The trees are doffing their drab, daily clothes--and bringing out their ballgowns.

And the lights go out and the world goes silent.

I know this is probably one of the most absurd things I can say, but I'm really going to miss power outages.

Yes, power outages.

I'm not going to miss having outages during class, or the feeling like I'm going to drown in my own sweat, or having the electricity go out when I need to work--but there's still something magical about everything suddenly going dark except the stars.

In one instant the world goes dark and silent. Fans stop thumping, lights go out, televisions stop, radios go out, and you're left with birds twittering in the trees and the hum of voices. Above, the moon shines, a luminous orb, and the stars are no longer obscured by all the light below.

There's something even more magical about writing or reading by candlelight, as the scent of cinnamon and honey drifts on the natural wind--I do so love scented candles. Then the candles cast flickering shadows and your flickering silhouette on the wall. If you press your nose to the window-screen you can—on a good night—smell the rain and the leaves in the trees. Suddenly every smell, every sound, has more beauty and more meaning.

I love electricity—air conditioners, computers, televisions, lights, and more. But sometimes I still think I was meant to live in a different time—a time without the rush of traffic, the smell of car exhaust, the beating of ceiling fans, the glare of light pollution, and flickering television lights. Maybe I was meant for a time when people wrote by hand, by candlelight, in silence late at night with just their flickering shadows to keep them company. And I catch a little glimpse of that when the power goes out.

But that won’t happen as often in the US. And as odd as this is, I’m going to miss it.

Today I Saw...

Today I saw a man crouched at the side of the road, muttering to himself. I don't know his story--but it looked like a sad one.

Today I saw several old, wooden houses--houses that are everywhere in Cambodia--made of scraps of wood with rust-streaked tin roofs filled with holes.

Today I saw children in their black and white uniforms riding bicycles and packed seven-in-a-tuktuk on their way to school.

Today I saw two wedding processions, with a little boy and a little girl dressed in stiff silks and looking uncomfortable leading the procession. They carried fake silver bowls in their hands. Behind them walked the wedding party, dressed in their finest dress. Behind them walked the rest of the fruit-procession, husbands and wives--husbands in their daily clothing, wives dressed in their wedding clothes of lacy blouses and silk skirts.

Today I saw a Chinese hearse of sorts, one with golden and red dragons coiling along the side of the vehicle. Loud wailing sounds emanated from the speaker at the top of the hearse. Around the coffin sat monks robed in saffron and nuns in white. Gold pieces of paper and confetti blew in the breeze and the car exhaust as nuns threw them out of the hearse.

Today I saw monks in their brilliant robes walking from house to house, giving blessings and collecting money and food.

Today I saw a little, one-room stilt-house perched out in the middle of a field of waterlillies.

Today I saw an old sewage lake, filled with waterlillies and brilliant green.

Today I saw a funeral-tent, made up of black and white.

Today I saw little girls skipping, waving their arms, and talking to their friends as they made their way to school.

Today I saw a yellow school building, old and worn with the years.

Today I saw new apartment buildings, a sports car, the new mall, and severe poverty. Today I saw sad faces--and smiling ones.

Today I saw Cambodia.

(Melodramatic, but hey, who doesn't love writing melodrama?)

Things to Remember and Never Forget

When I look outside my bedroom window I see a burst of green. In the event that the wind is blowing, the trees rustle and send water-apples falling down onto the tin roof below. Sometimes a jack-fruit falls and a noise like a firing gun fills the air. Birds make their homes in the trees--the two birds with blue feathers and the flicky tails that seem to enjoy crashing headfirst into windows, the great black-and-orange birds that caw loudly, the never seen bird that always seems to think that midnight is a good time to whistle, the little white birds that make their little, circular nests in lower trees, and the little brown finches that fill all of Cambodia. Every time I look out my window I can see the little birdies hopping around in the green, green trees.

In the rainy season the leaves glisten. In the dry season they become coated with dust--but they never fall, and the birds never leave.

~~~

Sitting at my desk, I focus on the text before me. The Vietnam War, Winston Churchill's death, and other events of the 20th century...Suddenly with a whir of noise, a bright green blur appears in front of me, flapping furiously. Soon a little birdie sits on my hand, eyeing my textbook with hungry eyes (at least he has good taste). Then, a moment later, another whir of noise and something lands on my shoulder, digging little claws into my shoulder. Marshy nibbles at my neck as Tollers tries to eat my schoolbook and I attempt to read.

