The sky over Phnom Penh last Thursday. Eerie, isn’t it?
Dear self, what is wrong with you?
The heck, yeah?!?
Everyday, without fail, I hurt myself. If not cutting (accidentally, of course!) my fingers instead of onions, I’m mindlessly dipping them in hot oil or in boiling water, or banging my knees on the corner of the bed… because I’m such a klutz. And it’s not funny anymore!
Just this morning (yesterday morning!), I was fiddling with the straightening iron, waiting for the heat indicator to light up. Ten minutes passed and still no light. I got annoyed because I’m running out of time and I need to get my hair done ASAP or else… Impulsively, I grabbed the thing and touched the plate, the same way you would to check someone’s forehead for fever, and…. aaaaccck! The heck. I immediately regretted what I just did.
I’ve also tripped many other times, too, in plain view of the public, much to my embarrassment. I sometimes blurt stuff that shouldn’t be said aloud, and I drop things in ridiculous way. I’ve bent down to pick up stuff and seen many estrellas as I hit my head many times, just this week, in fact. There’s also something about the way I hold the dishes for the water to splash back at me. No, don’t ask me about catching wedding bouquets. Anything for that matter. They slip out of my hands. IS IT REALLY ME?
I sometimes wish the ground would crack open and swallow me whole every single time this happens. It’s a good thing that one of the things my mother taught me was to laugh at myself. After all, I caused it myself, she said. Don’t act on impulse, she added. She said that these things I do or say that end in disaster is because I don’t think before doing, or opening my mouth. Thanks, mum. You know me very well.
So now, when I look at my fingers, the blisters stare back at me defiantly. A glaring reminder of how klutz I am.
Dear noisy neighbour
Thank you for your eardrum-shattering performance last night.
Whilst I understand it is the Pchum Ben holiday, and karaoke parties are known to be a regular thing here, but you have chosen a perfect stage for your act – the whole stretch of our empty street which is surrounded by many apartment units with windows facing it.
While it is also true that most of the residents in our street left town, those of us who opted to stay to take advantage of the peace and quiet were, instead, subjected to excruciating musical renditions in the dead of the night. What’s more, all the dogs in the neighbourhood decided to jump into the karaoke party, too.
In particular, your spine-tingling solo rendition of the “Happy Birthday” song, brought tears to my eyes
My verdict? Terrible. Your singing is so atrocious it sounded like a braying ass. It kept me up all night.
Can we, the neighbors, claim compensation for bleeding eardrums at the sangkat, please?