Posts are on hold...

Hello everyone,
I apologize for the lack of posting recently; I'm in the middle of a few separate pieces on the students here, however I was unfortunately hit with an illness that landed me in a hospital in Bangkok for several days. I'm in excellent hands and am slowly recovering, and should be back to normal within a few days. They say that there's a silver lining to every cloud, and this one has been overpowering; the support I received from friends, family and the staff at TGC was simply overwhelming, and I will have more to say about this later. It is suffice to say that The Global Child is made up of truly outrageously caring, generous, thoughtful and incredible people. My heart goes out to them for comforting me when I was on my back these past few days.

There will be more later! Just need a few days to regain my bearings.
Much love, and all the best!
-Robbie

Discussions on being here, what it means, and long overdue details

I’m now faced with a dilemma; to describe this beautiful world I’ve inhabited and found great happiness in, without limiting it or encapsulating the experience. I’ve thought of several ways to introduce and explain what I’ve witnesses thus far, and although chronological order makes sense, it wouldn’t be nearly as interesting. I’ve been here for two weeks now, and there are many, many things on my mind I would like to express. I’ll tackle it in order of personal priority; I hope it isn’t too random!

In the conversations I’ve had with friends and family from home, the first question is always “Whats it like over there?”. I know you’re just trying to be friendly, but an attempt to answer this question is positively exhausting.

If I were limited to one adjective, I would call Cambodia extremely, spectacularly, sometimes overwhelmingly real. Reality confronts you, knocks you on your back and spits in your face. Siem Reap is admittedly tame compared to places like Phnom Penh, however the reality here is unavoidable, shocking, yet strangely comfortable and satisfying. In my previous post, I analogized the culture shock of arriving to being lost and adrift in some huge, shifting angry ocean. I stick by this, but strangely, its a positively good feeling, which makes me hesitant to use the word “shock” at all. I walk around the streets of this city, conversing freely with tuk tuk drivers, shop-owners, beggars, amputees, vagabond children, absorbing the experience to the capacity of my senses, filling my mind with the patterns I’ve witnessed, fulfilling this peculiar inner hunger, assuaging some inner turmoil that I was previously unaware of. I’m certainly not suggesting that I derive happiness from witnessing the difficult straits that others are in; I see it more as the active acknowledgement of an inclusive collective reality, one that I was ignorant of for some time. Its a rebirth, in a way. Realizing this collective reality is enlightening; realizing it and being an active participant in the progression of this reality brings a dizzying mix of feelings. I would describe it as an emotional flood of elation, with hints of apprehension that force one to look inwards, debating personal capacity to adequately face the challenges that come with they have the capacity to enact the kind of change that is required.

Next, the children at the school. There are 26 of them, and like the “Whats it like over there?”, they vehemently defy encapsulation. They’re loving, playful, mischievous, joyful...the list goes on. They’re so incredible that you forget where they come from. Four years ago, some were living on the streets, others had abusive parents, others didn’t have parents...some were abandoned, others lost their parents to HIV. This painful history is not on the surface for the most part, however they present small idiosyncrasies that momentarily open up their entire dark past and force the realization that these kids really have been saved. First, physical affection is hugely important; hugs, handshakes, playful wrestling, you name it. Second, when all the joking and jostling and so forth is done, they become suddenly serious. They possess an acute awareness for where we are and where we’ll be, and always ask where we’re going, why, and when we’re coming back. The reasons for this are painfully obvious. They are all extremely concerned at all times of our well-being, constantly making sure we’re not hungry or thirsty, too hot or too tired.

As students, they’re everything any teacher could ever hope for. Hard working, appreciative, and sharp as a tack. When I handed out my first homework assignment, each student individually thanked me with a small bow of the head. I was absolutely floored. The students perpetuate an attitude of appreciation for the values of education. They challenge us, they want more, they demand that we don’t slack off and do half our job. They need what we’re offering, they eat it up, challenge it, contemplate it, understand it, and are up the next morning at 8 am in their desks when I walk in, ready to devour more. Its refreshing, yet forces me to look back parts of my life with a tinge of regret. When I was their age, I was lashing out against school, parents, basically anything with a structure that I could attack with my own backwards logic. I see these kids, and they simply radiate appreciation, intelligence and determination. You grow attached to these kids quickly for these reasons. They’re like one enormous family, all living together and helping each other out.

Which brings up a somewhat darker side. Just as you grow attached to them quickly, you become equally defensive of them. You see the world they will inevitably be discharged into, and become terrified for their futures. The school instills these children with a noble system of values and ethics. They’re smart, capable, and driven, yet being released into a world where succeeding means trading in these systems of belief for personal well-being. Yet, you look into their eyes, you see their faces, and the realization beings; these really are the next generation of Cambodians, a generation that just could maybe make an enormous difference. This circles back to a huge daily responsibility that I feel everyday to prepare these children, which at times becomes exhausting. However, everyday ends, finds me tired but undeniably happy. The meaning and value that extends from this work is difficult to describe; its far different than working towards a grade, in that you’re dealing first hand with the lives of these beautiful people. Its a constant responsibility, an obligation to be a positive inspiration and source of wisdom, truth and good.

