Eeny Meeny, Miny, Mo

Decisions. We’ve all got to make them. Big, small, trivial and significant. Some people are good at them, some are bad at them. I’m starting to believe that I’ve become quite good at them. I can tell by the way I smile broadly every morning that I’m in a good position in my life and I’ve made the right independent choices to get to this point.

Of course, I didn’t start out like this. I was brought up to obey the decisions made for me. Yes, they were for my benefit and obviously at the time I was not yet of age or maturity to make the major decisions for myself. And despite it all leading to a good life-style anyway…it was completely unsatisfying because it wasn’t MY decision to live that way. I couldn’t take credit. I couldn’t have pride. I had no ownership. For me to find happiness, I had to take the reigns and make the choice for myself. I wanted to take a risk so that I could claim responsibility no matter how it turned out: good or bad. I'd either have myself to blame or claim the success for myself!

And then there’s the fear of making decisions. Or more accurately, the fear of making the wrong decision. It’s this potentially disabling fear that can stop a person in their tracks, take the low-risk path and disappear amongst the crowd of mediocrity. It is this barrier of decision making that filters the average from the awesome. Well, I think anyway.

I was given an awesome piece of off-handed advice from a dear cousin of mine, Henri.

‘Deb, there’s no such thing as the ‘wrong’ decision- just decisions that don’t work out. You can just go back, take on the new wisdom and try again.’

That simple sentence took away some of the fear for me, propelling me forth into a much more rewarding life.

Calculating risks. Courage to leap. Taking a chance. Zest to live.

When it comes to crunch, I always end up asking myself, ‘what would make the better story?’

What decision would make YOUR story better?

Why The Kingdom of Cambodia?

If I was asked 2 years ago ‘would you ever go to Cambodia?’ I would’ve shrugged and said ‘Cambo-where?’ I had no interest in the country at all. Its history, its country, its language…nothing. There was no deterrence, just no inherent interest. But Cambodia found me.

My initial interest in NGO work was stemmed by the guy I ran away with- my ‘good fortune’. He was the one who introduced me to the idea of humanitarianism. However, this interest didn’t evolve until I had resolved my restlessness on the Great Barrier Reef. I had the epic epiphany that this life of self serving indulgence wasn’t enough to sustain me (c'mon, I played on the beach every day and got paid for it) and I wanted to infuse more meaning into my life…by following my dream to fill someone’s need! The next step was how. What was my dream and what was the need?

2 weeks after my epiphany I was presented with the opportunity to go scuba diving for $20 with another guest on the island (oh the benefits of staff discount!). This guest was a sweet-looking Asian lady who I quickly connected with.

‘So, what are you going to do after the island?’

‘I’m thinking about doing some volunteer work with an NGO…just don’t know which NGO or what to do…’

‘Oh, I have a friend in Vietnam working for an NGO. They deal with displaced Vietnam War refugees who ended up in worse situations than they ran away from. Or something like that.’

The clouds opened up and the sunrays beamed around her. The angels sang. Doves flocked. The crowd went wild.

MY parents were refugees from the Vietnam War. THEY ran away from the same war as those people. But they were lucky and ended up in Australia. I was lucky to be born under THEIR parentage. There were still people out there living my parents’ past suffering!

I found the NGO online and an email address:

My name is Debra Ly. I have a Bachelor of Education and 6 months of my time to donate. Are there opportunities at present? Please let me know.

Hi Debra! Thank you for your expression of interest. We’ve just opened up a preschool in a Vietnamese Ep Chai slum village in Cambodia. You can run it! When can you get here??

Kingdom of Wonder? Why not?!

Previously on…LIFE

I’ve finally gotten around to reporting on the NOW. Hmm…actually not yet. I’m going to catch people up on how my NOW came about. This is a story I want to share because I believe everyone is destined to follow a path to serve a role and create and find meaning in one’s existence in this world.

Not many can do this, but I can pinpoint the exact date when everything changed. August 25^th, 2008. That was the foretold date of my coming of ‘good fortune’. (I was approached by an Indian fortune-teller 3 months previously who told me what I was thinking and stated 25/8…and then asked for $10).

On that fateful day, I received a text message from the new guy at work. ‘Let’s run away. We’ll get into your car and get lost in the sticks. It’ll be an adventure! =)’. That text represented a cross-road: yes or no.

Yes: runaway with a complete stranger from my cookie-cutter, spoon-fed life and open myself to a world of infinite possibilities.

