How to Love Someone From Around the World

Today, I felt more heartsick than I had in a very long time. I missed my family across the world, felt selfish thoughts about wanting them to miss me back, and shed a few tears while looking at pictures of their smiling faces. But after I had gotten over my phase of self-pity and wishing that I could hear them again, I realized it did me no good. I had gotten nowhere, only felt sorrier that I had made no difference in the time that I had left them. Where does that put me? I have thought nowhere for a long time, that I couldn't make any significance if I wasn't helping in a third world country, that I would continue to feel this way until I saw them again. That's not what the trip was meant to teach us. Yes, it's okay to miss them and feel sorry for yourself every once in a while, but the purpose of the trip? There is a bigger meaning that until now, I didn't even begin to think of. It's to send you further. Not keep you stationary, not put you in a place of pity or sorrow, but make you believe in your worth and ability to make a difference in the world. I thought that meant I had to be traveling, that I had to be working with foreign people and in a foreign country, but no.

It's to find the capacity within yourself to love, to have a purpose, to make a true difference.

Does that mean I will cease to think of the children and experiences that I found in Cambodia? No, not at all. I continue to think about them every day. It means that I will move on, that I will find another purpose in myself to give back to others, whether it be here in my own little bubble or in the massive, exciting world. Don't take this ability that you have for granted, because you'd be selling yourself short. This ability is in each and every one of us, and it only took me this long to truly realize that.

"You may be out of my sight, but you will never be out of my heart."

Exactly one month ago, I was spending my first night in Cambodia. I had never met my Cambodian family, not experienced the love that I didn't know if I was able to feel, or felt the sadness in my heart upon leaving.

Now, as I sit here, trying to re-initiate myself with my "average" life every single day, and always, constantly hoping and planning to go back someday, I think about how life-changing these last few weeks have been. I met people who I will never forget, and saw things that will continue to inspire me for the rest of my life. I found my second home, a place which I will always think about, and found my other family, ones who I know will never forget me.

The little things in life that I worried about before are no longer as important, and I can use that time to do something so much more productive and positive, like raising money for the kids. Thank you again for all of the support you gave me throughout my journey, and this is me, signing off, on my last blog for a long time.

Family

Home

As I write the heading to this blog, Home, I think about the meanings it has. Seeing my mom and my dad at the airport for the first time in two and a half weeks, hugging my little sister, all the while thinking of the family I have just left.

No, that's not the right word. I will never leave them, and I will go back to them someday, whether it be in a year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. I have two families, who I will love forever and always, and both will have places in my hearts for the remainder of my life.

This is a short blog, in ending to this journey, but there will be more. I am sure of it.

Thank you for all of your support in me. Whether you donated to my cause or were just a random person on the airplane, wishing our group good luck, thank you.