I’ll keep on this for some time, describing different aspects of life here. I also want to give everyone a sense of the children and staff here, and will do my best to present each one in a unique light.

The ubiquitous moto; most common form of transportation here. The face masks are because it gets real dusty here, but seeing swarms of people clad in them is quite surreal at times.

This is our humble abode. Quaint little cottage at the end of a dirt road. I dig it, very much.

Another view from the porch. I have this terrible addiction to my fisheye lens which I'm sure you will come to realize during the course of my time here.
The room where I'm living. The cottage has two bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. No hot water, stove, or A/C, just a bunch of fans that are absolutely vital anytime after 9 am and before 5. We usually keep them on all night to ward away mosquitos.
Neighbors! The little girl was quite amazed when, after taking this photograph, I showed her the photo on my camera's LCD screen. They don't speak any English, but we communicate enough
\Ah yes, we also have monkeys! These guys hang out on the road leading to our cottage. There are also heaps of stray dogs that seem to live in harmony with them. The monkeys are incredibly tame, they hang out and just munch on fruit, don't pay much attention to you.
The ultimate oxymoron?

Arriving

Our small, prop powered plane skirts below the uniform gray of the impenetrable cloud cover to reveal a landscape swollen with moisture. Footage from New Orleans immediately comes to mind; roads are flooded, fields are flooded, rice paddies, forests...and where is the city, Siem Reap? We descend further, and soon the tiny dots become villagers, mopeds, cars; but no Siem Reap. As the plane wheels grace the runway with a sharp protest of friction, I am left wondering if I boarded the wrong plane.

The culture shock of landing in Bangkok was limited to a number of signs in a beautifully foreign alphabet, and the harshly realized fact that tap water should not be drank (my Thai companion looked at me as if I would soon fall over dead when I informed her I had already drank well over a liter of it; no harm done, however!). Now, walking through the small concrete terminal of the Siem Reap airport, it swells and surges, a tumultuous ocean to navigate, and a challenge to enjoy the navigation of it. I walk out of the airport, and an unfamiliar face rushes up to me, and in a high pitched, good natured tone, broken with small bursts of uncontainable joyous laughter, introduces herself as one of the staff at the Global Child, Smey. She has brought along an older student, who seems as excited to see me as Smey. What proceeded is an interchange that will persist far into the future, I’m afraid.

“What’s your name?”

The answer is indiscernible, a hopelessly complex combination of sounds that my ear has only witnessed in poorly dubbed karate movies. My ears are not conditioned to the beautiful complexity of the Khmer language, and although I indicate comprehension, I’m at a loss for how to refer to him.

If walking through the airport was to be aboard a boat in this ocean of shock, driving to the school and arriving was being thrown overboard into the heart of the ocean. This analogy makes it sound painful and frightening, yet the experience is endlessly fascinating and supremely exciting. As we drive down a potholed road, we are swarmed from all sides by drivers on small personal scooters (motos, as I will know them to be called). Some of these have what look to be chariots in tow (tuk-tuks!), and they swarm and dart before our eyes in a dance whose rules are unfathomable to Western preconceptions. Our winding journey takes us through roundabouts, past ancient crumbling buildings, and under the canopy of trees arching gracefully over the road. We veer off the paved road, past a temple and a line of orange clad monks, and arrive at the end of a bumpy dirt road, before a large house guarded by a heavy iron gate. The Global Child, what will become a home, a place of work, and so much more in the coming months.

Trials in Transit

(Before I begin, I'd like to thank everyone who left comments. Very thoughtful and helpful! Please keep them coming! Email is robbie.flick@gmail.com)

Somewhere over the Caspian Sea, the plane outdistances the last creeping rays of the sun, passing from golden wisps of billowing cumulus clouds into a grim landscape of dark menacing shapes, where one’s imagination channels malicious life into the floating bodies of vapor passing by the plane window. The Thai lady and her family gently snore to my left, and as the flight attendants do their last round through the cabin before the several hours of darkness before out arrival in Bangkok, my thoughts parallel the surrealistic darkening world before my eyes. Sleep proves elusive, despite a restless night dreading the act of bidding farewell, and as I face insomnia in a cramped airplane cabin, my roving mind sinks deeper into the darkening domain of dusk at 11,000 meters.
Since being accepted in this program, I have been proud of involving myself in such an innovative and charitable experience. My pride certainly hasn’t surged to the point of narcissistic delight, and I don’t believe I allowed myself excessive self indulgent joy in pondering the future I would be taking part in. Yet, regardless, it felt admittedly good to say, yes, I am working with underprivileged children in Cambodia, especially when many fellow graduates were following more materialistic, mundane and traditional paths. In a way, this experience is an act of throwing sand into the eyes of the metaphorical bull, a creature, an imperceptible yet overwhelming force that challenges us to give up passion in the name of a defined career, a 401(k) and a seemingly mundane existence. It is an act of defiance, announcing that we will not submit ourselves to a life void of meaning.

