The scales are tipping...

Recently, as some of you know, things have been shifting and changing in my life.  I suppose that's not a big news flash...anyone who is doing any authentic living goes through ebbs and flows of change; it just seems like right now change is hard to track and easy to be overwhelmed by.

As I find myself further removed from Cambodia, I find myself mourning what I left there more and more.  In and for both productive and non-productive reasons.  I miss my family there.  I miss my friends.  I miss the simplicity and the reliability of life being absolutely absurd to the point of disbelief (as odd as it sounds, yes I miss it).  I miss the openness I felt with my entire community.  I miss the shared sense of responsibility and expectations.  I miss the willingness of people to help without expectation  of return.

So it's come to the point where missing those things is not just enough.  I can't continually pine after things that once were...it's time for me to start rebuilding them here, with new people.  New family.  New friends.  I'm operating under the assumption here, that "if you build it, they will come."

This begs the question, how does one go about the business of building such an integrated community?  Good question.  It definitely starts with relationships...and that's about as far as I've gotten on the formula so far.  But I've started throwing in little bits and pieces of things here and there that, I believe, are helping me become a more well rounded, well versed human being.  For instance, I've started hanging out with, and helping out, a group in my community called Transition Snoqualmie Valley.  Their focus is to address things like the economic crisis, climate change and oil dependency with local means.  They're really into permaculture and sustainable, responsible agriculture, they're really into community engagement and social responsibility, and they're really smart people.  I'm enjoying getting to know them.

I'm also working my butt of to get another promotion at work.  Where I am is not where I want to be.  I've identified a place where I think I could make some significant improvements, and I'm doing whatever I can to find myself in that place.  It's slow going, because there is a timeline (a very poorly thought out one, but a timeline nonetheless) in place that I have to.  It's an exercise of changing the system from within the system, I suppose.

I'm also growing much more intentional about my relationships.  I don't want people in my life that aren't willing to invest in me as much as I do in them.  I want people who are doing their level best to let their yes mean yes and no mean no.  I want people who operate with integrity AND a sense of adventure...socially and romantically.  I am not willing to settle for left overs when I work REALLY hard to cook up some quality offerings.  There must be balance.  I need more balance.

That's where I am...I feel unbalanced. I feel out of control in some areas and very tightly clamped down in others.  I want stability.

I need stability.

It's been a while...

Well....a lot has happened since I last posted, so I figured I should maybe catch everyone (anyone?) up that may still be reading.

It's been six months since my return from Cambodia, and I'm still not happy to be here. I feel very much like my dream was ripped away from me. Having said that, I do need to make things clear:

I have a job that I love, and am doing very well in.
I am in love, and I get to see my love. Often.
I have fantastic friends that support me unconditionally.

But I still feel like I belong in Cambodia.

I think it has been hard, obviously, for having to leave unexpectedly. But also because since I've returned, I haven't been able to get in contact with my host family through phone or email. I've tried and tried, and nothing goes through. I worry about them so much...and the love I have for them is so intense and so deep that not being able to talk to them is painful.

I also very much dislike the current state of our country (who doesn't?). I do feel that we are on the edge of a very important precipice in history, and things will either get much worse or much better--there are some of us that are working to make it better, but it seems like the people who should be leading the way (my generation) have given over to apathy, and that scares me.

Is it good that I am home? Certainly. Otherwise, I'd likely be dead now. This next phase of my life, though, is totally undefined and that scares the living daylights out of me. For decades my entire focus was getting into the Peace Corps and becoming a PCV. Now that I've done that, I need to find a pinnacle goal. And those don't come easy! I'm persistent, though, and I will find something that I am just as passionate about, and I will, eventually, achieve that goal.

In the meantime, though, I will continue to work the job I love, and grow this love I have.

All’s quiet on the Western front.

I arrived home on September 3, 2010. 

My mom picked me up at the airport, and because my bags were coming in on a different, later flight, we were able to get lunch at a nearby restaurant.  For some reason, we ended up going to Claim Jumpers.  I’m not sure if you’ve ever been to Claim Jumpers, but they have OUTRAGEOUS portion sizes (like, an entire head of lettuce for a salad) and it was overwhelming but delicious. 

After we got my bags we drove to Kirkland and visited my grandfather.  He cried, I cried.  We cried together.  Then we made the drive back to our house on the mountain.  There’s this one hill that pretty much separates rural western Washington from urban western Washington.  When we got to the bottom of the hill, overlooking the valley I grew up in, tears sprang from my eyes and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  It was like all of a sudden my entire body went, “You’re Home!”

On the day I got home I got to see a few cousins and my aunt, my other grandfather, and my best friend. 

My second day in America my dad decided it would be a GREAT idea to go to the Evergreen State Fair.  I walked in the front gate and was immediately overwhelmed by so much America in my face all at once.  It was good though, and I enjoyed spending time with my parents and one of my cousins. 

Since the 3rd, I have slowly started to readjust to the culture (the climate is taking a lot longer!).  I really miss my host family, and I am not ashamed to admit that I’ve cried more than once when talking about just how wonderful they are. 

