Los Angeles 2007-2012, and for each one, I had a self-imposed deadline. Some less defined than others, but I treated them all as temporary. For the first time in my adult life, I've entered a living situation with the intention to stay in it for longer than a few months or a year. I have no plans to leave in the near nor distant future. It's a new feeling. A good one.

A friend asked me to catalogue my process in transitioning into Oakland life as they are planning to move to the Bay Area this summer.

Here are three things that I've done so far to make this place home:

Before I even fully made the move to Oakland, I got my Oakland library card. There's something comforting about having a library card. Having fun isn't hard.
I scaled and gutted a fish on the front lawn. It's not that weird to scale or gut a whole fish, but it's not something often seen, and to do it publicly helped me feel more ownership of the space.

Scaled, gutted, stuffed with kaffir lime leaves and lemongrass, ready for the oven.
Walks and bike rides around the neighborhood. This is particularly relevant for me coming from LA and for people who also come from automobile-centric cities. Get to know the neighborhood streets even if they're not the most scenic. Say hello to people walking their dogs or tending their yards. It makes things feel less unfamiliar.

I'm maintaining a spirit of openness to what life in my new environment will be like. New and unfamiliar places provide an opportunity to re-evaluate what is really necessary. And what is really necessary also changes sometimes, depending on where we are. If you carry few expectations that life will or has to be anything like it once was, you have more of a chance at seeing what is possible.

Music for When I'm Lonely for LA

2013-03-24T16:43:00.000-07:00

My friend wrote about songs that define his LA after reading this BuzzFeed article. Here are a few of the artists who are LA to me.

Bambu:

David Tran aka Applesauce:

Skim:

I have playlists that remind me of driving up to Oakland the first time last year, and of my first trip to Owens River Gorge, music that conjures images of winding through Los Padres National Forest and down Tioga Pass out of Yosemite.

I'm in the process of planting some roots in Oakland. I'm more committed to making the transition now than last summer. I wonder what Oakland will sound like to me.

Reading at common ground OC Tomorrow

2013-03-06T11:00:00.001-08:00

I'm so happy that the common ground space exists, and I'm thankful that I've had the good fortune of being invited to read there a few times since it began in 2010.

common ground is organized by progressive Vietnamese American community members, artists, and activists committed to cultivating a positive and safe healing space for artistic growth and community empowerment. The common ground collective builds collaborations across communities and supports the work of social justice spaces.

I remember how happy I felt at Tuesday Night Cafe when the first organizers made the announcement about starting the space, how exciting it was that something like this was starting in Orange County, a place that is as inundated with a reputation of stodgy conservativism as Los Angeles is with a reputation of glitz, glamor, and shallowness. More proof that it's always possible to find what you need wherever you may be.

I'd been planning on attending the March 7 show since I was in Cambodia, long before I was invited to read and before I knew that the theme would be "Food for the Soul" in honor of National Nutrition Month. That theme feels good. When asked what "Food for the Soul" means to me:

“Food for the Soul” is: plain rice porridge with artfully spoiled fish; a tiny, sweet tomato plucked from a scrappy, well-loved garden; a long conversation over tea or coffee about all that is serious and/or silly; setting foot on the land your grandparents raised your parents on; sharing a favorite poet with a new or old friend; lengthy email correspondence; receiving letters by post. In short— all that nourishes, whether through vitamin content or sentiment.

My body and soul got a lot of nourishment from the three months I spent in Cambodia. I look forward to sharing some of the writing that came from it.

See more info about CG on Facebook and Tumblr.

Glad to be Home

2013-02-28T23:57:00.000-08:00

Now that I am back in California, I am intensely craving this sandwich:

Photo by Anthony N.

It is a fried chicken sandwich from Bakesale Betty in Temescal. I'm currently transitioning back to the U.S. in Los Angeles, where there is no Bakesale Betty's. But that's okay. When I return to the Bay Area in a few weeks, I will have this sandwich. And it will be very satisfying. I know this to be true.

Production on That's What She Said Season 2 is going well. Got right into it as soon as I got back. We had a shoot at Casa De Luna Coffee House last weekend. The owners are wonderful and have been supporters since Season 1. Hard to believe that it's been four years since I first set foot inside that cafe, soon after it opened in 2009.

These ladies make Los Angeles home.

Spring seems to be arriving already. Warm in the sun, cool in the shade. Makes it hard to think of leaving LA.

The Ho Chi Minh City Excursion // Dayshots

2013-02-26T16:09:00.001-08:00

The week before Tet, I went to Ho Chi Minh City. I went mostly to see my friend David, but also to spend some time by myself, without family nearby for the first time in weeks and weeks.

