The sky over Phnom Penh last Thursday. Eerie, isn’t it?
I have a talent for hurting myself. A knack for accidents. A flair for disasters. Every day, I discover new ways to harm myself, usually in the kitchen. I slice my fingers instead of the fruits, I dunk them in boiling liquids, I smash my knees on the furniture… I’m a klutz, and it’s not amusing.
Just yesterday, I scorched my hand on a straightening iron that I assumed was faulty. I touched it like an idiot, and it hissed like a snake. Ouch!
I’m also a champion of public embarrassment. I stumble, I fumble, I blurt out things that make no sense. I drop things, I shatter things, I spill things. I can’t catch a bouquet, or a ball, or a break. IS IT REALLY ME?
Sometimes, I wish I could vanish into a hole when these things happen. But my mum taught me to laugh at myself, and not take life too seriously. She said I’m impulsive, and that’s why I get into trouble. She said I should think before I act, or speak. Thanks, mom. You’re so wise.
Now, I look at my fingers, and they look back at me with blisters. A painful reminder of how clumsy I am.
Thank you for your ear-splitting performance last night. I know it’s Pchum Ben holiday, and karaoke parties are a common thing here, but you have chosen a brilliant stage for your act – the entire stretch of our deserted street which is surrounded by many apartment units with windows facing it.
Dear noisy neighbour, While it’s also true that most of the residents in our street left town, those of us who stayed to enjoy the peace and quiet were, instead, tortured by agonizing musical renditions in the middle of the night. What’s more, all the dogs in the neighbourhood decided to join the karaoke party, too.
In particular, your hair-raising solo rendition of the “Happy Birthday” song, brought tears to my eyes.
My verdict? Horrible. Your singing is so dreadful it sounded like a dying cat. It kept me awake all night. Can we, your neighbours, sue you for damaged eardrums at the sangkat, please?