Being back is bittersweet, but in the end it’s the best thing for me…and like I’ve said before:  sometimes the thing you have to sacrifice is the thing you’ve sacrificed so much to get.

Homeward Bound

Anyone that has worked for the government can tell you that the way the government does things rarely makes sense.  This statement definitely includes the flight path Peace Corps chose for my journey back to America.  There is a restriction they have, that they must use American carriers or other airlines partnered with the US Government for any travel arrangements purchased by a government agency. 

Because of this rule, Peace Corps ended up buying me a ticket that is $1,700 and stops in 5 stops (three of which are in three different countries).  I got curious and did my own search, and as a private citizen I can get a flight for $899 with two stops.  CRAZY! 

So get this—here is my flight plan:

Phnom Penh to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh)

In Saigon for 15 hour layover.

Saigon to Hong Kong.

Hong Kong to San Francisco.

San Francisco to Seattle. 

While I was REALLY not excited about the 15 hour layover, it did turn out to be very interesting.  Today is actually the Vietnamese Independence day!  So I got to see this crazy concert where EVERYONE was WAY excited to be Vietnamese.  And I also got to see a really cool, INSANELY long fireworks display.  As much as I didn’t want to come home, I’m glad I got to see this!

Peace and love!

So long, and thanks.

If I’ve pushed all the right buttons, this should be posting on Thursday, September 2. 

And if that is the case, then I am on my way home.

After going through what the Peace Corps doctor called the worst case of Dengue she had ever seen, and nearly dying in the process, I had a long talk with the doctor and discussed my health here in Cambodia.

The truth is, I’ve been on sick leave more than I’ve been in the classroom.  I’ve had dysentery more times than anyone NOT crossing the Oregon Trail in a wooden wagon should ever have.  I’ve had more respiratory infections than can be counted on both hands, and I’ve had monthly yeast infections in my intestines from the medication they give me that is supposed to keep me from getting sick.

Although I have made great advances in the language, and I have been accepted as a full member of my village and local community, and although my host family has embraced me as their own, it is time that I come home.  The longer I stay here the higher the risk is that I’ll contract a lifelong disease that could prevent me from doing good works in other places. 

I have loved my time here—I have grown immensely as a person and as an activist, and I am forever changed by this experience.

 

Thank you so much to all of you who have supported me on this journey.  Your prayers and positive thoughts have carried me this far, and I am ever grateful. 

Love and blessings from Cambodia,

Nikki

Dear Cambodia,

I want to thank a moment to thank you for all you’ve taught me over the last year. 

It’s impossible to enumerate all the various lessons, but I know this much is true: I will never be the same.

You’ve taught me humility and patience, things I was never good at in the States (and honestly, I’ve still got a long way to go in these areas).  You’ve taught me to go with the flow—whether the flow leads to a funeral, a wedding, or an afternoon in my hammock.  You’ve taught me the difference between want and need, and then again what true needs are.  You’ve taught me to love without reservation or condition, and you’ve taught me forgiveness down to the atomic level (not just that surface forgiveness I’ve been used to).

I want to thank you for your generosity—for a place that has been ravaged not only by my own country, but by its own people, you have given me so much.  Your people are a testament to the grace and goodness that I know resides in each and every person on this planet, if they allow it to grow.  Your people have written their names indelibly on my heart.

I want to thank you for allowing me the space and time to learn how much my family back in America means to me, both blood and chosen, and for giving me the room to love them as I love your own people.  I also want to thank you for allowing me this experience and the sure knowledge that comes with it; that I was created to ease suffering and be the compassion that is lacking in this world. 

I only hope I can do half of what you’ve done for me.  Forgive me if in my imperfection and eagerness I make a few mistakes along the way.  Just know I’m doing my best.

Rain, Rain, Don’t Go Away—we need you this dry and dusty day!

I’m sitting in my hotel room watching an epic thunderstorm rage outside, and I can hear children laughing and playing in the street below.  It’s nights like these that I am amazed at my life, and that I’ve ended up where I am. 

Being in the Peace Corps has been a lifelong dream for me—since 4th grade, at least, and now here I am, a real live Peace Corps Volunteer, loving the monsoon season in the country that has become my second home.  I hear the squeals of the kids below and I know they’re down there, swimming in the street and dancing around naked while the rain falls and the thunder crashes.  I hear their happiness and I think of all the things they don’t have, and don’t know they don’t have.  I hear their laughter and my heart melts, because I know that right now, in this moment, this is where I am meant to be, and their laughter won’t always be the soundtrack to my life. 

Rain has always been a good thing for me—it clears my head and washes away the cobwebs, helps me see what is important and what can be let go.  To the people of Cambodia rain is just as important, as the rainy season is off to a late start and the rice farmers are worried about crops.  In a way, whether we need to think straight or feed our families, the rain here does the same thing for all of us—it offers hope. 

I don’t know what the future holds for me, or for Cambodia, but I do know there’s an abundance of hope.  And that, my friends, is something that I, and this country, could use a lot more of.  So I’ll welcome the rain, and the children’s laughter, and let it remind me of all that is and all that could be.

