I've decided to copy and paste one of my own personal journal entries here, in order to provide a more serious look into some of what's going on ...
Friday, Nov. 19th, 2010
It’s Friday morning, a little before 7 a.m., and I’m outside
on the porch sitting at my little table.
From the 5th floor where I sit, I can see the top of the
buildings in front of me which are about one floor shorter than mine. Beyond the roofs in front of me, in the
further distance, I can see the largest Buddhist temple, or Wat, in this part of town. Its roof is stacked, with one pointed peak at
the top, radiating a bright golden color which distinguishes itself from
amongst the rest of the surrounding building tops in my view.
Although I can honestly say that I truly feel a connection,
even in a small way, with this city, one of the most difficult things about
living here is the unavoidable stark contrasts that are in plain sight every
moment of the day. Before I moved here,
other expats told me about the obvious gap between the rich and the poor here –
the overwhelming amount of Lexus’ and Landcruisers you can find on any given
street in the city riding right along next to tuk tuks and barefooted people
holding naked babies in the dirt. But
until I saw it, I couldn’t have imagined just how prevalent the contrasts are…
and as they forewarned me, they are everywhere!
In the US, there are wealthy neighborhoods where a lack of
money is nowhere in sight, and poverty seems so distant, almost unreal in a
way. And from these neighborhoods, where
I have personally lived and worked, it’s quite easy to ignore, forget, or
simply be temporarily (or permanently) oblivious to what a single day looks
like for someone who has literally nothing.
We don’t do it on purpose of course; most of us don’t try to purposefully disconnect ourselves
from the reality that poverty & injustice exist. It just happens. We live each day, doing our own thing, going
to our job, going through our own routine, thinking about our own struggles,
whatever they may be…. and we just live in
our own reality.
But here in Phnom Penh, the stark contrasts between the rich
and poor, the haves & have-nots, are absolutely unavoidable. When I sit down to have a meal at a nice,
comfortable café by the river, I feel a mixed sense of peace and
discomfort. Peace through the fresh air,
the breeze, the sight of the water in the distance, the humming sound of the
city itself, the blowing of the fan that’s inevitably pointed near my table where
I sit in this poshy place… It feels nice
here. I feel a peace with the world and
lucky to be able to sit right here in this place, in this city, at this
moment. It’s wonderful.
Yet, the discomfort is everpresent, a creeping, unsettling
feeling because with that breezy relaxation comes children walking by my table
looking for scraps of food. An elderly
man sitting to my left on his wagon with no legs and no teeth holding out his
hat for 100 riel (10 cents). A disabled
woman who wheels herself over to my table in her wheelchair with a box of books
on her lap to sell and a sign that says, “I’m not begging, I’m working.” In no more than 10 minutes, I’ve had to turn
away at least 4 different young men selling sunglasses, without even moving
from my seat.
Who do you give money to?
Who do you help?
In the States I
rarely give money to anyone because I’m either not around anyone who is asking
for money because I am so separated from them,
or because of the simple fact that I have no idea what they will spend the
money on to be honest – I don’t want to contribute to a drug addiction, or
alcoholism, or what-not. I mean, there
has to be a reason why they are on the street, right? It has to be because of their own doing and
choices… right? Or so goes the thought process.
But here, how can I not
give anyone money? When I’m clearly
sitting at my clean café spot, eating my nicely cooked meal on my shiny place…
How can I sit here and eat while having to deny everyone around me the same
things? And how did I get to be so
fortunate anyway? Why am I lucky or elite? And am I really?
So I decide to give a little each day to people who strike
me in the moment. When we feel compelled
to give, Noman and I will look and nod at one another, and we will give. Sometimes to the elderly man with no legs, sometimes
to the child, sometimes to the woman in the wheelchair…
But yesterday, after I had already given to a few different people,
I declined to donate money to a one-legged monk maneuvering around on his
crutches to earn money for the construction of his temple. At first, I honestly felt quite justified not
to give him any money – afterall, he’s got a nice orange robe and a Wat to live
in; other people may not have those same things. But after he turned away and I sat there
watching him hobble down the street, I felt the biggest sense of guilt overtake
me. I couldn’t even give any money to a
monk???!!! What the hell! I felt
embarrassed, paranoid of the disgusted looks I was sure to be getting from the
tuk tuk drivers and café waiter who I’m convinced were thinking, how can you not give to a MONK when you clearly
have plenty to give?! Lightning
will strike me now at any moment, I’m sure of it! I thought about running after him down the
street to give him some money after all and beg his forgiveness, but I’m
distracted when yet another person walks by who is in need… and another…and
another. I lean over my table and glance
back down the road in the direction the monk was headed, and now he is
gone. Now it’s too late. The lightning will just have to come. But there is always another person, another
set of eyes I have to avoid.
Yes, the peace is definitely intertwined with the constant
discomfort. The reality that I have
enough money to eat and others do not cannot be avoided. The reality that I am now sitting here at my
little table, on the 5th floor, writing this, while knowing full
well that directly below me on this street is someone… Someone who can’t write and certainly someone
who can’t read what I’m writing. Someone
who doesn’t know when they will eat today.
Someone who doesn’t know where they will go today. A tuk tuk driver who will sit by his car,
asking HUNDREDS of people who walk by each day, “Tuk tuk my lady?” “Tuk tuk sir?” and maybe not even making a
single cent in a day, just depending on sheer LUCK who happens to need a
ride. There is a person right on this
street within one very block of me, who desperately needs to go to the doctor,
but cannot afford it. Someone who has a
child they do not know how they will be able to feed. They are
everywhere.
I’m not in my confined neighborhood in the States. I don’t have the luxury to separate the two
realities – they are both here at each moment.
But now the sun’s heat is starting to penetrate, as it’s 8
a.m. and what can I do about all of this anyway? It’s time to stop writing, and start getting
ready for the day… to experience more of the beautiful life of Phnom Penh.