I rode the Mekong Express bus to get there. Hopped out as we crossed the Mekong River.

The Mekong.

I wonder what the river will be like after the mega-dam is built.

We had a dusty stop just before crossing the border on National Road 1.

Exchanged USD into VND and became a millionaire.

Most countries' money is prettier than the USD.

Com tam is my favorite.

David had a snazzy, fixed up Honda Super Cub. Saigon is lovely to ride around in at night. Unlike in Cambodia where only the driver has to wear a helmet, passengers also have to wear them in Vietnam. You can see both helmets dangling at David's knee.

I splurged and stayed at Song Anh Hotel, right in downtown. Traveling alone, and feeling very soft from so long in the cozy embrace of my family, I decided to forgo the backpacker area.

The hotel employees thought I was weird for taking stairs instead of the elevator to my 5th floor room.

Saw this on my last day. But heard it over and over again throughout my trip.

Mostly, I roamed around the city on foot, drinking papaya smoothies, munching on street snacks, and sitting in the shade in the many lovely parks in the city. The French colonial influence is much more apparent in HCMC than in Phnom Penh. I felt like I was in the Paris of Southeast Asia.

General Post Office designed by Gustave Eiffel.

It was so different than being in Phnom Penh; though traffic was still quite congested, the streets were not as dusty, and I wasn't worried about hygiene at the streetside food stands. Though, I was not so concerned in Phnom Penh, either. Within month two of my stay, I was drinking the tap water at my aunt's house and having ice in beverages with abandon. I figured I'd acclimated enough at that point, and I was tired of boiling the water; I figured most of the harm would come from chemicals moreso than bacteria, and boiling would just concentrate them. That logic might be flawed. Another part of it was being tired of the stream of plastic water bottles that kept coming my way. And whether it makes sense or not, it made me feel closer to Cambodia to drink the water. There are people drinking out of muddy streams and wells with arsenic in the water. I figured I could handle the municipal tap. And I'm okay (not that I'm recommending others to so).

One of my favorite parts of the trip was sitting by the Saigon River sipping coffee with David on my second night. We talked about Los Angeles, and what it's like to move from one town to another, and how Southeast Asia is quickly adopting the hurried pace of Western civilization. It seems that people don't really make time for one another-- spending time together is just a part of life. But now there are gated communities popping up, and the nuclear-family-based culture is increasingly taking hold, and I think about how lucky I was to grow up in a multi-generational home, without any distinction between "family" and "extended family."

I'm rambling. I'm sitting in a cafe in Little Saigon. It feels good to be home. So many things to do. So many places still to go. I have a loose timeline. I have a little cash. I have a lot of loved ones. I feel lucky.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 11 // The End is Near

2013-02-18T00:29:00.003-08:00

Three nights left in Cambodia. I'm starting to feel a bit anxious about going home.
These last three months have been a retreat from my generally unpredictable everyday life. Hang out with family. Read a lot of books. Scribble in my journal. Spend a lot of time in coffee shops. Look at Tumblr a lot. I've kept things simple to the point where most people might get terribly bored, but I'm happy as long as I have books to read and time to write.

What most mornings look like.

All the while, though, I've been thinking about what I'll do with myself when I get back. So perhaps I have not been as present with my experience here as I could have been. A part of that was due to worrying about being a tourist here or gravitating into the largely-white expat scene. I worked some of that out in the last few weeks. I didn't do everything I considered doing here, like go on climbing trips or volunteer or work or check out the arts scene, but other things happened that I hadn't considered: I started learning to read and write Khmer, had long talks with family members, had some good email exchanges, and remembered how much I like listening to music obsessively (especially while writing poetry).

Khmer consonants. I almost remember them all.

I got to experience two New Years in Cambodia: the Western one and the Lunar New Year. My relatives have been urging me to stay and ring in the Khmer new year, too, in April. I was tempted, but there's too much waiting for me (too much that I'm looking forward to) in California.

Lunar New Year promo from Brown, where I've spent a lot of time recently.

I have a fluttery feeling about going home. Moreso than I did when I was getting ready to leave.

I remind myself that it will be good. It will be good to spend 22 hours in transit, and step out of the airport into the cool Los Angeles air. It will be good to remember how to drive my car. It will be good to see the people I've been missing. It will be good to move forward on some of the things I've been marinating on during the last three months of being sort of a hermit/recluse. It will be good to be reunited with my coffee grinder and french press. It will be good to step out of this relaxed life, and back into the lovely chaos.

Spring is coming.

(I read four of the Game of Thrones books in January. Yup.)