~~~

Geckos chirp.

~~~

Sweat drips down my back as I walk rapidly through the market aisles, dodge past two tourists, and--mustering all my self-resolve--keep from barging in as I hear a tourist getting ripped off. I pass piles of t-shirts, dresses hanging all lumped together, jewelry in masses of reds, greens, and purples, Khmer instruments, and so much more. Smells of iced coffee, durian, noodles, and fried bananas float through the air.

Durian, Fish-massage, and Coffee-in-a-bag

So the wonderful Meow has suggested to me that we both make lists of things we want to do before leaving Cambodia.

My list is very long.

However, despite the length of our lists, Meow and I got off to a good start yesterday when we headed to the market and ate...durian. Known for smelling like your brother's rolled-up-not-clean gym socks after being left in the corner of his room for a few weeks, durian isn't exactly popular among the foreign population. I actually have had it before, however, so I knew that it wasn't quite as ominous as most seem to think. Both Meow and I--biting into the mushy fruit--found that, well, people have exaggerated. Not to say that it's any good. It's not. Soon we both had a rather peculiar and disgusting aftertaste in our mouths--but at least it didn't taste like my brother's socks. Not that bad at all.

Secondly we drank coffee out of a bag. I love this. Good, Khmer coffee with sweetened condensed milk with tons of ice in a little plastic bag. Heavenly stuff. I won't miss the durian when I'm in the States--but oh, I will miss the Khmer coffee.

Sipping our coffee, we headed over to the first fish-massage place in Cambodia. It was...odd. "Odd" being the understatement of the month. The fish--some of them doing loop-the-loops, some of them rather huge--nibble away at your feet. And it tickles. Badly. You'll simply have to try it yourself some day--writing fails when it comes to fish-massage. But oh, it is odd.

And afterwards, Meow and I rounded up the day by doing some good ol' clothes shopping--namely a beautiful jacket that I quite love and *might* be able to get away with wearing in the summer without anyone questioning my sanity. And lastly, Meow and I walked home from the market--a bit of a feat, but one I quite enjoy.

So, Day One of Things-To-Do-Before-Leaving was a wonderful success.

I Need to Write...

If I can be called anything, it's certainly not a consistent blogger. It has been months since I last posted. Life simply caught up with me and I realized that plenty of things--grades, the future, and friends among them--are, and rightly so, more important than blogging. This is still true. However, I've realized that my world is turning topsy-turvy and writing is a gift from God that I can always turn to. It isn't going to leave me, even if I'm on another continent or having an identity crisis (which supposedly I am supposed to have in the near future. Lucky me). So I'm going to, hopefully, get back to blogging. I might turn to journaling instead, you never know. But for now I'm going to attempt to keep this blog going. But as I said, I am not a consistent blogger at all.

Interesting phrases have been flung around recently. "Reentry," "identity crisis," and "reverse culture shock" among them. Of course, I've heard all of them before. Experienced all of them before to a certain extent, but this will be different, naturally.

I'm not sure what to expect, but at least I can write about it. That gives me a great deal of comfort.

NaNoWriMo Plotses

NaNoWriMo is nine days, four hours, 56 minutes, and several seconds away. Well, it was when I wrote that, although it is now nine days, four hours, 55 minutes, and several seconds away.

But regardless of what it is now, you get the point.

I get it too. And have come to the unfortunate realization that I don't have a plot. And I'm not a "no plot, no problem" type of person. I NEED A PLOT. I don't even have a genre.

So I need your help. Yes, your help.

I have four rather vague possibilities:

1. Fantasy - I continue my somewhat cliche but very fun fantasy novel that I've been working on for several years. Pros: I have an extensive outline and know the characters well. Cons: I've done this for the past two WriMos and desperately need to branch out.

2. Southern Gothic (note several posts down) - A civil-war era novel, somewhat breaking the rules of the southern gothic novel. The novel would delve into the topics of love and forgiveness. I'd definitely be over-extending myself, no? Pros: I have a very, very rough outline and this would be branching out of the "norm." Cons: This would take a lot of historical research in the next nine days, four hours, 52 minutes and so-many-seconds, I doubt that I could pull it off (although it'd be fun to try), and it'd be really, really, weird. Although maybe the last one is a pro.

