moments that come

I realized awhile ago I’m not fit company so I stay away from most people. This seems to have worked well. Only a few people put up with me. Few of them in Vietnam. Somehow vietnamese people crash through those moments better than others. I just feel this warmth and desire to spend moments with them. Of all the asian people and cultures Vietnam has always seemed this refuge of spirit and soul. Honestly Cambodia does not come close.

My wife would like me to adopt more Khmer feelings on happiness and friendship. Social values. She wanted us to go out socially with this one friend and her American husband. Could not do it. At the time my wife told me to keep those hateful feelings under the surface. Just be happy on outside to have people that wish to spend time with us.

So yeah. I’m broken with that whole thing. I can’t be one person on outside and another inside. I cannot be some hybrid. Half this and some that. I fail being part Khmer. I finally told her,

Why should I go spend time with people I don’t like?

We had been invited to this housewarming or Khmer new year party. I would not go. So the Khmer way I am told is that my wife would not go either. I’m guessing this ruined that friendship. Or at least created some distance. Now I just see Facebook photos of the happy couple. Way too often. It does make me so happy to not be on those networks. There’s no real way to share from them. Thank goodness.

I also fail at this. I won’t do Facebook or TikTok. So part of the Khmer equation are these online social networks plus the other stuff I won’t do.

Finally is the house we exist in. It has been this contention and friction since forever. Now I just silently accept I don’t like it. Don’t like the location. The condition of the house. I just exist there too. My wife is the leader and I follow her. She decides most all things. Just not who I will do things with.

So it’s moments like these. Living them. Admitting openly I am not part Khmer or barang. Strange times to be between and betwixt. But I have always known that this sail is mine. There are parts of me coarse and rude. Part perhaps refined and genteel.

I bend sometimes. Break others. But I decide who I am. Who I am not. I love this country. Just at a respectable and solitary distance. Except for the children. They are open spirits too. Walk by me. High five me. Ask in English my name. Laugh. But I walk, by them too.

and more

The words always drill down. And back. Why is it Vietnam. I dunno.

vietnam

So there is more. Words waiting in some dark or light place. Me here. Me there. My wife wanting some Khmer in me. There’s no room. Because I’m broken and bent and not flexible. Just me.

And my moments.