Dispatch from Cambodia, 10 // Meaning

2013-02-03T02:59:00.002-08:00

I stumbled upon this post on Tumblr by knowthesaurus which triggered a lot of thought about my time here:

Journey to the ancestral “homeland” constitutes a rite of passage for many of my second-generation Asian American peers. …For me, the urge to travel to this “home”land flickers weakly at best, stifled by the fact that it would be little more than tourism with all the baggages of my Western and American-born privileges. In quest of homeland, I would find myself in a position which contradicts the journey in the first place: I would be surrounded by strangers in a time and space where we meet but never touch. Can I feel home in a home that isn’t and never was mine? What connection am I expected to have with these strangers I may have, in another life time, loved or hated or fucked or killed? What connection do I have with these strangers who I still love, hate, fuck, and kill by virtue of my position?

Strangers that I care deeply for, yes, but strangers still.

I have been grappling with similar ideas since I landed in Cambodia. Early on, I understood my privilege, and I'm uneasy with it: many Khmers, including members of my family, barely expect to visit bordering countries in their lifetimes, let alone the United States.

I thought that I was here to understand my relationship to Cambodia as a Khmer American. It’s an ethereal question. I feel an inexorable bond to this country, to the way foreign interests shape its politics, to the way money flows in and out and trickles down in a slow, thin stream to the general population after filtering through politicians’ pockets. The reason I care is as simple as the fact that people I love, people I share blood and ancestors and history with, live here.

When I told relatives that I was toying with the idea of finding NGO work here, they encouraged me to do it: foreign-born and educated people are paid well, much more than native Khmers. The idea of reverse migration certainly tempts me. The people I see who’ve done it are in good shape, saving lots of money, living well, happy. A part of me thinks enviously about what it might be like to live in a place where I face white supremacy from a greater distance than I do in the US. I watched children playing in a park in Ho Chi Minh City and envied them a bit, thinking of how they don’t have a set of insecurities about “fitting in” tied to looking “foreign,” and how “go back to where you came from” is not the same kind of insult.

And yet, I also see how my fiercely independent nature could not abide by a place in which I feel so much less power as a woman. I admit that I don’t have the emotional fortitude to make myself vulnerable here, where I am barely literate and where my accent labels me foreigner (how funny to have that reversed from my lack of accent helping me to proclaim my natural-born citizen status in the US). Beyond that, and intertwined with that, there is my queerness setting me apart. There is much to say about this, another time. I acknowledge my fear, my cowardice, with a hope that someday I will be a little bit stronger.

Long before the horrors of the Killing Fields, there was war and conflict and occupation in Cambodia constantly, with only brief periods of peace. The current state of affairs is tormented by memories of when the streets of Phnom Penh were beautiful, its inhabitants sharply dressed, when teachers were paid a living wage, when culture was in bloom. History is a raw, slow-healing wound in Cambodia. Perhaps that’s why many books talk about how Khmers are wont to forget and move on, ever forward.

Though over 80% of my blood relatives still live in Vietnam, I find it hauntingly bizarre that I could walk through a market in Binh Dinh on any given day and perhaps pass by so many uncles, aunts, cousins, and half-siblings, never knowing that our mothers were birthed from the same womb, wondering about the conversations that never were, never could be, and never will be. And what haunts me still is the fact that my mother and father who remain as the tenuous bridge across the Pacific are growing older and dying quicker in the United States.

Now in week 10 of my 12.5-week stay, I see that my journey here is about a more fundamental urge than any heady examination of politics or culture, though it’s inevitable in a developing country with colonization, war, and corruption in its history, its present, its future. At the heart of my longing to be here is a desire not to forget, not to lose the connection. My time here is about a very basic human need: to know where I came from, and who I came from. To be able to communicate with those who know and share my history. To not let go of family, which is so easy to do in the hyperindividualistic United States. As I get older, I find myself wanting to draw those close to me even closer. And because being Khmer is such an important part of my identity, because it makes up who I am: Khmer American. The Khmer legacy of forgetting is one I don't want to carry on.

My journey here has been about no longer being strangers. About being able to be a bridge. Because my parents are older, and I would feel a part of me lost, too, if I l did not create my own ties to Cambodia. And it is hard. It takes the fortitude to be vulnerable for judgement for all the ways that I’m not Khmer, just as I grew up constantly fearing being perceived as not American. But they are my blood, and I’ve felt a lot of love here. I’ve come to know those family members who have been sent photos of me since I was a child, the ones who ask after me as I’ve gone about my life completely oblivious to them. I want to remember how to connect.

