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In Cambodia life, Expat Life, Sreisaatv2

Murphy’s Law stole my Saturday morning

Author sreisaatPosted on 2 Comments

You’d think that after years of living abroad, I’d mastered the art of staying calm when life throws curveballs. Nope. Some days, you just wake up and the universe decides to mess with your morning like it’s a sport.

Take this Saturday, for example. I was supposed to float into the weekend. Slow coffee, maybe a playlist while the washing machine is on, and then gracefully getting ready for my colleague/friend’s wedding. But instead, Murphy’s Law showed up on my doorsteps.

First, my eyeglasses. After a long day at work on Friday (we had visitors from abroad), I was so tired I fell asleep with them still on my face. Big mistake. By morning, one arm had snapped clean off. Not bent. Not wobbly. Broken. GONE. And while eyeglasses are not exactly the kind of accessory you dream of flaunting at a wedding, they are the kind of accessory you can’t live without. Without them, I’m basically one blurry step away from mistaking the groom for the caterer. You get the picture, lol.

I accidentally used my eyeglasses as pillows.
The rubber thingy is gone!
A huge shout out to Be Eco Cambodia for the quick shoe repair!

Then came the shoes. My “special occasion” heels, untouched since… well, let’s just say since pre-pandemic days. I slipped them on to check the fit, and… oh, snap! The little rubber thingy on the heel fell off. You know, the tiny thing that prevents you from sounding like a tap dancer? Gone. It’s the clattering, tap-tap sound effect that no guest wants to bring to a wedding announcing their arrival.

So there I was, broken eyeglasses, broken shoes, broken morning. Instead of sipping coffee, I was sprinting around town trying to duct-tape my life back together before the big event.

But here’s the kicker. I arrived at the church, and guess what? Everyone – and I mean EVERYONE – was barefoot. Pastors, entourage, local guests, foreign guests, all of us leaving our shoes neatly outside the hall. My first Cambodian Christian wedding, and much like the Buddhist wats and Catholic Churches here, the tradition to go barefoot into the sacred space was beautiful. And honestly? It was respectful. Humbling. Reverent. A reminder that presence matters more than fancy (foot)wear.

Meanwhile, I’d spent the whole morning panicking about shoes. Shoes! The one thing I didn’t even end up needing. If that isn’t Murphy’s law with a sense of humor, I don’t know what is. So yes, I survived. My eyeglasses is back in one piece, courtesy of a repair shop, and my bare feet joined the others on the cool church floor.

Expat-life lesson, don’t sweat the small stuff. Because, odds are, you’ll end up barefoot anyway. Comedy gold.

In Food and Remembrance, Grief and Loss, Memories and Healing, Sreisaatv2, Up Close and Personal

Runny yolks and the unfinished business of grief

Author sreisaatPosted on Leave a comment

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? My blog has been largely silent since September of last year. I was quite poorly then, and honestly, didn’t have the energy to add blogging to my already hectic work schedule. My general health just wasn’t cooperating. So, I focused entirely on getting myself well again, and I’m happy to say that the inspiration to put thoughts to digital paper has finally returned.

The rhythm of life here in Phnom Penh, after more than two decades, already feels like a second skin. My days are usually a whirlwind of desk work, meetings, community visits, and the beautiful, chaos of Cambodian life. Yet, sometimes, in the quiet moments when you’re on your own at the end of the day, between the bustling streets, the barks of my dogs, and the hum of my ceiling fan, a different kind of quiet settles in.

Today was one of those days.

It started innocently enough. A tray of eggs and a forgotten pack of sliced bread on the counter, both nearing their expiration date. My immediate thought was, “Right, time to use these up.” And so, a classic runny yolk and toast dip came to be. For someone who isn’t particularly fond of eggs, this was purely a practical exercise.

But as I broke the first yolk and dipped a piece of toast into its golden richness, a door to the past gently creaked open.

Unresolved Echoes.
My mother passed away five years ago. Five years. And to be brutally honest, I’m still not sure I’ve properly grieved. Perhaps I’ve unconsciously ignored it, or maybe it’s just my own peculiar coping mechanism, a way my body and mind protect themselves from something too overwhelming. I truly don’t know.

There are days, like today, when a wave of melancholy washes over me, slowly, insidiously, until it morphs into an intense sadness. And when you’re thousands of miles away from family, from the familiar faces and comforting voices of home, with no one to truly talk to about these deep-seated feelings, the pen becomes your closest confidante. My journal, filled with hurried scrawls and raw emotions, is where these moments find their release.