No: stick to what I know and take the 5-lane freeway towards the white-picket fence all us middle-class, Asian, Catholic school-girls are conditioned for. (FYI, I’m spiritual, not religious)

mmm...YES.

I roamed Victoria, pitched my first tent, fell in love, climbed a mountain, flew to Queensland, got a job on a remote island on the Great Barrier Reef, fell out of love, connected with the nature, found the Universe, had an epiphany, sent an email, flew to Cambodia, ran a preschool in the slums of Siem Reap for displaced Vietnamese children, got kicked out of the country for ‘terrorism’, wallowed in ambivalence back in Melbourne, flew to India, landed again in Cambodia.

My first tent

My sunset life on the Island

The Island

My preschool kids

Henna tattoo in the mountains of Himachal

Cambodia round 2 with my new gang outside Angkor Wat (Unfortunately I can't post pictures of my current work due to its sensitive nature)

And now I’m Country Director of NGO Senhoa, providing vocational training and life-skills education for survivors of human-trafficking. All in a course of 2 years. I haven’t looked back once.

Wrapping India Up

I’ve been out of India now for nearly 8 months and haven’t even touched Cambodia, so it doesn’t make sense for me to keep slipping back in time and neglect reportage of the NOW (my blog’s title ‘Today’s a Gift’ for crying out loud!). I’m going to wrap up my Indian adventure and catch everyone up to my more recent goings-on. However, I do want it to be noted that my speed-blog on Mumbai no way justifies my experience there.

After the wedding, Karin and I were handballed over to the in-laws. We couldn’t have been welcomed more warmly. Kiwi’s new mother-in-law threw her arms out and crushed me against her big bosom and cupped my cheeks so that my lips made a fish-kiss, and told me to call her Aunty (by that point I had already adopted 5). For the next week in their cosy apartment, she proceeded to feed us the freshest, most deliciously prepared Indian meals YET.

The In-Laws

During our time with the Babbu family:

• we were taken to the National Park within Mumbai where temples were carved out of the natural rock

• taken on the Mumbai Safari. (awesome laughs and memories. How else can you pray at a Holy House of Hinduism and then get shipped to an entertainment centre to watch a 4-D children’s film, get caught in a monsoon down-pour, get sprayed by a toilet flush button AND watch sea turtles scrape against the glass of their1x2 meter tanks that was their new habitat?)

• weaved through the roaming cows on the wild streets

• drank fruit beer (with 0% fruit)

• welcomed the new neighbor (they lived across a cemetery)

• found out the meaning of ‘choda’

On my last day (10 July), I was accompanied to the airport by Anku, Meenu and Karin. It was a nice way to say goodbye…if I’d actually left. I was 20 minutes late for check-in so I was locked out and stranded from my flight out. The airport staff weren’t helpful in the least, constantly pointing me in different directions and finally made a cross with their arms in my face so that’d I’d get the message that I was clearly NOT GETTING ON THAT PLANE. Thank goodness I was not the only one though. Another family was fighting to get onto the same flight, but to no avail. Thank even MORE goodness that the father was generous enough to help me find a solution. I had no phone, no number to call, no cash, NO IDEA. I had a flight booked from Kuala Lumpur to Siem Reap the next day. I couldn’t afford to miss another flight! I had another dousing of kindness that day though. The father, Amil, went out of his way and looked up flights for me online (he had his laptop with a Dongle), made calls with his phone, convinced the security guards to let me pass to get to the international ATM, waited for me for 45 minutes (!!!) to get my new tickets to KL and double and triple checked that I had the right flights at the right prices. I was NOTHING to this man but he was so chivalrous and made sure I had a way out of India. 12 hours later (and bored out of my MIND) I was on my way to KL to my connecting flight to my awaiting life in Siem Reap, Cambodia.

Who wants to go to a Monsoon Wedding?? I DO, I DO, I DO!

Jain-ja-nin-dera Vadodora!

Formerly known as Baroda, I flew to the home-town of my dear friend, Kiwi with whom I worked at the chocolate boutique. His family welcomed me into their home with wide-open arms (which I’ve come to learn is the beautiful nature of Indians). My arrival and stay was well anticipated by the family. Kiwi had done a good job letting them know that a ‘White Person’ was coming to his wedding.

‘Kiwi! Why did you tell them that?? I’m Asian! You’re lying to them!’