And I know that there are things that we will never share. I know that there are things I would rather not give them a chance to try to accept. I recognize this as a part of who I am. That I would rather bend and fit myself for a time into their lives, than see how they may bend and fit themselves into mine.

I hope not to spread my Western lens too much here, and yet that is who I am. And in an increasingly global world, it’s already happening through media and commerce. A friend mentioned a fear of further loosing a colonizer’s tongue around the homeland. This is already happening. What good is it to deny ourselves the experience of visiting ancestral lands based on such fears? Worse than spreading a colonizer’s tongue, worse than performing an occidental rite of passage, worse than complicity in the inherent destructiveness of tourism, is the act of forgetting, of ignoring our bonds, of declaring that a place is not our place. What is the purpose of travel if not to prove that we do not have to remain strangers? And why should we in the Southeast Asian diaspora feel any less sure of ourselves in visiting our ancestral lands than the millions of tourists who pass through each year?

In many ways, I’m still struggling with the same things I struggled with when I first visited Cambodia in 2004. In addition to thinking about my internal experience, however, I am now thinking more about relationships. Thinking more about my uncle and his affectionate family. My aunts whom I’ve gotten to really know for the first time, and who are now in their late sixties. I think of my cousins and their children. I think of my great uncles who look and sound so much like my grandmother.

Whether I travel through this country like a tourist is less important to me than the fact that there are people I love in Cambodia. People who can tell me about my family, where we come from. There are certain Americans who take great pride in being able to declare themselves descendants from pilgrims on the Mayflower. I am Khmer American, a child of refugees who arrived on planes from a ravaged country-- and I am more than that. I came here to remember that. To make it real for myself. To remember that there is more than war to my history. To see the land that my parents were born on, even if it looks nothing like before. To cross the same river that my grandparents crossed, though it may be more polluted.

It seems that closeness to homeland is something that belongs to the wealthy. Those of us who must struggle for economic stability in our countries of residence can hardly consider making frequent visits to homelands or motherlands. Race and class are intertwined in this-- it’s easier to be different when you have social and economic capital behind you. When you’re struggling, you want to fit in, survive, make due.

History does not reset upon arrival in the United States. Rooted in my new relationship with Cambodia, with stories of my family's past, I feel less like I am floating adrift. Trying to make a new path in a country in which I am both native-born and strange feels less heavy a task. In holding on to Cambodia and locating myself within its past, present, and future, I’ve found myself able to let go of the last vestiges of not feeling “American” enough. I feel more whole.

It's true:

Dispatch from Cambodia, 9 // So Much Reading

2013-01-23T18:55:00.000-08:00

I’ve said many times that I don’t know what I expected this time in Cambodia to be like. It’s mostly true-- except for this sliver of me that did imagine it might be some kind of grand adventure. That I'd come to know Phnom Penh like the back of my hand, that I might rent a small room in the middle of the city and spend my days writing and walking and maybe even scooting around on a moto. That’s how imagined the two months after my parents left would go.

Fear begets fear. Power begets power.

- Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

It’s been almost the exact opposite. I’ve allowed myself to stay in the warm, occasionally-stifling care of my aunts. I now understand that one of the reasons I keep myself at a distance from family is to avoid absorbing all their worried energy. I love connecting with them and discovering all the things we have in common and learning about their lives, but the degree to which they worry about me is debilitating. I don’t feel like my best self when I’m infected with so much fear.

On the other hand, it’s also nice to have a time of quiet and routine. There's a satisfying rhythm to the process of washing dishes in the backyard, using the minimum amount of water necessary. I'm getting better at wringing out my clothes to hang-dry. Nightly lessons in Khmer have me reading almost at kindergarten level. I’ve a room in which to write, and a nice cafe nearby for occasional internet binges.

In the last three weeks, I’ve read six books: the first four books in the Game of Thrones series (which at times feels like a train wreck I can’t tear my eyes away from), The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevarra, and Wild by Cheryl Strayed. The latter two are both good books about journeys. I related to each of them. I’ve never been able to bring myself to indulge in marginalia, but I am wont to write down passages from books that strike me, and I've gathered quite a few from each.

The last book about writing I read said that sometimes reading is an escape from writing. Hm. I’ve read eight books so far during this trip, and after a one-day pause, I started on the ninth: The Land of Little Rain by Mary Austin. But I am writing, which I can say for certain is one of the things I came here for. Soon after I arrived, Zen Pencils released "Air and light and time and space" and I remembered that there is always time for writing. As I veer closer and closer to my return to California and all that's waiting for me there, I'm holding that thought close.

