The gift of presence

What i’m up to

It’s rainy season here in Cambodia and I love listening to the music of rainfall and watching it pour down outside. So much of living in this country reminds me of my childhood and my island homeland. Fortunately for me, I haven’t had to worry too much about getting soaked or flooded out by it so far.

I’ve been working on a lot of creative projects lately, doing some design work for a place that is coming soon to Phnom Penh, as well as teaching myself some new software and systems. I’ve temporarily taken up the practice of yoga along with one of my sisters and I’ve also enjoyed swimming so much that my elbows have started to complain!

Besides that, I continue to spend time with friends, explore opportunities, meet new people, enjoy so much live music, and enjoy delicious food and drinks. Just yesterday, among other things, I spent the afternoon playing with cats at a cat cafe while getting things done on my computer, and then later I went bachata dancing with some new friends and then we went out to karaoke until, well, the wee hours of the morning. It was brilliant.

what i’m thinking

Today is my one year anniversary of arrival in Cambodia. Packing up a life in the middle of the pandemic was difficult, scary, and sad, particularly since throwing a large farewell party was entirely impossible and even getting to see and say goodbye to friends individually was implausible.

I knew what I was choosing to leave but I had no idea what I was flying towards. I didn’t know who I might never see again (and that’s still a reality I have to contend with) between the pandemic and life normally. I didn’t know how well I might be able to eat as a Celiac in the new place – knowing I wouldn’t likely go hungry for long, but as a foodie, realising I might nevertheless face a very restrictive plate of options. I knew that since I first went off to uni, I have consciously and consistently chosen to be physically near or in a place where I could at least visit with my siblings as much as possible over the years, but now I was choosing to go far away and with no concrete idea of when or how we will reunite. I knew that technology has increased since I moved all around the world as a kid and every move was a death, but I didn’t know if this would be different or not for all that the world has continued to evolve and devolve. I knew I was coming here for six months to a year, but also that *everything* could change in the span of a heartbeat; in a single breath.

I’ve said it before and I say it again now, I felt like Elsa from Frozen II who is haunted by this something that keeps her awake at night until she finally just has to run off into the unknown to find and face it. One of my friends and colleagues had actually randomly given me a little Elsa figurine for Christmas, before I had even accepted the job relocation – and she is one of the few items I slipped into my luggage to bring with me like a talisman.

Now twelve months later, I find myself still here and still facing the unknown – acknowledging perhaps just how much we all live alongside but ignore or hide from the vast unknown around us all the time. Much more comfortable in the space of unknown than perhaps I ever have felt before. I still don’t know when I will be able to see most of my family again, but I had the gift of seeing my brother and sister-in-law on this side of the world after years of pandemic-produced separation. And I hope that perhaps sometime sooner than later I will at least visit again with family, if not also friends. While the advance in technology doesn’t equal being physically present with people you love, what a difference it is to be able to video chat with high quality video and sound at whim, at no extra cost. To just pop in from around the world to read aloud to nieces and nephews; to do yoga or stationary bike or swim “together;” to call just to cry, laugh, or talk —or a combination thereof! I am so grateful for this advancement in technology that allows me to allay the sorrows of separation and still enjoy being present to a surprising degree even from afar.

As others who have lived in many different places growing up often understand, I find it quite difficult to imagine being any place for any long amount of time. There was a time in my life where I was a different place at least every month. It made a year long commitment to one place sound epic, and more than a year was unfathomable. After uni, I worked really hard to learn to stay in one place for five years despite how homesick I was for elsewhere, how foreign I felt, and how many things I found difficult or downright scary. And then I packed up my life and moved somewhere entirely different to try it out. I didn’t go there with a time in mind besides “I want to at least survive a year here.” And when I did, I created stability for myself in the construct of saying, “I’m here until I’m not.” Which let me actually, simply be there, in that place, and to root down and extend my arms out like tree branches; to grow and flourish.

Looking back at the last twelve months of rooting myself here, at the surprising choice to unleash myself from the security of the job that originally brought me here and would have led me away by now, I still find it impossible to quite say how long I’m looking at. I can’t do it any more now than before! But I will say this again for myself: I’m here until I’m not. And I will be. So, to the next and latest unknown; hello my strange friend and well met.

This post is a snippet from a newsletter I originally published on Substack. You can read the rest of the publication there.