Rockin' in the free world.

One thing that being sick with Dengue has afforded me is a greater awareness of sensation. The rash you get (or at least the rash I got) covered my entire body, from the soles of my feet to the tippy top of my head, and made me very aware of EVERYTHING that touched any tiny little part of my skin.

I slept for about 9 hours this afternoon, then forced myself to eat (I'm not hungry AT ALL, but the doc says I have to eat to get better). While I was waiting for my food to arrive, I sat on the bed in my hotel room and just rocked back and forth, noticing the way the air moved against my skin. It was very comforting. I really enjoyed just rocking back and forth in the quietness of my room, feeling my skin move and stretch...when my food arrived I was actually a little disappointed that I had to stop and answer the door.

After I ate, I rocked a little more and now that I feel all sorts of blissed out, I'm going to go back to sleep and attempt to kick this Dengue's butt in my dreams. And if that doesn't work...well....I can always rock some more.

Down with the Dengue

In my last post I wrote about how I was sick on my birthday, and how for the umpteenth year in a row my birthday pretty much sucked.  Well, shortly after I wrote that I found out that I wasn’t just laid up with some random cold, but with Dengue Fever. 

Dengue is a mosquito born illness for which there is no treatment or cure.  Its symptoms include a fever, a headache and pain in the eyes, a rash, muscle aches and pains that make it feel like your bones are breaking from the inside out, and an overwhelming desire to sleep.  Because of the bone pain, Dengue is sometimes called Bonebreak fever.  I will attest to the fact that it really does feel like your  bones are breaking. 

My fever at one point went up to 104.5, and even with meds and ice packs the lowest it went for a week was down to 100F.  I can’t tell you how miserable it is to have a fever that high when you’re in a tropical country!  It’s horrible not being able to feel warm when you’re nearly on the equator!

Already it is two weeks since my birthday, and I am starting to notice some improvement in my health—the fever left a last week, and the rash is gone, thank God, but I’m still so incredibly tired and every time I cough or move I get pains through my body.  I do have to say, that rash is something I would NEVER wish on my worst enemy.  It felt like my entire body was being ravaged by fire ants, twenty-four hours a day.  And it covered my entire body. 

Now that I’m on the mend, I’m looking forward to getting back to my village soon.  I haven’t seen my host family in two weeks and I miss them a lot.  I’m still sleeping an inordinate amount of time, but even if I’m sleeping, it will be nice to be back with my family.  The best part, I think, will be getting to hug my mom and snuggle with her while she checks my hair for lice and ticks.  It sounds so backwater, I know, but it’s the simplest little things here that remind me that I’m loved. 

Also, something I have to think about is whether I want to keep doing this.  The doctor today encouraged me to think about going home.  The fact of the matter is, each time you get dengue it gets worse and every time gets you one step closer to having hemorrhagic fever, which can cause all kinds of lovely bleeding.  The doc pointed out that I’ve been a very sick woman here in Cambodia, and it just seems like I can’t catch a break.  I know that I don’t want to go home—I am doing what I love to do, and what I believe is my purpose at this time in my life.  I also know, though, that there’s only so much abuse my body can take without impacting my ability to do good things in the future. 

I have very wise parents and friends, and they’ve all taught me that making important decisions while you’re sick/impaired/etc, is not a good idea, so for now the decision goes on the back burner.  When I’m well, and that may be another month yet, I’ll start to think about the big picture and whether or not continuing here is in my best interest. 

Until then, love and blessings from Cambodia.

And this year for my birthday…

Ever since my 16th birthday, when I spent the day at the ICU with my grandma, who was dying of lung cancer, my birthdays have sucked.  With two exceptions, they have sucked royally.

And this year is no different.

August 6, some of the K4 trainees came to my house for their Kampuchea Adventure.  I think they had a good time….I HOPE they did, anyway.  We kept it really low key and I gave them a chance to relax and just NOT do training stuff for a few days (not to mention the fact that my bones really hurt and I didn’t want to do stuff), and then I fed them spaghetti and macaroni and cheese—things I craved a LOT during training.  When they left on the morning of the 8th, I felt not so great but figured it was just fatigue from the new exercise class I’d started with my mom combined with the extra effort of playing hostess and translator all weekend.

BUT sometime in the middle of the night between the 8th and 9th I woke up with a fever of 103 (SURPRISE!!!) that wouldn’t go down below 100 no matter what medicine, or how much I took.  I also had a really nasty cough.  Three and a half days later, with no relief from the fever AT ALL (and one of the docs here saying, “just eat some soup, you’ll be fine.”) my host mom forced me to lay down with a block of ice on my head and one on my chest.  That helped a little, but by that time I was in so much pain that anything touching my skin made me sob uncontrollably.  

Today is August 12, my 27th birthday, and now on top of all the other stuff I’ve already written, I’m dealing with the fact that I have probably coughed my way into a hernia.  OH JOY. 

I don’t know what I will be doing for my birthday next year, but I’m guessing whatever it is will be great compared to this one.