‘Deb, once you open your mouth they’ll KNOW how white you are!’

But regardless of the confusion, they fed me (the food was so delectable that my eyes teared-up with each mouthful), housed me (western toilet!!) and in return I provided entertainment by trying to learn the local Indian dialect, Gujarati.

Kiwi's mum drying off her Henna Tattoo with her fun and bubbly sisters

I arrived just a few days before the official wedding date so I could be the fly on the wall, and witness the operations of a traditional Indian wedding. I opened up my little Asian eyes and absorbed everything I saw! The food, the décor, the traditional outfits, the expressive hand gestures and head-bobbling… oh, so much to take in!

Just a day after me, Traveller Karin joined us for the festivities! I didn’t want to completely disappoint the family by not being white…so I invited Karin! After I asked Kiwi, of course. (Just a side note: this is not an offensive racial thing. This is a running inside-joke between me and Kiwi). I was so glad she came along. A fellow foreigner to share the experience.

Karin: She's White!!

On my 3^rd day there, the family members and guests started to arrive. Let me paint a picture as to what they probably perceived: Remember back to a time when you attended a wedding. You know the people, you’re familiar with the traditions, the food, the formal wear, the music. Everything is as you expect. Now imagine you go to sit down at your table and there are two inappropriately dressed Eskimos with stone-cold fish, wrapped up in foil, supposedly gifts, for the bride and groom. That was us. Now imagine one Eskimo, flamboyant, animated, loud and overly chatty for one who doesn’t speak the local language. That was me.

Groom and Eskimo being all Gangsta!

I got so excited about dressing up. In Delhi I had two sarees made: 1 iridescent magenta one with adorable beaded flowers and a bright blue one with gorgeous beaded details.

Aunty Preeti after wrapping us up

Apparently, I look North Indian!

But Karin still looks White

Aunty Preeti helped me and Karin with the art of saree. Thank goodness. Otherwise we would’ve looked like heavily bejeweled Samosas. Once I got everything on, my knees were buckling…my outfits were so HEAVY. In India, the fashion philosophy is: ‘if less is more…then surely moreis MORE!’ I reckon I donned at least 4kg worth of drapery and bling. But that didn’t stop me from DANCING. Oh My Vishnu…the DANCING was amazing. Any occasion where dancing is mandatory is my kind of occasion!! Kiwi’s mum at one point sat me down on her lap and said very seriously, ‘Debra, go and take rest. In 2 hours, you must dance. We all dance for 3 hours. Go. Sleep. Rest. Then dance.’ AWESOME. The nights of dancing were like something out of Bollywood. It was monsoon season so the rain poured down as the speakers blasted and we all danced barefoot on the street in ankle deep water, skipping, spinning and hopping celebrating the union of the gorgeous young couple

.

Kanika and Kiwi with 9kg of Indian Wedding Couture

So throughout the 3-day wedding (Indian weddings are normally a week but due to lack of time on the bride and groom’s part, it was all condensed into the 3 days) the bride and groom went through the Henna tattoo ceremony, the meeting of the parents ceremony, the gifting ceremony, the Tumeric ceremony, the blessed bathing ceremony, the prayer ceremony, the family acceptance ceremony, the welcome-back-to-your-family-with-your-new-husband ceremony, the welcome-to-your-new-home-with-your-new-husband-and-parents ceremony…No wonder the divorce rate in India is so low.

Please note: these ceremonies are not correctly named nor listed in the correct order. I mean no disrespect! I simply don’t know/remember!

I had so much fun. Thank you so much to Kiwi and Kanika, and the Shah Family for letting me participate in such a special event in their lives. SHUKRIYA!!

Kiwi and his parents

Me and the Bad-Ass, Mihir

The Bride's side plus their new Son! ...and Eskimo Daughters...

Aaaaaahhhhhmritsaaaaaaar

I was sad to leave Orchard Hut, and I was especially sad to say bye to Sahil. It had been a while since having such meaningful conversations. I had learnt the morning we left that we were actually meant to be accompanied by another guide; an older, much more experienced (and much less good-looking) mountain guide. (I mean, he was ok…it’s just I’m in favour of…alright I’ll stop.) But some family matters came up and Sahil stepped in at the last minute to take his place. I smile at coincidences like that. It reminds me of how wondrous this Universe is…But the adventure must go on! Besides, with Facebook these days, goodbyes are just for now, not forever.

