Reputations

My friend, who owns and operates a cafe with her husband, dreamt of me and another frequent patron. “His was different than his body. It was the head of a cow,” she explains, “but it was him. It was his body.” I think of minotaurs and mythology. “Then you stabbed him! But he didn't bleed. Then he ran down that way, on this road,” she points west. We laugh together, the patron and I exchange glances of caution: are you a demon I am supposed to kill? Or am I the demon?

I see this as a bizarre, maybe farfetched metaphor for my place in my village, my home for over 10 months now. I wonder daily what my reputation is here and how people perceive me; standing on the brink between paranoia and ignorance. I want to know while I never want to know. A paradox?

I worry when people see me sitting for a few hours in a cafe plugged into the wifi and browsing social media, scoping out new movies, shows, books, pursuing new educational interests and Netflix. Do they think I'm a gaping doorstop?

Whenever there's a rainstorm and private classes are sort of swept away like everything else, I feel a pang I'm not there for my community like I “should be.” I think I have yet to figure out what “should be” means in my context, for my own sanity. I almost want to ask my community members when I feel a twinge of judgment: “what do you think I should be doing?”

I'm really, really all ears at this point. I want to know where my ideas meet theirs. That's the point not only of cultural exchange but also of sustainable development. What feels like yours and mine that we can strongly make “ours”?

As school ends prematurely, as often is the case in Cambodia, I want to revamp my vibe here and stretch my arms into the heart and soul of my village. The students can only know and do so much at 16 years of age versus asking a mother, an uncle, a grandmother of 10. What do they think? Where do they see their country going?

So, I open my schedule and I let the kids who want to learn, learn. I forgive them as they forgive me and we work together. I bring paint and paper, they bring hope. I bring a speaker, they bring a future. I bring nothing, they bring adaptability. I look past my worry of reputations and ‘tve la’a, ban la’a’: do good, get good. That's all we can really do, right?