The last good-bye

Return Trip

We got back to the Tattoo Guesthouse. I packed, showered, dressed, and ate, all like a perfectly normal human being, but on the inside, I was breaking down and becoming ecstatic at the same time. I hated the fact that I was leaving my other family here at the Tattoo Guesthouse: Pia, Liap, Da, Ti, Ti, Jan, and Beat. I hated the fact that the trip was over so soon. And I hated knowing that their hearts were hurting as well.
But I loved knowing that I would be seeing my family again. And I loved that I was traveling once more. But I wished that I could see the kids one more time before we left.
As we began saying our final good-byes to the staff, Beat began crying. She began working there in the middle of our stay, and Nikko and I had gotten very close with her. We were the first customers she ever got to know intimately, and I hope she will remember us. She is so little, littler even than me, and I hugged her as tightly as I could. I will always remember their hospitality at the Tattoo Guesthouse, and how they treated us as if we were their own. How we could laugh together easily, smile easily, and had our own inside jokes. How we could tease each other lovingly, even though we couldn't always understand the other.
I hugged each and every one of them, and waved until we couldn't see them anymore.
I cried silently in the van, and at the same time I comforted Nikko and Ava. We had Raksmey with us in the van, to say good-bye to Lisa-Marie at the airport, and she brought gifts from some of the kids. A few of us received handmade bracelets.
We pulled up to the airport, and I thought about my experiences with the kids, and as I was thinking, I could have sworn that I saw Heang peaking out behind one of the concrete pillars. I sighed and knew I was seeing things, but as we got closer, I saw Houen as well, and Srey Neat, and I breathed out. I wasn't seeing anything. They were there.
We screamed, and smiled, and laughed, and pounded on the windows, wanting to get to them as quickly as we could. We piled out of the van, and were greeted with hugs, and kisses on the cheek, and huge smiles. I ran straight to my boys and pulled them into a hug. It was the happiest moment I have ever had.
Immediately, kids began pulling out gifts for us. They were all dressed up in their nicest clothes, and they had brought things for us. But those weren't the gifts in my eye. Seeing my Cambodian family again, and for the last time before we left, was the best gift I have ever gotten, better than any material thing that you could have given me.
We walked into the airport, with the kids still outside. We finished getting our bags chequed, and ran to the windows. Our hands pressed up agains the glass that separated us, mouthing to each other that we loved them, the tears began again.
This time, it was Sambo who broke me down. This was the boy who is the smiliest, happiest, person, the last person in the world I expected to cry. But to see his face, with his silent tears running down his face, as I pressed my hands against the glass in my attempts to reach them, I began to cry. Houen, Heang, Raksmey, and Srey Neat surrounded me on the other side. We cried together, and told each other that we loved each other THIS much, with our arms stretched out wide, and I smiled in spite of my tears. I love these children so much, and I can't ever say it enough.
Hauling our backpacks up the escalator, CPO ran with us along the huge glass windows. Ava, Mallory, Nikko, Zoe and I crowded the last sliver of window at the top, and said our final good-byes. We walked slowly away, as the last of our bittersweet tears ran down our faces.
I will always remember them.

Eye-openers

Day 11

This was probably the hardest day here. Yes, yesterday was hard, leaving the kids, but today? Today was our first day away from them.
We did so many fun things today, which of course were fun, but I found myself wishing that I could be sharing it with my family: both here and in Colorado. I wish they could see the richer part of Phnom Penh, the splendor of the Royal Palace, and even the inside stores.
One of our experiences today was a cooking class. Our instructor was a graduate from a program called Friends. This program takes kids off of the streets and educates them in different fields, so they can earn a living. This man was well-spoken, and he could cook very, very well. He was very kind, and very funny, and I can only hope that more kids in Phnom Penh and in the slums can get chances like he had as well.

Day 12

Although today was a more quiet one, it was still an eye-opener for me. At the one bathroom-break that we took, there were kids selling fruit, fried grasshoppers, and fans. I wanted so much to buy things from them when I saw their faces, wide-eyed and innocent, but I knew that they needed to be in school, learning for their futures. It made me think of the kids at CPO. The little boys running around half-naked made me think of my baby boy, Roon. One of the girls reminded me of Srey Neath. And one boy that I began talking to had the same smile as Houen.

Now, everywhere I see, even in the littlest of things, it reminds me of those kids. I saw morning glory at the market, and thought about how we planted it in the garden that we made, and also worked on with Ranot and others. If I see a woman wearing a kroma on her head, I see Mama. I know that I will never be able to forget these children that have made such an impact on my life, and I hope that I have done the same to theirs. This eye-opening day made me realize this. I will never forget Sopia, the blind boy with the amazing way with words. I think about them, even in the strangest of places, with the strangest of triggers, and I know that I always will.

Day 13

We started by getting up at sunrise. We drove to Angkor Wat, a beautiful temple, that looked so picturesque that it could have just been a painting on the wall.