Our next stop was Amritsar via overnight sleeper train. I was a little ambivalent about it. I imagined it to be similar to our last public transportation experience, screeching round the sharp bends on rusty tracks, with the distinct difference of laying down, strapped to a lice-infested bed. To my epic relief the train was clean, well-serviced and the ride was lullaby smooth.

‘That washroom is filthy’ shuddered Adam. I quietly patted myself on the back for not eating or drinking too much to avoid that experience. We had air-conditioning, privacy curtains, crisp sheets to sleep on and be covered with (Adam: Bullocks! All these sheets are stained), a fluffy pillow, and to my amazement CUPHOLDERS. (Or is it cup-holders…?)

Anyway, it was nice to be rocked to sleep. I was taken back to the days when I was a wee little one being rocked in my mummy’s arms. When we woke up, not only were we in Amritsar on time, but on English Adam’s 31^st birthday! I really enjoyed his company throughout our tour. Both him and his lovely wife, Porcelain Joelle. They met at 16 and have been together since. They still look into each other’s eyes with adoration and fit so easily and comfortably into each other’s space. It’s when I see couples like that that makes me feel more hopeful for the concept of marriage.

To acknowledge the special day, I pulled out a pen and paper and delivered a singing telegram:

Happy Birthday, McNichol

Your hygiene standards are fickle

India’s been so much fun

Happy Birthday, Adam!

When we stepped off the train, we were all rudely struck in the face by the 51 degree heat. We all made a straight dash to the hotel and its air-conditioned rooms. Holy crap, it was hot. We waited till night fall before braving the stifling city again.

Amritsar is home of the Golden Temple. A sacred gold-plated temple that houses the Holy Book of... how embarrassing, I don’t actually know!! It was beautiful and mesmerizing, anyhow. The Golden Temple sat in the middle of a square body of holy water, glimmering and shimmering with religious glory.

There were so many people, all there to worship and be blessed by the temple’s radiance. I was very interested to see so many young people. Coming from a culture where the youth are predominantly religiously apathetic and spiritually void, it was so hopeful to see the sincerity on the faces of the young people who touched the step of the idol gods and their hearts and mutter an earnest prayer.

After a night of holy beauty, it only seemed natural to be transported the next day to the border of India and Pakistan to witness the ultimate DANCE-OFF. We were guided through a massive crowd of locals and tourists alike, 3 different screens where we surrendered our bodies for inspections for arms and weapons and then ushered on to huge stone seats that had been nicely exposed to the sun for the previous 8 hours. Man, if I thought that initial 51 degree slap in the face was hot…this was the oven the Witch was preparing for Hansel and Gretel. Except we wouldn’t have been tasty treats- I reckon we were the equivalent to saltine crackers smothered in vegemite and then sprinkled with raw sea-salt for that extra kick. The amount of sweat we produced was prolific (After I dried up I actually found stones of crystalised salt in my bra). The wind was stagnant and the masses of bodies probably contributed a few more degrees.

Thankfully, I was distracted by an adorable young Indian girl who shook my hand and started conversing with me in broken English. Unthankfully, the distraction was short-lived for she insisted on questioning me (with the same questions in different phrases) about Australia for the next 20 minutes. By the end of it, as cute and sweet as she was, I was really hoping she’d run out of English. But all that was forgotten once the DANCE OFF began. It’s actually the ‘Closing of the Gates’ ceremony where both India and Pakistan face off and lower their flags and close the gates for the day. But I think ‘DANCE OFF’ sounds way more appealing. First, the soldiers in hats that resembled the comb of a rooster showed off how big their lungs were by billowing into the microphone. Similar to how I was taught to chant ‘ohm’…but much more egotistically.

And then the DANCE OFF. Music blasted from the speakers. The catchiness of the beat tingled through me forcing me to nod my head and pulse my shoulders. Down on the street where everything was happening, ladies and not-quite-ladies of all shapes and sizes went nuts. Shimmying, bouncing, shaking and flailing. I was itching to join them. It looked so bloody fun! One middle-aged lady in a traditional sava khamis thrusted out her chest towards the Pakistan gate and did the whole ‘Whatchu lookin’ at? You want some o’ this, huh??’ thing. If that doesn’t get your mind off the heat…

And then the sweet, cooling rains came. Coincidence? I think not.

HINDUSHAN! ZINDAVAT!

