Remember of the hot days in Phnom Penh …

I remember on the first day I visited to Phnom Penh, I become a leaf of grass off off spike to fly to a strange door frame on a strange Strip. From the door of the car, I saw long way hun-true to my hopes.

My first day of Phnom Penh is stiff, sunny day has a way with the relatively flat strip of land ice, thot not more remarkable rise. Never new I can become the nomads travel to exotic places like this to look at the world in that exist as anything else with me? I was wondering that.

The sink and the vague thought do I collect all of the photos on his eyes, to still have to remember forever, mind cramps, remember bươn baits by space moments like this … Phnom Penh’s first short-lived mystical way I for a night!

It’s Hot as much as nothing is compared of. I came into the Bon Chol Chnam. He said that Tet is about preventing from dry season shifting to the rainy season. 11 p.m., I stood on the two guards of the pensions themselves in, next to an altar carvings more solid image of Naga and sharp curved tile roofs painted thếp gold. I see raindrops flicking into the roof of the altar. Tết. And rain.

Phnom Penh holds too many memories of me. I walk wander town, looked on new year pig-in the eyes of traders away from home. I am absurd people out when an old doctor speak French (and guess my English), hold the address of my accommodation, 10 p.m., carrying me on the doorstep. Smiled, bowed. And turn the car off, not getting the money I had available in the hand would put out. It is on at Wat Phnom.

I find myself more like a particle of water, are in full fall on the line of Mekông, to sweep away and see a natural way for people to live in Cambodia. I never understand them because of language, because beliefs, because the stranger in Saigon were plastered up my soul these days put the roof looking his way. Looks like Phnom Penh does not know. And the only way to become a particle of water on the soul of this place, people can understand why the Cambodian people live like that.

In a documentary I viewed, it turns the fire faces sunny pedal assembly and flurry sacks, people read the comments: “I returned to Phnom Penh, everyone superiors, suspicion and fear. The war did everyone shrinks back to preserve his family “.

I try to imagine what her superiors whether how scary, like I’m not living in Saigon. But all these days I was there, I haven’t seen the suspicion would paste up. The natural living here to the extent people hand out keys to help me and not unconditionally even when I hold the money in hand and agreed all money. Naturalism that made me sleepy strange. It is a mystery of the world?

I remember Phnom Penh Cambodian land both literally and few places I can go through in a short time to extreme poverty all his God. One day, when stepping down bus in Siem Reap, I take in hand a address I know, and I drive a tuk-tuk ride. He told me, if I need a ride, call him by phone number. I saved a number at random.

The first day, I price for the trip I need 2USD. He told me, if you call late to catch. That afternoon you come pick me up. When alight, 1USD. The next morning, when the need for it also, he flicked me coffee and reviews … 1usd. To on Tuesday, he said: “You don’t need to pay!” and leave just before my face still sleepy. When I am out about customers bus to Phnom Penh, I know the distance from my house and where I work to your parking wasn’t near as you told me.

Nostalgia with Phnom Penh and strange lands him in I am not from the money that I can fade when using the services which is from the natural feelings such as Mekông line, probably will when dềnh waves wet up the feet of guys going wild in late September.

Second, when the footsteps down the bus in Phnom Penh, I remember her tears have fallen, like the pointless nature of love. I could not understand why her mind easily to the alley side of the Cho Sa Thmey. I don’t understand why every time I sleepy child early because confusion then immediately one hand would it give to embrace me, graciously as relatives, refined as you and indifferent as a stranger …

I also can’t explain why I stand long in the S-21 prison and doesn’t want to leave the Choeung Ek when sitting on a stone bench set soon after the strip of land were up to hold the relics of dead Fields.

I’ve been looking forever the face sộc the smell of death, looking at hundreds of images arranged side by side and look at the status quo on Pearl on nothingness. How to arrange her cruel as we hold up a glass jar, a strong throw on the wall for the extremely hot, then picked up the pieces, tied up a flat white paper font for his tenacity.

The reef breaks are separated out and cứa to the heart of people across the image. I felt the dialogue in the other documentary “reservations, suspicion and fear” is something the stars too gently before the wounds full of blood and death on the walls and other fields …

Today, when I view a short documentary about a rainy day Phnom Penh, with the curved corner blocks and the dềnh water quietly cling to the body and the fate of the people there, I found my heart in motion … like a drop of water of the Mekông too longing a flow , too monotonous when not to leave something in the kernel.

I remember all of what I see in a day in Phnom Penh. And sometimes I feel I was standing on the two guards of the accommodation with the altar, look at raindrops break into his lips flicking Holy, know that the current season is obviously a magical way.

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