3. Historical Fiction - A novel involving a Khmer woman and an American journalist and their parallel journeys from the time of the Khmer Rouge up to the modern day KR Tribunals. Both of their paths would revolve loosely around Duch, even though they'd never see him face to face (until the very end and then only briefly, but that's a spoiler). The novel would basically revolve around the meaning of forgiveness. Pros: This would be so much fun, I really am fascinated by the topic, I love this idea, I know quite a bit about the KR tribunals and Duch, I have a rough idea of the plot, I have the final scene planned in detail. Cons: This would also take quite a bit of historical research, I'm not sure I could make it historically accurate (and you know how accurate I need to be) since I don't know intricate details about the historical aspect (although once I reached modern day it would be easy), and it'd be very hard to pull off.

4. Science Fiction - A forgotten Earth colony, exploited by a lone race of aliens, the problems of planet management, and psychological realism. That's all I've got. Pros: This would actually be really easy, since Sci-Fi is quite an easy genre to write, I like the idea, I've been wanting to try out psychological realism for ages, and I'm currently taking a sci-fi class. Cons: No plot, no characters, this wouldn't really be branching out (although I've never written a full-fledged sci-fi novel, I have done short-stories...so it'd be sortof branching out).

Further thoughts: I'm going to be stretched for time this year, so maybe I should pick one of the easier topics (fantasy or sci-fi). I'm leaning away from fantasy, however, since I've done it so much. I really love my historical & southern gothic ideas, but I'd be content with my other ideas as well... So in end conclusion, I cannot make up my mind.

So now it comes to you. I'd like you to vote for the novel you think I should write. If you have comments, feel free to comment on this post, but otherwise please head to the poll on the top right of this post to vote. Thank you so, so much! I really am having a bit of a dilemma here, and your vote will help!

~Manwathiel/Kath
p.s. Nine days, four hours, 45 minutes, and several seconds to go...

The Merits of Chocolate

Chocolate...
Imagine getting home from work, utterly exhausted because of a mere five hours of sleep the night before. You get home, gulp down a Royal D and simply want to go to bed. But you have schoolwork. Three quizzes (psychology, spanish, and physics, to be specific) lurk on the horizon of tomorrow. And you aren't even sure what to study for the psych quiz, since you have the wrong textbook. So you go up to your room and haul out your physics book, only to discover that your parakeet has become some sort of recluse who only talks to his mirror. You feel awful. You need chocolate.
And then you remember. Chocolate!
Pulling open a nearby drawer, you find, to your utter and complete delight, a forgotten Mars bar!
Unwrapping it, you bite into the sticky gooey chocolateness of it. Suddenly, you feel less stressed and less tired. Your parakeet smells the chocolate and comes flying over to get some of it (which he can't have, because parakeets can't digest it, alas). And suddenly physics seems so much more interesting.

The moral of the story is, always keep a spare bar of chocolate lying around.

Drip, drip, drip...

I made a fascinating discovery last night (or perhaps I should say la madrugada, or the early hours, if I'm keeping my Spanish at least mostly correct). Going downstairs to get a drink of water, I discovered that I love the sound of dripping faucets.
Fascinating, no?
Walking through the silence, I came into the kitchen to hear a slow, steady, drip, drip, drip. Or perhaps it was a splat, splat, splat. Or maybe even a frenzied tink, tink tink. It sounded so...alive. The dripping of the water seemed to tell a story to my tired, half-asleep mind. It sounded desolate, alone in the silence. Forgotten and forsaken. Just a steady, never wavering, drip, drip, drip.

It's amazing what a dripping faucet can tell you about itself.

Southern Gothic

Today is the perfect day to begin drafting the plot for my very first southern gothic novel. Monsoon rains pour down outside from a dreary sky, making everything cold, damp, and listless. Upstairs a green tea, chocolate bar, bag of skittles, and notebook await me. Despite the fact that my ideas are all vague, I'm getting quite excited... Most of my stories fall into more common genres (Fantasy and sci-fi being the obvious two). But ever since I stumbled across its wikipedia page while researching To Kill a Mockingbird, the premise of the southern gothic novel has fascinated me. Go here to find out what, exactly, a southern gothic novel is: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_gothic

Maybe, just maybe, this plot idea will turn into my story for NaNoWriMo this November. If not, I fall back upon the trusted and tried genre of fantasy, which has brought me safely through two NaNoWriMos. But I think that it is time that I stepped outside of my writing box... It's high time I took on a genre that I've never tried before.

And with that said, I head upstairs to begin drafting my novel. Wish me luck!