In Orchard Hut Awe

My impression of Orchard Hut

Back to nature, indeed. I think I had a smile plastered to my face for the whole 3 days and 3 nights in Orchard Hut. This no-frills, heart-felt, home-stay resort embodied everything I wanted (and what I think everyone needs) for a retreat. I felt so FREE! I was a city girl released back into the wild! I’m sure at one point some of my travel buddies were sick of my incessant laughter and playful antics. I was in too much of a blissful state to really take any notice.

We were provided with all the creature comforts: 3 organic, scrumptious vegetarian meals a day (clean food and fresh vegis!!); chai o’clock between lunch and tea; spring water swimming pool; and good-for-the-soul activities to fill in our days. I started each day with a one-hour meditation session with Mr Prakash. OOOhhhhmmmmmm…..Shaaaanntiiii….. leaving me in the best of moods for the day (Porcelain: But you’re always in the best of moods!) I’d done some unguided meditation on my own and have had success with it, but it was so much more…powerful to be lead into meditation. Mr Prakash would first talk for 30 minutes about the birth of ‘Ohm’, the first word of the Universe, and explain its role in meditation. He described the chant as an internal massage; the sound sends vibrations through the body, loosening all the tension within caused by stresses of life. He also taught me a simple way to finish a session. Previously I’ve just blinked slowly out of it, stretch and carry on with the day. He instructed me to assume the Namaste position (hands in prayer), bow and murmur ‘Ohm Shanti’ (Shanti is Sanskrit for ‘peace’), sweep your hands over your face, behind the neck and back into Namaste. Done =)

Later on, I had a full-body massage (loosening up all the tension without), again with Mr Prakash who expertly kneaded every knot out of my muscles leaving me more supple than a bendy, newborn baby. He read my energies and said that my body is a great vehicle for enlightenment. My chakra channels are clear and I’m headed down the right path in life. Needless to say that left me in an even better mood! Then Mr Prakash took us for a tour of his orchard. He impressed us with his fitness! This 65-ish year old man, with a generous ponch and hair sprouting from his ear canals handled the steep slopes of his farm with the agility of a ninja! He challenged me to a race and whooped my ass. We met some of his prized cows and watched him groom them. His most prized animal was Golab (Hindi for Rose), the water buffalo who was heavily pregnant and had the most gentle demeanour. I too wanted to join in on the grooming and started sweeping off some dust off her back. But as I did so, the dust didn’t come off; it just spread. No matter how roughly I patted it, it wouldn’t come off. And then I noticed that the ‘dust’ could be easily manipulated…and the next thing ‘Deb’ was written on Golab’s back. ‘Hey guys! Come check this out!’ Clo looked on and her face dropped in horror. It was then I realized what I’d just done- I’d just defaced a Holy Animal of India.

Please don't do this if you visit India...

Luckily for me Mr Prakash had an awesome sense of humour and had become quite fond of me. He told me that he sees my name on the buffalo as a blessing, and once the calf is born and is a female, he’ll name her Deb! Talk about leaving your mark!

Our other activities also included henna tattoos, a cooking demonstration, palm reading, and lazing around the pool. The pool was my absolute favourite. Natural spring water flowed directly into the pool from the mountain reserves so we were bathing in the elixir of pure nature. Its invigorating temperature was perfect to jump into after our half-day trek in the upper village. I didn’t even wait to get to the pool’s edge. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag and jumped from the top of the stairs into the centre of the water. KASPLASH!! And then 2 more splashes followed (from a lower height) and I was joined by Karin and Jen, clothes and all! My laughter rang out through Orchard Hut and everyone gathered to see what the sudden noise was about. ‘Yeap, Deb’s back.’ So alive!

My most memorable moment, however, came on my last night. Throughout my stay, I’d been spending a lot of time chatting to Sahil, who has appeared in my entries quite a few times now. We had a lovely conversation on the open verandah about his passion for nature, my passion for humanitarian work, our beliefs about freedom…you know, the deep stuff. And then it turned to how I seem to be so happy all the time, with an endless supply of energy. I told him that lots of people think that I’m on drugs. He looked at me with genuine confusion and asked ‘Why would people say you’re on drugs??’ I was taken aback by his confusion. Isn’t it obvious? ‘Because they all think it’s impossible to be so constantly happy.’ He shook his head and simply said, ‘People on drugs are not happy.’ Aint that the bloody truth.

Ohm Shanti.