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In Cambodia life, Expat Life, Food and Remembrance, Sreisaatv2, Uncategorized

Homesick Recipes, Entry 1: Pancit Canton

Author CzarinaPosted on Leave a comment

I called in sick today. Nothing serious – just that mix of fatigue, fever, and fuzziness that makes you want to curl up under a blanket. But sick days as an expat in Cambodia don’t come with the luxury of switching off completely. Emails still pile up, messages still need replies, and before I knew it, my “sick day” had morphed into a sick-work-from-home arrangement. 😅

Whenever I feel poorly, my body and my heart both crave the familiar. For me, that means food from home. Today, the answer was pancit canton.

Picked this up for just US $3.40 (240 g pack) at Royal Mart, TTP. Not bad at all!
Can’t cook? No problem. The instructions are right there on the packet — easy-peasy! 

Now, my version was stripped-down — the poor (wo)man’s pancit — just a handful of chicken cut into small pieces, some cabbage, and carrots. Basic, but comforting. If my dad or brother were here, it would be a whole different affair. Their pancit canton is legendary, brimming with prawns, chicken liver, squid balls, chorizo, and even lechon belly. A fiesta in a wok. Mine, by contrast, is basic. Minimalistic (kasi fecha de peligro, iykyk…) and felt more like a quiet, comforting hug. Luckily for me, and other Filipinos here, pancit canton noodles are now sold in local stores here in Phnom Penh. I just followed the instructions on the back of the pack. Easy-peasy, no stress.

That’s the beauty of pancit canton. It doesn’t need to be extravagant to work its magic. Filipinos eat it at any time of day — breakfast, lunch, dinner, or merienda. And true to our love affair with carbs, it’s often paired with rice or pan de sal (yes, noodles with bread or rice, carbs-on-carbs, y’all ), and chased with an ice-cold Coke. Always best finished with a squeeze of kalamansi or lime, that citrusy kick instantly brightens the dish.

But here’s why pancit canton is more than just stir-fried noodles. It’s a cultural shorthand for family, gathering, and celebration. In the Philippines, noodles symbolise long life, so pancit always appears at birthdays, fiestas, Christmas, and New Year’s. Every household has its own signature version — some lush and festive, others simple and practical, but all of them are loaded with memory. Kitchens buzzing with chatter and laughter, unexpected guests welcomed with a quick stir-fry, midnight hunger pangs solved in one wok.

Today, standing in my Phnom Penh apartment with my pared-down pancit, I felt a little bit of that warmth (no, it’s not the weather! lol). It wasn’t just food. It was a link to my parents’s kitchen, to family meals back home, to traditions that make me feel rooted even when I’m far away.

This is the first of what I’m calling my Homesick Recipes — a small archive of the dishes that keep me grounded as a homesick expat. Some are simple, some celebratory, but all carry the flavour of home.

Stay tuned — next time, I might tell you about the time I made adobo with Vietnamese soy sauce and a dash of improvisation.

In Cambodia life, Expat Life, Memories and Healing, Sreisaatv2, Uncategorized, Up Close and Personal

A Quiet Morning with Rain and Remembrance

Author CzarinaPosted on Leave a comment

Sunday, and I’m sitting at my little kitchen table, with the rain tapping softly on the kitchen window. My morning cup lingers, postcards and pens scattered around me, a card (from my pen pal) with a tiny bird sketched on a branch catching my eye. Somehow, just holding a pen and writing a few words makes me feel a little closer to family and friends I am writing to, even those far, far away.

Having lived away from home for a long time, I was used to feeling her absence. But now that Mama is gone, the absence feels sharper, deeper. Yet, more than ever, and in the strangest and gentlest way, I find her presence everywhere. In the small, random things I take time to notice, in the care she taught me to put into everything I make with my hands, and in the love that flows through those little acts. Cooking, writing, crafting… it’s all a way of sending love, a way of connecting even across miles. She taught me that love isn’t only spoken. It flows quietly through the work of our hands, into the world, into the people we care for.

So every postcard or letter I send, every word I write, is a little thread tying me back to home, to family, and to her. To my favourite people. Even here in far away Cambodia, I realise home isn’t just a place I left behind, it’s these moments of stillness, these gestures of care, and the quiet beauty tucked into everyday life. And I like to think she’s watching over me, smiling quietly, as I try to carry on what she taught me. 🌧️✉️💛

In Cambodia life, Expat Life, Sreisaatv2

Murphy’s Law stole my Saturday morning

Author CzarinaPosted 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.