As the day went on, and we toured more temples, my favorite was Bayon. It had multiple towers, each with four faces on it. It was originally Buddhist, with the faces being Buddha, but it was converted to Hinduism, and unlike any of the other temples where Hindus took the Buddha statues, they left these ones be, for they saw them as the faces of one of their own gods, Visnu. This to me was amazing to think that the two rivaling religions could have something common together, each worshipping something similar, and yet hate each other at that time. I feel like I may have done that before. Disliked someone because they wore my same pants, or wore the same hairstyle, most in particular; my younger sister, Cayla.

I know that I won't do that again. This trip has changed me, in more ways than that. I will no longer be as selfish, or as vain. I know that I can't change those parts of me totally, and I don't want to. I just know that I am forever different, and forever a better person than I was before.

The hardest thing in the world is to say good-bye.

Day 9

We finished getting running water today. That in itself is a great accomplishment here, but it had another sort of satisfaction in it. To see Mama's face when she turned it on and see it work, and to see that they are so proud to have this running water.

We played with the kids all day, knowing that it was the last regular day at the orphanage. We laughed as much as we could, smiled as much as our mouths could handle, and hugged people until we had to let go.

I got more stories today. The two of them link together.

My two boys, Houen and Heang, are cousins. Houen is 15 years old, and Heang is 12.

They both came to the orphanage in 2001, when Houen was 4 years old, and Heang had just turned 2. They lived by themselves, on the streets of Phnom Penh, taking care of one another as best as they could. They begged for everything; food, clothes, money. They were not even old enough to be in school.

At that age, I was with my parents constantly. Under their care, with a constant supply of everything that I needed. Houen and Heang lived with what they might be able to get each day, which may have been nothing. After Houen finished telling me this, I asked if he was happy right now. Here, in the orphanage. He replied with a smile, and a yes. It was a sincere smile, and I know that he is truly happy where he is.

Day 10

It started out as a bittersweet day. We were so excited to be going to the orphanage and give them our hugs and love, but I was sad to be driving up, because it would be the last time we would drive up to the orphanage that has become our family.

We arrived, and carried the party supplies into the office. We quickly brought out craft supplies, balloons, and silly string. We were filling up balloons with air and water for at least an hour, and had "volleyball" with balloons for the next half hour. The kids began getting ready for their show, and the girls put on makeup for everyone who performed, even the boys. And the show began.

I have never seen something so cute and amazing. The boys did a dance that was sort of a more modern dance, skinny jeans, Bieber flips and all. Then the girls did a traditional dance. They were all so good and beautiful and graceful, and I couldn't keep my eyes away from their costumes. Gold headdresses, silk wraps, they looked so good.

Then we ate. The kids ate fried chicken, lettuce, cucumbers, carrots, some sort of sauce, rice, and milk, and for dessert: doughnuts. They loved it. Smiles were passed around the table. I smiled too, because I knew it would be a happy-sad time for the rest of the night.

The weather imitated our feelings. It was raining, but the sun still shone through. We were crying and wailing on the inside, but somehow found a way to be genuinely happy and smiling on the outside.

As soon as it stopped raining, the dance party started. Soon, though, it sort of broke off into volleyball, dance partying, and arts-and-crafts. It wound down, and we went into the office to bring out the glow supplies, as it was getting darker. Glow balloons, glow sticks, everything glow, complete with party hats and noise-makers. The kids loved it. Then we parted, showing our biggest present of the day. A huge frame, filled with a collage of pictures of us and the kids, and our time there. By then, it was around 7:00. We left around 8:00.

I don't know who started, or when, but the sadness began there. To see the boys cry, who said they wouldn't, made me cry harder. To see Ava in her huddle, with her closest family there, crying as hard as she ever has. And the hug that must have lasted a half-hour between me and Houen. He said he wouldn't cry. We both were crying our eyes out. How could we leave these children that were our family?

Heang. Heang. He gave me the best gift I have ever gotten in my entire life. A package, filled with a pencil, an eraser, a card, and a photograph. I will keep this photograph forever. It is of my two boys, Heang and Houen, doing a dance, both laughing and smiling as big as I've ever seen. Filled with joy.