One of my writing spots at the farmhouse.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 8 // The Farmhouse

2013-01-17T19:28:00.004-08:00

I rode a tuk-tuk the thirtyish kilometers from one aunt’s house to another’s, southward through the crowded streets of Phnom Penh to Setbo, a small town on the western bank of Tonle Bassac.

You can see me in the right-hand rear-view.

The six days went by more quickly than I expected and I was torn about whether to extend my stay or leave as I’d scheduled. I was enjoying the peaceful time with my aunt and uncle, their little dog, and the chickens that roamed about each day. I read The Motorcycle Diaries, got Khmer lessons from my uncle, wrote a bit, learned to make Khmer sticky-rice desserts, went on a few joy rides on the moto, and itched. My aunt told me stories about growing up in the area: how their house was right over the water, jumping from the porch to the river during the rainy season, getting whooped by my grandmother after sneaking out to play. It sounded not a little idyllic. We laughed a lot together.

The pup in the basket was not my idea. We were both a little terrified.

Banana trees at golden hour.

My uncle washing dishes by candlelight. The power goes out often, sometimes several times a day.

So much lovely papaya.

One thing I’ve had to adjust to while spending time with family is having three square meals a day. I've had to abandon my usual routine of morning coffee followed by light grazing throughout the day. My aunts tell me in Khmer to “Eat large!” at nearly every meal, and more often than not I find a big scoop of rice or soup or fruit or something in front of me before I had a chance to protest. On my last full day, we went on a long tuk-tuk excursion to Phnom Saang and Tonle Bati via rough rice-paddy roads that left all of us sore, and I actually managed to convince my aunt to let me skip dinner (which she probably only agreed to because she herself was also feeling frighteningly full).

Passing a duck farm between Phnom Saang and Tonle Bati.

I considered extending my stay, but I was being fed farmhand portions without the accompanying calorie-burning work, making me fear that my stomach would burst. Refusing food somehow feels akin to refusing love in a Khmer household, and I had accepted as much love as I could from my sweet-toothed aunt. So I ran off back to Phnom Penh, promising to make an effort to return before I leave Cambodia.

My last breakfast involved these two gorgeously orange-yolked fried eggs.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 7 // Used Books & Motorbikes

2013-01-08T19:59:00.001-08:00

I plan to head to Vietnam by bus near the end of this month, so I sought out the used books stall on the top ﬂoor of the Sovanna Mall. I had only planned on getting perhaps two books, but of course by the end I had six books in hand, and ﬁnally walked away with four books for eight US dollars:

Obasan by Joy Kogawa
The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevara
Eating Chinese Food Naked by Mei Ng
Asian Americans by Joann Lee

Oh, hello UCI.

The last time I traveled far from home for an extended period of time was in 2009. I spent most of that January in Canada, and snow kept me indoors instead of heat. I drank tea and wrote ﬂash ﬁction daily. This time, I’m reading a lot, drinking packaged coffee, writing a little poetry, and by turns making my 2-year-old second-cousin cry and sing her A-B-C’s.

Today I leave for Setbo, where my grandparents are from. My grandmother and grandfather grew up on opposite sides of Tonle Bassac, I’m told, and both came from well-to-do families. When they married, the river was crowded with boats bearing gifts and fruit and ﬁsh.

The Bassac

I’ll be staying with another aunt, at the farmhouse where I learned to eat duck embryos last month. I look forward to even cooler breezes through the trees, bigger and more plentiful mosquitoes, and trying to ride my uncle-in-law’s motorbike less awkwardly.

My dad being my training wheels. My mom is off somewhere worried to death that I'll crash.

The Thailand Excursion

2013-01-07T21:17:00.002-08:00

In an attempt to find relief from the stifling heat of Phnom Penh in late December, my family decided to take a World Pop Tour to Thailand.

Our tour guide had a soothing voice and some funny stories, and the daily meals and schedule were relatively well-coordinated, but beyond that, I was disappointed that we were taken mostly to tourist traps (including a swallow's nest outlet, leather dealer, and jewelry factory) rather than to any historical or cultural sites. We managed not to set foot in a single wat nor visit a floating market. It was an odd tour. I'm burned out on sitting in moving vehicles.

Bangkok sprawls.

Bangkok: The Los Angeles of Thailand?

My favorite part of the trip was the two hours we spent on a beach in Pattaya, swimming, drinking coconut juice, and watching a seemingly endless stream of jet skis and speedboats whiz around. It was incredibly smoggy, though, and made me long for Kampong Saom.

Apparently these coconuts are injected with flavorings.

At an "Orchid Resort" where we watched an elephant show that made me very sad for the elephants

Coconut as compensation for indignity.

On the way back to Cambodia, we stopped at a Tesco Lotus, what I gather is Thailand's version of Target/Walmart.

