It was scorching hot as I explored
the beautiful ruins of Ankor Wat. I began the day at the ungodly hour of 4:30
a.m. to watch sunrise and now at 11 am I was turning into a tired 'hangry' grump. I
was starting to feel the toll of 2 ½ weeks in South East Asia. Lack of sleep,
excessive sun exposure, no breakfast and a parade of tuk-tuk’s fly past with
happy couples cuddled up in the back was the perfect recipe for self-pity.
Originally I’d planned to be
in Cambodia 4 days earlier. The intent was to join up with good family friends
and tour around with them for 3 days. Yet due to a passport fiasco I missed my
original flight and incidentally missed my friends' visit to Cambodia
completely. Hence, here I was paying guides to take my selfies and eating alone
at diners.
Traveling alone begs those around you to ask that super
annoying question all single girls in their 30’s get ‘how come you’re not
married? No babies?’Arghhhh! "Nope not yet (fake laugh), unlucky in love I suppose. Table for one please?" Incidentally this was the
same question I was asked by the man who stole my i-phone in
Thailand, a few days before. The nerve!
Although I am certain I love my life and I know it's ok to be
alone I started to hear those familiar voices in my head. You know, the ones
that warn you that if you keep this up you’ll be an old maid and die a sad lonely
death surrounded by cats?
Per the usual when these
voices creep in, I wrote the one girl who always makes me feel better, my
sister Bria. As always her response was like liquid sunshine on my soul. “I have a feeling that something wonderful
or revealing will happen in Cambodia- something you wouldn't have experienced
had you gone with friends as planned. Something you'll be grateful for."
Bria was right, she’s always
right about these things. So there I was wandering through the eighth wonder of
the world, fully believing that any moment something amazing would happen. Little did I know my magic moment was just around the bend. As I stumbled through one of the temple alcoves I came face to face
with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. There, cross-legged on a pile of stones
sat The Happy Nun.
She motioned to me to come
closer. As I did I noticed in front of her sat a small basket filled with
florescent yellow and orange thread. She beamed at me with her
toothless grin and motioned for me to squat down near her. Overcome by her
palpable joy I did as asked. I followed her instructions as if a little girl again
at my grandma’s feet.
Gently she cradled my wrist in
her frail hands and tied three threads around it. As she did this she blew on
my head and mumbled in Cambodian what I assumed to be a prayer. Then she looked
me in the eyes and said, “Now you be lucky.
You blessed”.
I couldn’t wipe the smile
from my face. She was so kind and so beautiful. Not of course in the classic
sense by any means. She was missing all her teeth, her hair was shaved to a
short silvery stubble and her bony body was shrouded in oversized clothes. Yet her soul shone so brightly her light was impossible to miss.
Feeling “lucky” and “blessed”
I returned to the hotel for a much-needed nap. There I came across a flustered American frantically turning
over couch cushions in the lobby. He’d lost his i-phone. Knowing all to well the pain of a lost i-phone I decided to
help him look. After a fruitless search we got to talking and he recommended a little restaurant near the hotel called, Genevieve's. Really?! Strange coincidence in Cambodia! Yet, there is some French influence here so maybe that’s the connection?
I decided at the very least I had to pass by and take a picture of
the sign. I mean who doesn’t like the see their name in marquis? But once
arrived the menu looked promising and a sweet waitress seated me at the “table
for one” near the back. While deciding what to order I noticed the menu
contained its namesake’s biography.
It turns out Genevieve was a
6th grade Australian teacher. She was known for always
seeing the best in her students and pushing them to excel beyond their
expectations. She was beloved by her graduates and stayed in contact with them several
years into their careers. Genevieve died of cancer in November of 2009. In an attempt to amend his grief
her widow, Richard, traveled to Cambodia.
As fate would have it, his travels introduced him to a Cambodian woman in need of work. Together they opened Genevieve’s. The vision was to
create jobs for anyone who needed one regardless of experience level. The staff
shares in restaurant profits, as does the community. 10% of all proceeds are
donated to sustainable efforts to improve the lives of Cambodians in Siem Reap.
What an incredible way to honor the life of such a vibrant woman.
As if the day didn’t hold
enough magic, hanging directly above my table was a poster-sized photo of the
very nun I met among the temple ruins that morning. There she was smiling down
at me with that same toothless grin and basket of thread. The tears started streaming. I knew in that moment, I was exactly where I should be.
My life didn’t exactly turn
out the way I thought it would when I was thirteen. I have far less to show for my 35 years than
most American girls. I don’t own a car, a house, a couch, or thanks to a Thai fire dancer even a cell
phone. Yet I DO have absolute confidence I’m living out the life I’m born to
live. I have a peace that reaches to my core and a lightness about me that I'd never trade for conventional success. The cost of saying “yes” often means living in limbo longer than you think you can stand, yet as I learned in Siem Reap…just when
you think you can’t take it anymore, wait. Because that’s when the magic
happens.
Beautiful!
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