Here's what matters...

I just opened my journal, and out of 140 pages to choose from, randomly, this is what I read. Here is some meaning, I think. I can't forget, never will.

Friday August 3:
"...The best moment, perhaps of the summer, came from my personal exhaustion this morning. I was not on my game. My dear Phalla was feeling sick today, headache, and dozing on her bed. I got up from my seat by Malis and lay on Phalla's small bed. Immediately and without a single word, Phalla wrapped her arm across my stomach and pulled me close. She could feel my diaphragm and I could feel her fresh soft breath on my cheek--a centimeter from her mouth. We lay there, holding hands, cuddling, dozing, breathing together for half an hour. That time was love.

I said goodye to Svay Phalla as she took those life-giving medicines that keep making her stronger. Told her I didn't want to leave Kampuchea.

Srey Pao invited me in her room to her bed. I have barely spent time with her, but when I told her I was leaving, she burst into tears and embraced me with her stick arms. We kissed each other and exchanged 'I'll miss you.' 'I love you.'
I'm amazed that my brief presence meant something to her.

Phalla was lying by the TV when I said goodbye. I hugged her and told her I loved her. I was--and am--sad. I will miss my dear friend, my sister. But Phalla put on a good face, though I got the feeling she felt as I did. She said she loved me. But when I started to say 'thank you' (for her presence and companionship), as if to stop me from being too sentimental, she simply said 'sok sapbaay' (be happy). Kept her gaze (which goes beyond her eyes) on the ceiling as I walked away. That woman defines courage to me."

What matters

So it's been far too long since I've posted. The fall has been different: a rocky start from missing school, difficult classes, accomplishing less than I think I should, and perpetual fatigue. The endless self-criticism...I am not good enough, and I never will be.

"We had the experience, but missed the meaning." T.S. Eliot.

I don't want that to be me. For the meaning is far beyond what I can comprehend. And the only way to approach it is to get outside myself and into someone else.

It's snowing outside, dome shining against the grey-blue sky.
I understand some of the dome's tarnish.
Freedom should start here.
My friends are playing Christmas Carols across the hall.
The Khmer Rouge tribunals started last week with Duch's testimony.
I'm going to Haiti over Christmas break.
We're already deciding on next year's Cambodia students...so many would give so much to the experience.
I spent Thanksgiving with 84 family members, two of whom fought breast cancer.
Through various experiences this fall, I've seen disparities in the U.S. healthcare system.
I have a physiology test that I'm not prepared for on Tuesday, and three papers, and a presentation to high-schoolers.
I'm writing about humanitarian aid in Darfur, and health care justice in the U.S.....finally, things that matter.
On my 21st birthday, I might get to hear Dr. Jim Yong Kim speak about the implementation gap in health care delivery.
This blog wasn't/isn't intended to be biographical.
But I need to reflect on the meaning in everyday life.
I'm wasting time...or am I?
I understand the homeostatic compensations our bodies try to make to compensate for diahhrea. People are dying from diahhrea right now.

I miss Lem Phalla and Sothearith.
I wish Men Malis hadn't died.

Two Haitians and one Cambodian sent me emails to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. The beginning of our colonialism...wouldn't Haiti have been better off without pilgrims?

What matters?
Where's the meaning?