Everywhere is becoming just like everywhere else.

(Read The Machine Stops. Paul Davis tweeted about the short story many weeks ago and I finally got around to reading it when I got to Cambodia.)

On the bright side, it was good to spend time with Khmers who currently live in Cambodia, France, Australia, and other parts of the US. Despite my recent increase in social awkwardness, I managed to have a few pleasant conversations by the end of the trip, and even got to talk with a Cambodian-born Aussie named Adam about being a writer.

And then, I became a happy hermit.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 5 // Olympic Stadium

2013-01-02T20:57:00.001-08:00

My aunt speaks wistfully of the days when Olympic Stadium was surrounding by a vast field of grass, and the insides were shining and new, ten years before the Khmer Rouge took over the country.

Phnom Penh is crowded, dusty, and traffic is chaotic, so it's been hard to muster motivation to explore. I'm not sure whether I would have visited this architectural must-see had I not been searching the internet for rock climbing in Cambodia and heard that a small bouldering wall had been installed here.

It's free to enter on foot, 1000 riel (about 25 cents) to enter with a car or motorbike.

I spied the bouldering wall right as I walked to the stadium.

People walk or run round and round the field, up and down the stands, and inside.

People play soccer on the pavement outside the field; I suppose the grassy field inside is reserved for official games.

Inside.

Along the upper walkway, various groups hold aerobics/dance sessions in the evening.

The wall gets a good breeze in January.

Trying out the holds.

Sunset atop the Stadium.

Be sure to pick up this carb-tastic sticky-rice/crepe/coconut dessert on your way out.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 4 // Familiar Faces

2012-12-30T21:28:00.000-08:00

I've been able to catch up with a few friends from Los Angeles while in Phnom Penh:

Ryan, who spent two years working with youth here and is now back in California:

At Chuck Norris Dim Sum (12/12/2012)

Sean, who took a whirlwind trip through Phnom Penh and Siem Reap on his way to Hong Kong:

At The Terrace (28/12/2012)

David, who was visiting from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam:

At smoothie stall on St. 13 (29/12/2012)

The excursion to see David and his ladyfriend was the first one in which I spend any time roaming around Phnom Penh at night without being escorted by family. We took a tuk-tuk from their guesthouse to the riverfront, wandered around for a bit, then put together a dinner of various dishes from street stalls. The meal we made was the kind you'd have on an ordinary night at home-- an omelette with a green called s'ahm, grilled salted fish jerky, string bean stir-fry, chicken ginger stir-fry, and pickles.

It was my first real streetfood meal, and probably the cheapest I've had since getting here. I have little reason to seek streetfood when I'm having wonderful home-cooked meals, and my family was pretty cautious about what we ate for fear of illness. The verdict for me? A negligible bit of IBS in the night, and a slight rash on my right arm the next morning, both of which might just be a coincidence.

David asked me whether I've explored and "just gotten lost" since I arrived in Phnom Penh, and I talked a bit about how I feel much less independent in Cambodia. I'm not used to being fearful, and articulating the fact that I am is helping me consider breaking out of my comfort zone a little more (though I'll still be appropriately cautious).

Dispatch from Cambodia, 3

2012-12-28T04:51:00.001-08:00

Mom & Dad on a boat on Tonlé Sap

Over the last month, I’ve spent more time with my parents and with my family than I have in the last few years combined. Eight years have passed since I moved out, which was soon after we returned from our first trip to Cambodia. The last time I went on a family vacation was probably 2005. There always school or work to use as an excuse to cover up my painful inability to reconcile my Khmer and American identities... and my preference to remain at a distance rather than confront our difficulties and find middle ground.

In writing this, I realized a pattern in my search for middle ground: I do it by myself. Hm.

I spend copious amounts of time agonizing about what the middle ground looks like and how to fit myself into it-- instead of sharing the process with the people I’m trying to find the middle ground with (though I often share it with the internet).

Now that I see that, I have to muster the courage to change my behavior accordingly. We'll see how that goes.

On Wednesday, my parents returned to California. I waved goodbye to them through the glass at the airport along with the sisters, cousins, and other relatives they left behind. It was a strange feeling, being there with those who were staying, riding home with them as things returned to normalcy.

That's what I want out of this stay in Cambodia: not an adventure, but to have a glimpse of what "normal" feels like here. And to create my own version in the brief time I have.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 2 // How to Eat a Duck Embryo, Khmer-Style

2012-12-10T20:07:00.000-08:00

Last week we went to stay at my aunt's "farm house" in Setbho to spend a day outside the dust, smog, and noise of Phnom Penh. Wherever we are, a family gathering always means rather continuous eating. It's been overwhelming. It's hard to get hungry when I'm often sweating just sitting around. The lucky part is that most meals consist of fish and rice, which means I still feel relatively healthy.