This morning, as the scent of coffee and boiled eggs filled my tiny kitchen, those memories didn’t just drift in; they flooded me. I was instantly transported back to my university holidays, those quiet semestral breaks when my younger siblings were still off at school. It was just her and me, sharing simple boiled egg breakfasts. She’d sit across the table, crocheting, occasionally glancing up at me, her eyeglasses perilously perched on her long nose—oh, how we envied that “Western” nose only our brother, the Banker, inherited! Her presence was a comforting anchor, and she’d gently remind us to savour every morsel and never let food go to waste.

What I realise now, with the painful clarity of hindsight, is how much I value those moments. We weren’t just mother and daughter then, sharing breakfasts; we were more like friends. After months away in Cebu City for university, those breakfasts became our quiet confessional when I came home, a space where we could truly connect and confide in each other, rebuilding the bridge that distance had stretched.

Oh, how I miss those moments now, as an adult living a life so far removed from those simple mornings. The older I get, and the longer I’ve been away from home, the more these specific, unassuming memories take on immense weight. It’s not just the food; it’s the quiet companionship, the unspoken understanding, and the feeling of being truly home in her presence.

Sometimes, especially when you’re alone and far from loved ones, it’s these random, ordinary things that bring the most profound memories and reflections. Just as Adam Levine bleats in their song, Memories, “…memories bring back you…” And for that, I am grateful that, even if only for a short time, I brought Mama back again this morning.

In Blogging and the Web, Geek Talk, hobby, Sreisaatv2, Uncategorized

Sunday Stamps: Gazing up at the Botswanan night skies

Author sreisaatPosted on 8 Comments

Have you ever looked up at the night sky and felt a sense of awe and wonder? The stars, the moon, and the vast expanse of the heavens have captivated humanity for millennia. In Botswana, the starry skies have been a source of inspiration for countless folktales and legends.

The Botswana Post’s “Sky at Night” series is a beautiful tribute to this rich astronomical heritage. Released in 2009, this series features stunning stamps depicting the country’s celestial wonders and the stories associated with them.

For thousands of years people have looked heaven-ward and questioned their place in the cosmos. The stars, the moon and sun, and the immense dome of the Kalahari were all celestial signs that united people with nature. It is not surprising that the Naro of D’kar call this greatest of nature’s phenomena, “Nqarri Kgei kwe”… the Face of God.

The starlore of Botswana includes stories about stars and constellations, planets, the sun and moon, as well as bodies with apparent motion such as meteors and comets. These accounts are typically expressive rather than physical in understanding, with most descriptions having a metaphorical or narrative idiom. Many have whimsical associations, some have deeper intrinsic meaning in explaining cosmological origins [emphasis mine] whilst others serve practical purposes such as markers for direction in space and time. – Botswana Post

I was lucky to receive one of the stamps in the series sent by my very good friend, Marife, who resided in Botswana with her family. Marife was one of my closest expat-friends here in Cambodia and after her husband’s contract has expired in 2006, her husband chose not to renew and accepted a new assignment in Botswana instead.

About the stamp:
References to the moon are ubiquitous in local cultures. This stamp depicts a Setswana group of women who, it is said, bring a gentle light to the home, unlike the oppressive heat of the sun. The lunar waxing and waning also coincides with the monthly fortunes, the waxing moon being U-shaped, carries problems and diseases, whereas the waning moon spills these misfortunes on the people. Here the moon is accompanied by the recent concatenation with Jupiter and Venus. “Maphatlalatsane“, the brightest celestial object after the sun and moon. Unfortunately the link to the source is broken, and so is the link to the Botswana Post – I had these links in my notebook for a long time, so probably the website is now down.

See the complete set below. I would have loved to get the rest to complete the series. From the Southern Cross and four giraffes to the meteorite and shamans shooting arrows, each stamp tells a unique tale. One of my favourites is “The Moon and the Women of Setsana,” shown above, which depicts a group of women who are believed to bring a gentle light to their homes. The moon’s waxing and waning are also said to be connected to monthly fortunes and misfortunes.

From left to right: The Southern Cross and the four giraffes; the meteorite and shamans shooting arrows; the solar eclipse and the magical lions; and the moon with the four Setsana women.

More sky stamps over at Sunday Stamps hangout 🙂

My dear friend Marife passed away in 2022. We shared a deep bond during her time in Cambodia, and I cherish the memories we created together. I like to think that she’s looking down on me from the heavens, watching over me with the same warmth and kindness she always showed. Rest in God’s peace, my dear friend. You’re always in my heart.