None of us were very joyous that night. Even my baby boy, Roon, caught on eventually. Crying, with his green balloon wrapped around his hand, I held him in my arms. He hugged me for the last time, before I never saw him again. He left. To go back to his mother, and I never got to say good-bye.

In the tuk-tuk, we never stopped hugging our family. My brothers, Houen and Heang, ran with us as hard and long as they could. I held their hands until I could not anymore. I waved until their glowing lights couldn't be seen to us anymore. And it began to rain. As we cried, the world cried with us. As we passed parties on the street, laughter, and smiles, I asked myself this question over and over. How does life continue when you are so sad and heartbroken? I will never know the answer to my question.

I did hear something that made me feel almost guilty for being so sad. "Don't cry because you are leaving, smile because you have been there." But I couldn't smile. Not through my tears. Not as I tried to calm myself in the tuk-tuk. Not as I listened to my friends cry.

I will never, never forget these children. They have a special place in my heart, and I can't ever tell them enough how much I love them. The hardest thing in the world is to say good-bye.

Day of Happiness and Heartwrench

Day 7

Nikko had a really good idea to build a clothesline so that the kids wouldn't have to use the fence to dry their clothes and so that we could fix the fence. Well, the work took longer than I imagined, though it wasn't harder than I thought it was going to be. It was very hot, hotter than any of the other days, and I lost more weight than I need to gain, in sweat. We worked through fire ants, hot weather, and drenched faces, but it was all worth it in the end. Why? The satisfaction of knowing that we helped improve their living situation, and that they thanked us when it was done.

After lunch, we split into groups, one to de-lice kids, and one to continue working on the clothesline ground. I was first de-licing boys for an hour and a half, and then went into the back and worked with the others. We finished in time so that we could go back and play with the kids. I got closer with Heng, a 12-year old boy who has the most amazing eyes in the world. I have no Cambodian brothers or sisters yet, at least not through words, but they are all my family.

Day 8

Last night, there was a room check, in order to make sure that our rooms were clean and there was no trash. Mine, Anna's, and Nikko's room was the cleanest, and as a reward, we got to go the Russian Market. It was a whole different story than the other market, which was open-air and unorganized and somewhat smelly. The Russian Market was indoors, very much organized, and the vendors spoke much better English. In one area, there was a clothing section. I got amazingly comfortable pants, and a Cambodian silk scarf. Both blue. We got the food for the kids a little bit easier than at the other market, though the prices were a little bit higher.

We went straight from there to the market to the orphanage. Today we had much more time to play with the kids, and there wasn't as much work to do today, at least for me, Nikko and Anna. We did work on the fence a little bit though.

We played a game called Frog, which is basically tag, but you are on the ground (stage) hopping like a frog. There was also another game, which was kind of like Heads Up 7 Up. You are on two teams, and  an older kid, either Red or Rot, covers your eyes and a person from the other team comes up and hits your hand, and then you have to guess who it was. It gets more confusing from there.

We made a slip-and-slide from a huge tarp and water and soap. It was so fun to see all of the little naked boys run around and push each other into the soapy water and laugh so hard they nearly started coughing.

Someone brought out the nail-polish, and we were doing that for hours. I did more boys' nails than I did the girls. Everyone was walking around with colorful nails and crazy, messy designs. It was great to see everyone laughing and comparing and pointing and laughing some more.

Today was also heartwrenching for me. My baby boy, Roon, has dark hair like the Cambodian he is, but on top, it looks like he got caramel-colored highlights. But it's not. It's a sign of malnutrition, and now, everywhere I look, I see a child with the same colored hair. Every smile I see on my boy's face, no matter how happy he is, I know that he is not getting what he needs. He doesn't eat his vegetables, not enough chicken, only rice and candy since I've been with him. No matter how many smiles I see on each malnourished child, I know that they do not have enough.