After the main part of lunch was over, and after everyone recovered a bit from the food coma, pbong tdia kohn time was announced. Also known as balut. This isn't a typical occurrence in the US, where we've become much more faint of heart, and I would usually shake my head and scamper off, but I decided to go for it this time. My 8-year-old cousin was rumored to be able to eat six or seven, which added to my motivation.

I'd always seen pbong tdia kohn eaten in the shell, but this time I saw some relatives cracking it into a bowl. Since I managed to open the egg at the wrong end (meaning the larger end, which leaves space to tuck in seasonings), I had to go this route:

It's not cute, I know. And to be honest, I only ate the yolk, which makes me feel like a cheater. I gave it another try, opening it at the correct end this time, which allowed me to use an egg cup (aka a tiny tea cup).

I was used to seeing the salt, pepper, and lime juice as seasonings for the egg, but not herbs. Herbs truly make everything better. I'm not sure whether what we used was a variant of Thai basil, or some other herb, but it was fragrant, slightly sweet, and quite a nice compliment.

Alas, once again, I failed to bring myself to try eating the little partially-formed chick inside the egg. I told this to a relative, and she gave me these tips for next time:

Make the hole just barely big enough.
Break up the egg inside with the handle of the spoon after adding the seasonings.
DON'T LOOK AT IT when eating.

The last tip is my favorite. I think the duck embryo feast was a just-this-once kind of thing, which is fine by me. I'll tuck these tips away for next time. And hope that the eggs are even younger so I won't have to think about feathers.

Dispatch from Cambodia, 1

2012-12-07T21:07:00.002-08:00

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

From Soriya Mall

I'm sitting in my uncle's pleasantly air-conditioned and WiFi'd house in Phnom Penh. I'll be here until tomorrow, when I return to my aunt's house across town, which I affectionately call the Mosquito Farm. I haven't been as itchy since I've been out of the 90-degree heat. According to my aunt-in-law, Phnom Penh is unusually warm right now-- she's usually able to wear long-sleeved shirts at this time of year. Since I'll be here until late February, I'm hoping to experience some of that weather before I leave.

So far I've traveled with my family to Battambang, Siem Reap, Angkor Wat, Pailin, Bokor National Park, Sihanoukville, Kep, Kampot. There's been a lot of time sitting in a van, crossing the country on roads of varying quality.

I have a strong attachment to Cambodia, but this trip has made me even more aware that I'm a Khmer American. Being able to speak passable Khmer and slowly learning the alphabet don't change the fact that I feel... different. At this point, it's probably smart to just accept that difference rather than keep worrying over it or fighting it or trying to fit somewhere.

In college, I wrote a poem calling myself a "second-generation mess." I'm starting to let go of it, and of the insecurity that made me call myself that, but I still have a strong feeling of being adrift, belonging nowhere. Then again, that's also the intention I set for myself, because I want to be everywhere. Emotionally, it's not as easy as it used to be, or maybe just not as easy as I once thought it would be. But I'm here, being.

One day at Angkor Wat really wasn't enough. Hope to head back for a longer stay.

Thankful to be Hopping on a Plane

2012-11-22T17:22:00.001-08:00

Santa Ana, CA

In six hours, I'll be on my way to Cambodia. My parents invited me to join them on their trip, and I couldn't refuse. It's been eight years since my first visit. Currently, the plan is to stay for three months. I'll be traveling with my parents for the first month, then I'll be on my own for months two and three. I haven't decided exactly what I'll be doing yet. Maybe I'll hole up on my uncle's farm far from internet and electricity. Maybe I'll take a trip to a climbers camp in Laos. I'm hoping to visit Vietnam and see Applesauce. Definitely want to meet the Tiny Toones youth and staff my friend Ryan has been working with in Phnom Penh. Hopefully I'll do all of these. I'll also still be on the job prowl. Who knows what could happen?

For reading, writing, and sharing.

I'm bringing a few copies of my chapbooks with me for potential sharing. I look forward to reading Yumi's long-form zine about her trip to Europe last year (follow her tumblr, she's lovely) on the plane as I get ready for my own trip. Traveling is good for an artistic reset, which really feels needed for me right now. I'm halfway through Cadillac Desert and properly fired up about water development in the west; hopefully I'll finish the book long before the trip is over. Techniques of the Selling Writer was a gift that has some great insight into fiction writing, and I'll use it to give myself a sort of DIY Grad School experience while I'm away. I'm bringing the Rough Guide to Southeast Asia on a Budget just in case I decide to do more traveling and don't have the easy access to the web that has kept me from perusing the book deeply until now.