Just as the benefits of involving oneself in such a program are notoriously difficult to quantify, so are the costs to the individual, which have of late become abundantly clear to me. Bidding farewell to my family was difficult; they are quite close to my heart, however a handful of experiences has taught us collectively that this experience will not come between us. However, the next round of goodbyes, to an individual who I have grown incredibly close with proved far more difficult than I could ever imagine.
My last entry discussed a number of questions that I have been challenged with; now, as dusk settles into night, the lights on the wing outside my window begin blinking in a hypnotically rhythmic pattern, and these questions surge upwards into my immediate consciousness, transforming the once pleasant bodies of vapor before my eyes into sinister twisting shapes that challenge my every action.

Why put a group of individuals who I’ve never met before my friends, my family, the people in my life who really matter? Am I intentionally yet aimlessly alienating myself? Taking the act of expressing my individuality to unnecessary lengths? Subconsciously set on destroying my most cherished relationships? And perhaps, most disturbingly, am I just wasting my time?

Darkness now fully envelopes the plane, and the wingtip outside my window is only visible in one second bursts of green and red strobes. Suddenly, above the rolling hills of clouds, stars appear, bright, brilliant, shining. I press my nose against the plane window and crane my neck to view this fantastic new landscape, when a light flashes out of the corner of my vision. Several seconds later, another. And again. Confused, I set my eyes forward, relaxed and determined. Suddenly, a passing thunderhead erupts in blinding luminescence, sending white-blue lightning exploding out into the air in myriad directions, tickling the surrounding clouds and illuminating the full landscape before my eyes. When before I was focused merely on the cloudscape, now the full picture is revealed; a terrestrial landscape of steep mountains, paralleled by the brilliant stars above and bisected by heavy impregnated clouds passing before my eyes, crackling with electricity, each presenting their own phantasmagorical lightning show, bathing this beautiful world in their pale blue light.


My original intentions in joining this program re-emerge, refreshed and bolstered. I am not just a citizen of the United States, but also of this planet. Even if one does not believe in assisting those in need, the personal benefits of teaching abroad are innumerable. There’s a very racist notion that Americans and others from the West have priceless lessons to bring to far flung corners of the world, and that this teaching is a unidirectional relationship with the student. If one embarks on such an experience without opening oneself to the possibility of learning from their surroundings and those they teach, it is hopelessly squandered. Although we doubtlessly have much to teach those in these areas, we have just as much to learn. I plan on keeping an infinitely open mind to the lessons I will encounter.


Costs are just that, and goodbyes are never easy. The act of saying goodbye can be perceived as useful, regardless of how painful. The pain I’ve felt in seeing individuals temporarily fade from my life has instilled an appreciation for these people, and while it certainly isn’t painless, it reinforces my values and appreciation for these beautiful individuals. The moment I accepted this opportunity I knew these events were coming, and although it doesn’t mitigate the pain, it puts the situation in another context, a context of education, an autodidactic experience that has no set beginning or end. Through the pain sparked by a series of difficult farewells, I begin to realize the overwhelmingly obvious fact, the pursuit of which initiated this adventure. I am learning, lessons which cannot be taught in a classroom and which must be experienced and reflected upon. I have a feeling that this experience will bring me closer to those that really matter anyways, and the lessons I learn abroad may teach me to love and appreciate those around me with a greater depth.
My thoughts lightened, I watch the light show unfolding before my eyes until rays from the sun rising over the eastern horizon pierces my tired pupils and the German flight attendants circulate with breakfast. Several hours later, I collect my baggage in Bangkok, board a flight to Siem Reap, and prepare myself for the official beginning. In reality, the beginning has already come, at a time difficult to ascertain, and I am already well on my way.
The words of Bill Murray at the end of “The Life Aquatic” come to mind. At the end of the film, after an enormously taxing personal journey, Murray (a.k.a. Steve Zissou) walks out of his film’s enormously successful premiere and is sitting outside with the nephew of one of his crew, a german boy named Werner. Looking out into the distance, red hat cocked on the back of his head, shiny golden award sitting on the ground next to him, no doubt contemplating the distance he has crossed and pains he’s suffered, he mutters those four vital words that resonate with something deep inside my persona.

“This is an adventure”