Saturday, August 15, 2009

Fear vs. Curiosity

I think there's definitely something to be said for Fear of the Unknown, even though I think its losing the battle.

One week ago, which seems like an eternity in itself, I left Asia to embark on yet another unknown adventure. As I have done many times before, I left behind friends, family, and someone I love. My mother comforted me in saying that I had made this move before and that I was equipped with the physical and mental tools needed to take the next step. I'm not sure if that is a good or bad thing.

All of us nomads are well aware of our blessings and our curses. The blessings and oppurtunities to see what most people will never see, to experience daydreams and live out our life ambitions are at the top of my list for why I do what I do, why I am who I am. The top of my list of Traveling Curses would look something like this:

1. Being seperated for long periods of time from my friends, family and loved ones.
2. Living out of a small backpack with little or no privacy.
3. The almost impossibility of sustaining relationships due to frequent changing of countries.
4. Giving up material possesisons.
5. No hot showers.

Most of those I am fine with, or have learned to cope with, or have learned to cherish. Recently though, I've been wondering if human beings really can be equipped with the ability to leave a comfortable life passively, or if it's some sort of mental defect that was bestowed upon me at birth. Is it a good thing to not be afraid of the unknown? Or to pretend that I'm not even though I am petrified. I can honestly say that I have been afraid before every big move I have ever made. That means it's not Fear that keeps me home, but simply that my curiosity is stronger than my fear of the unknown.

Curiosity is a strange companion. It will find me when I am satisfied with life and pry me out of there as fast as it can. It is always near, always itching to move, learn, grow, push, run, jump, and crash into streetlights. It is addicted to adventure. Curiosity is selfish and will not compromise. It does not bind itself to people or places, it steers clear of love, it invites trouble to tea and its motives are unquestionable because there is no logical answer anyway.

I have leapt agian with Curiosity as my only guide. As I sit and reflect on my life and how I have come to be who I am, I look out the window to see the green hills, blue sky and leafless trees of Nelson, New Zealand. The crisp August chill catches me off guard when I venture out of my blankets, but the air is clean and my peace of mind spreads further with every hot cup of tea and friendly smile. My boyfriend Haydin's family has been so kind as to take me in and treat as one of their own, and for that I will be forever grateful. Curiosity has been forced into remission while I stay here and make some money to fuel my travel habits. Until then it will bide its time, it will be patient, it will wait.

But someday it will strike and at its mercy, I will uproot myself once again and the battle between Fear and Curiosity rages on. If your curiosity is screaming at you too, please feel free to join in.
My Curiosity and I welcome you.

Fear vs. Curiosity

I think there's definitely something to be said for Fear of the Unknown, even though I think its losing the battle.

One week ago, which seems like an eternity in itself, I left Asia to embark on yet another unknown adventure. As I have done many times before, I left behind friends, family, and someone I love. My mother comforted me in saying that I had made this move before and that I was equipped with the physical and mental tools needed to take the next step. I'm not sure if that is a good or bad thing.

All of us nomads are well aware of our blessings and our curses. The blessings and oppurtunities to see what most people will never see, to experience daydreams and live out our life ambitions are at the top of my list for why I do what I do, why I am who I am. The top of my list of Traveling Curses would look something like this:

1. Being seperated for long periods of time from my friends, family and loved ones.
2. Living out of a small backpack with little or no privacy.
3. The almost impossibility of sustaining relationships due to frequent changing of countries.
4. Giving up material possesisons.
5. No hot showers.

Most of those I am fine with, or have learned to cope with, or have learned to cherish. Recently though, I've been wondering if human beings really can be equipped with the ability to leave a comfortable life passively, or if it's some sort of mental defect that was bestowed upon me at birth. Is it a good thing to not be afraid of the unknown? Or to pretend that I'm not even though I am petrified. I can honestly say that I have been afraid before every big move I have ever made. That means it's not Fear that keeps me home, but simply that my curiosity is stronger than my fear of the unknown.

Curiosity is a strange companion. It will find me when I am satisfied with life and pry me out of there as fast as it can. It is always near, always itching to move, learn, grow, push, run, jump, and crash into streetlights. It is addicted to adventure. Curiosity is selfish and will not compromise. It does not bind itself to people or places, it steers clear of love, it invites trouble to tea and its motives are unquestionable because there is no logical answer anyway.