And two notebooks. The dark blue one on the right is my thick everything-notebook, which replaced the one I lost in DC earlier this year. It's heavier, but I'm hoping that means it will also be harder to lose. I found the green notebook in my old room at my parents house, and decided to use it as a diary of what I do each day, so that at least I'll have a log of things I do. Hopefully the everything-notebook will fill up with heartier bits of writing. The last time I took a notebook to Cambodia, I stopped writing in it very much after the first week or two, and regret that I didn't try harder to at least record things. I'm going to try harder this time.

Now, off I go for a full day in transition. Making good on my blog name.

Veterans Day, Economics, and Climbing

2012-11-09T18:26:00.001-08:00

I was curious to find many pieces referring to the military in the current issue of Climbing Magazine-- and then realized that Sunday is Veterans Day. Climbing has a great article called "Invisible Wounds" by Chris Kassar which covers a Colorado-based organization called Veteran Expeditions, or VetEx. (Unfortunately the article is not yet available online.) It states: "At least one million military personnel will return home in the next five years," and "at least one in five of them will suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), yet only 35 percent will seek treatment." VetEx takes veterans on expeditions during which they get to practice some of the survival skills and feel a similar camaraderie to what they had in the military, and they're adamant that "the whole goal has really always been that therapy is a byproduct."

VetEx states on their FAQ page that they:

Don't have a set therapy agenda other than the outdoors. VetEx gets veterans outside into physically challenging, team settings. VetEx is not a wilderness therapy organization. We recognize that in the veteran community, many veterans bristle at the thought of needing healing or needing some alternative activity to begin to sort through the complex feelings of their actions and experiences when they were in uniform. The truth is, and the statistics and our own personal experiences and relationships back it up, veterans are an at risk population, and whether or not you want healing or not, you’ll get a lot out of our trips, simply by spending time with other veterans and challenging yourselves.

Their perspective on healing:

We won’t tell you what you want or what will happen on the trip, that’s your decision to figure out what you want and to create your own experience. What we’ve found, however, is that many of our participants have said that they felt the trip was a ‘healing experience’. This means something different for every participant, which is why we do not have an agenda, other than getting you outside and challenging you in a team setting with other veterans. We hope when you get home, you’ll make whatever positive steps in life make sense for you, and to the best of our ability, we’ll help you take those steps.

Will a second-term Obama Presidency see the United States engaging in fewer military efforts? Unfortunately, that seems unlikely; it seems that warfare is written into the DNA of this country. I think a part of changing that, a part of our evolution as a country, is to change our ideas about growth as a measurement of prosperity. The urge to grow is what sends us around the globe looking for resources to tap in order to feed our behemoth of an economy.

This economy is crazy and poisonous. I am an economist, and I have been fighting against the economy that is taught the way it is being taught and being practiced. I have been fighting it for almost 40 years of my life, because it’s an absurd economy that has nothing to do with real life. - Manfred Max Neef on Democracy Now

The interview I linked to is fantastic. The question is, how? What do we do to change the system we're in, when we can't see any other way? I don't have an answer for that. I have a feeling similar to what my friend Justin Woo describes in this recent post:

Our generation has no workable blueprint for struggle. The oft-imitated, never-replicated 1960s has proven to be an unworkable model – The Iraq War proceeded unabated, and Obama has left many thousands of private contractors in Iraq. The Afghanistan War continues to claim lives, despite rosy predictions to the contrary. ...

But hey, maybe the lack of blueprint is a strength. You can’t tell us we’re doing it wrong. You can’t tell us that this doesn’t fit pre-existing models – through trial and error, we’ve found that they don’t work. Maybe the key is keeping our moral and intellectual compasses active and engaged. Maybe we just need to keep listening, and trying new things, until we find something that works. And hopefully, we’ll do it before it’s too late.

His post really resonated with me because I've been spending the last few months trying hard to find a way to build a sustainable, peaceful, humane life, and feeling like I keep coming up against a wall of "this is the way the world is." And I keep thinking "but so many people are unhappy, why don't we change it?" I'm still looking for the answer to that. Along the way, I'm climbing as much as I can.

This weekend, I'll be going Joshua Tree National Park for the first time as a climber. I'm attending an event called #JTreeTweetup, co-founded by RockGrrl, whom I met at Malibu Creek State Park earlier this year. I'll meet a bunch of people for the first time, and shortly thereafter we'll trust each other with our lives.