'Cause it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea
But I'd rather be here than on land.

Sick :(

I didn't sing in the shower, I couldn't be bothered to look for clothes to wear, I had no appetite for breakfast. It is for certain, I am sick.

I could not express how much I miss my Mom, not even to her. I am quite brave in some things to some extent, but I easily lose heart when I am sick. It's always my Mom who takes care of me when my health is deteriorating, please excuse the exaggeration, so I cannot help but miss her. Of course, the people here checks up on my condition every now and then, but having my Mom near me is still a different story.

This is the first time I feel like I wanted to go home.

February and March are probably the months I dread the most. These months are the transition months in the Philippines. From the slightly cold Christmas months of December and January, the country starts to heat up starting February. February also marks the start of the closing of another school year. This means more deadlines to beat, more exams to finish, and more requirements to hand in. The weather, plus all the school pressure, beats my health to its very core. For three consecutive years, I had been hospitalized on the months mentioned for at least a week for diseases like Dengue and Typhoid Fever. Yep, diseases which involves poor immune system.

That is why I am afraid. I really hope I become better. Or else, I have to go to the Hopital. Yes, you read that right, Hopital not Hospital. :(

I am hurt.

Wonderstruck

I stepped out of the plane feeling like a Sio Mai on a hot steam. Coming from a tropical country, I know I have no right to complain about the hot weather here in Cambodia, which is also known as "The Land of Wonders". I was wishing to drag on the days; I wanted to go back to Vientiane as soon as possible.

But now that the day of my departure has come, I don't feel like coming back home. One week is way too short to enjoy the wonders of this country.

Who doesn't love shopping? Here in Phnom Pehn, you can shop all you can for cheaps. American brands can be bought at a very cheap price since those products were manufactured here. I was airsick when I arrived due to the bumpy air ride but retail therapy had proven to be effective in curing any sickness. On my first day I spent more or less a hundred dollars on clothes, half of my allotted budget for a whole week. I may come out of this country broke but I was more than satisfied with all the stuff I bought. 

Airsick as hell. :(

I went to Tuol Sleng on my third day here. Visiting this old prison gave me a better view of Cambodians. I was forewarned by a colleague about a lot of things about them but my visit gave me a better understanding of how and why they came to be like that. I was told that no one has the right to feel miserable unless s/he is from this country. Because of the civil war, they lost a part of their humanity.

Such an eerie place. It's as if the souls of the people are

still inside, being tortured even in after life.

Prisoners were cuffed, hands and feet, and 

left with no food until they die.

I do not like History. I know that with the past, we can understand the present and possibly predict our future, but something about it bores me. But not with the Cambodian history. I used to feel utterly sad about how Spaniards conquered the Philippines and abused my fellowmen. But Cambodians experienced a hundred times more torture. Or maybe more.

During the Khmer Rouge regime, 2 million victims were tortured, women and children included. Many died. Inside the Genocide Museum, you can see pictures of each victims posted. Some of them even smiling, not knowing what about to happen.

My heart was murdered when I saw this heartbreaking picture:

This is a picture of a woman with her baby in her arms. Her head was screwed with a hole until she dies. Her eyes were open, but it was sad and lifeless. :(

I was glad to meet one of the seven survivors who were prisoned at the time when the Vietnamese came to fight the civil war that reigning power created. Everyday, he comes to Tuol Sleng to share his experiences to tourists who would like to know about what happened in the past.

Phary, a Cambodian who took me around the area, told me that out of the 500 people who visited Toul Sleng, only about 50 people were locals while the rest are foreigners. I was also told by a foreigner who works with Cambodians that the new generation of Cambodians do not know their history. They were afraid that this might happen to them again.

I was looking forward to visiting the Royal Palace, where the King resides. However, the Myanmar Prime Minister came for a visit so the palace was closed for a day. Sad face. 

No school for these kids today, the PM of Myanmar 

was coming. FYI, PNoy is coming next week.

I would love to see Filipino flags all over Phnom Pehn.

Picture OUTSIDE the Royal Palace

I also wanted to visit Angkor Wat. But I found out that it is six hours from where I was. Phary told me that she feels sad about most Cambodians dying without even stepping foot in Angkor Wat. I suddenly felt a tinge of pain in my chest. I haven't been to most of my own country's "wonders".

Because I am creative like that, I managed to take a picture in Angkot Wat. A replica of it, that is.

I will miss the people I have met here in Cambodia. Aside from the amazing places I've seen, my one-week company made my stay a blast. Too bad they wouldn't read this blog. But I'm still thankful to these people.

Oh before I forgot. I ate Spidey's friend. Sorry, Spidey, I still love you to the bones.

This is perhaps the best memory of Cambodia that I will carry on for the rest of my life. 

I ATE A FCKING SPIDER.

Now I finally have something to be proud of.

I. Cannot. Wait.

Until it becomes available on torrent. 

I'm filled with bitterness today. Thanks.

There was nothing I desired more than a Literary Arts Award. I never wanted a Best in Math or Best in English, a Highest Honor even. All I knew, in my mind back then, was I deserved that award. But it took me four years to finally get what I wanted.

I wasn't a teacher's pet. I wasn't a favorite. Well, except for one class where I got the highest grade for behavior. Probably because I've grown a sense of pity, or whatever word is more suitable, to the teacher being bullied by my fellow classmates. There were those teachers who, as the society say, were civil with me. Some were okay, some obviously showed their hate towards me. I could not ever forget the teacher who made me act in front of everyone despite my refusal from the beginning. Or the teacher who said I was acting up when I was really sick.

And then that teacher who told my class that even if one is an honor student, if s/he did not receive a special awards, she was just a plain honor student. Thanks for adding salt to my wounds, Ma'am. She's one of my favorite teachers, though. My desire for that Literary Arts Award grew more intense than ever.

I joined one Essay Writing Contest to another. And some story making contests. I won some, then some I lost. But each year, I know I've won some, alongside some poster making contests. But I never wanted an Arts Award for those. I still wanted that Literary Arts Award.

On my third year in High School, I was really expecting a Literary Arts Award, especially when I overheard a classmate saying that she had one even though she did not won any writing contests. To think that our English class only studied one short poem the whole year, I don't think she, or any of us for that matter, added any significant insight to the four stanzas of Richard Cory.

But I won first place. I never got a Literary Arts Award.

I asked my teacher about it, he said he forgot. I was too late, he said. The awardees were already submitted to the principal. That is perhaps the first time I cried because of a school matter.

Then came my fourth year. Of course, they would give me a Literary Arts Award; they knew I wanted it. I got elected the president of the Language Club, which only existed by name. There were members, I barely knew them and vice versa. They voted for me, of course. I was a Senior and would take up a Communication course in College. And I got a seat as a writer in our school paper.

And so I finally got a Literary Arts Award. Somehow, though, I felt as if I did not deserve it anymore. They gave it to me just when the fruits of my labor were already rotten. 

This is the reason why I hate writing.

And this is the reason why teachers should pay attention to their students. They should know their students. Because not knowing them will affect their lives in the future. They might turn into one bitter, self-conscious, never-good-enough person like I am.