I have leapt agian with Curiosity as my only guide. As I sit and reflect on my life and how I have come to be who I am, I look out the window to see the green hills, blue sky and leafless trees of Nelson, New Zealand. The crisp August chill catches me off guard when I venture out of my blankets, but the air is clean and my peace of mind spreads further with every hot cup of tea and friendly smile. My boyfriend Haydin's family has been so kind as to take me in and treat as one of their own, and for that I will be forever grateful. Curiosity has been forced into remission while I stay here and make some money to fuel my travel habits. Until then it will bide its time, it will be patient, it will wait.

But someday it will strike and at its mercy, I will uproot myself once again and the battle between Fear and Curiosity rages on. If your curiosity is screaming at you too, please feel free to join in.
My Curiosity and I welcome you.

Devastation and Hope

I have two stories to share: one is a story of devastation and one is of hope.

Today Haydin and I went to Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Choeung Ek Killing Fields in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. As with my visit to the Auschwitz Concentration Camp in Poland, I find myself once again searching for words to describe the indescribable. Perhaps a little history to fill our heads and fuel our hearts is a good way to start...

In 1975, after a bloody, five-year long civil war between the Khmer Republic and the Kymer Rouge (the revolutionary faction), Pol Pot and the Kymer Rouge emerged victorious and "liberated" the Cambodian people. During the war, many people from villages had fled to the cities for protection from falling bombs and open warfare. Hours after their victory, the Kymer Rouge proceeded to start rounding up Republic officers, soldiers, officials, diplomats, and educated men, women and children who were either from the cities or had fled there during the war. The goal primarily being to wipe out humanity and start over again with poor, uneducated people who would not question the new regime.

The atrocities committed are astronomical. Tuol Sleng, formerly a school, turned into a prison for interrogation, torture, deprivation and death. There are pictures on the walls, hundreds of pictures, of the men, women and children who suffered beyond what I can even imagine. The look in their eyes tells the story of their plight: fear, anxiety, confusion, humiliation, pain, pride, defiance, strength, and even a few weak smiles. I like to think that the smiles were reflecting their spirit within.

There were seven survivors out of the 20,000 people taken from the prison to the Choeung Ek Killing Fields, fifteen kilometers outside the city. There, after weeks, months, or even years in the prisons, they were taken to the field and killed simply for being a doctor or born in the wrong city not in a Khmer Rouge province. After four years the genocide was stopped, mainly by the Vietnamese army, and the realities and truths surfaced. In those few years over three million people were executed, which is almost three hundred innocent deaths per day.

Today was a rollercoaster of emotions for me. I went through stages of anger and hatred to pure shock and deep saddness. I walked around with a numbness one can only feel when being truly overwhelmed. I was frustrated because I feel I should have learned something about this in school and felt very uneducated and ill-informed. I wanted to scream at the cruelty of the greedy few who destroy this beautiful world in their quest for power. I wanted to give everything to the families who suffered and lost. Every single Cambodian has a story to tell, thier wounds still healing from the horrors they endured. This tradgedy must never be lost or forgotten, and we must learn from the past so as not to repeat it in the future.

The hope I can offer comes in the ever-enduring spirit of the people of Cambodia. They are making their way back into the developing country it once was forty years ago. Our tuk-tuk driver, Softya, was a ray of light on such a dark, cloudy day. He is teaching himself English and his smiles and friendship were exactly what I needed to hold back the tears. On the way to the Fields he stopped at his house to introduce us to his wife and six year-old daughter, and beaming proudly, introduced us to them. He gives me hope for a prosperous Cambodian future, one of solidarity and of peace.

This day has forever changed me, and I will awaken each morning with a new appreciation for what I have been handed in life, and how lucky I truly, truly am.

***If you would like some more information and don't have time to visit Cambodia, I would highly suggest a few books:A Cambodian Prison Portrait. One Year in the Khmer Rouge's S-21 by Vann Nath, I have read this short book, and is written by one of the seven survivors of the Tuol Sleng Prison. First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers by Loung Ung. I haven't had a chance to read this yet but it has come highly recommended by many friends.