I started a blog when I was backpacking across Asia. I kept up with it as best I could on the limited technology I carried with me. But slowly more memories come floating back to me. As if in the shuffle of going there and getting here I pushed the memory away from me and it’s only now come drifting back.
I have brief moments of happiness. They’re unfortunately too far apart and rare. But they do happen. When I was in Cambodia I visited Angkor which is the remains of an ancient civilization that fell some time during the crusades. Contrary to belief it’s not just a small group of temples that tourists just hit passing through to Phnom Penh going south. It’s an entire town, once a booming metropolis busting out miles apart. Each temple could take you anywhere from 60 seconds to 3 hours to wander through. On our way out of one of the larger ones we heard soft music. On the long stretch of dirt and green out of the temple we approached a group of tourists surrounding women wrapped up in bright colored scarves. They were dancing to the rhythm of some traditional song plucked and beaten on instruments I didn’t recognize. The women were desperate to get the crowd to join in. But the gathering was hesitant clinging to the perimeter wanting only to watch. Each woman would reluctantly return to the center alone. The girls I was traveling with were less reluctant to fight the urge to learn something new. The dancing women cheered when we entered their circle. The dance was slow mostly involving a constant movement of the hips and intricate wrist movements. They showed us how to fold our wrists in rhythm to the song. It was easy to forget about the crowd watching and taking pictures. I forgot about how I can’t dance and how sweaty I must have looked. I relished in the moment dancing hip to hip with strangers and two of my closest friends. Everything blurred but still heavily contrasted each other; mirroring where I have been and where I was off to.