We

            Privacy is so important for us in America. Our own personal space is valuable and rightfully so. Space bubbles, locks and double locks, keys and many many doors.

            But opportunities to say “I” and “my” are harder to come by in this country of “We.” On micro and macro levels, there’s a whole lot more sharing going on over here (and no, Cambodia is no longer Communist).

For example, when my neighbor across the alley wants to listen to “Jung Ban BrapOhn Mui” I better want to listen to it too. Because when he turns on the stereo, it’s going to be loud enough to waft into my home and tens of other homes in the community. I’ve actually added a few songs to my i-tunes list through the chance help of my neighbors. Thank you team. Anyway, here we listen to each other’s music. There’s no request list from the community or a question as to when it’s okay to play or how loud is too loud. We share one sky, so we share music. I haven’t been brave enough to blast my own music, which would undoubtedly begin with my girl, Celine. BUT a few months back, I heard her in the distance and threw up some emotional fist pumps. I love you Celine Dion. (I know, it’s a strange addiction).   

Back to the “we” examples. Sprinkled throughout the streets are noodle soup-sellers balancing long sticks on their shoulders; ingredients and eating utensils hanging delicately from both ends. If someone’s hungry, they pay 50 or-so cents to slurp down a meal of noodles. They eat out of the one and only bowl the seller has, and drink water from the one and only cup the seller has. After a quick rinse, she looks for the next hungry soul, stirs up some noodles, watches them eat, and repeats. Why not?

Also, there are also simply less doors here. Of course some stores, especially bigger grocery stores or nicer clothing stores have doors to keep in the air-conditioning, but in general, most things are out in the open. How do I explain this? Instead of walking “into” a stores, you walk “up to” a store. You just walk up and there you are, face to face with roasted pigs and various game hanging out in the open, or there you are negotiating with flies and bugs to pick fruits off a cart. And markets, the most popular way to shop, of course don’t have doors either.

There’s just a lot of exposure here. I like it, but it does mean finding a cozy quiet place to journal is limited.

Indeed, sharing can have downsides. Shared smells from Phnom Penh streets are often questionable, at best. Shared streets can mean seeing men urinating on the side of the road (I see this at least 3 times a day). It also means bikes, motos, tuk-tuks and LandCruisers constantly fight for life… er… I mean … space on the roads. 

Sharing can have upsides too. Sharing lives means getting to know people well. It also means that there’s a lot of working together and helping one another selflessly. It means conversation with strangers are easier to enter, people don’t lock themselves in their rooms as often and you don’t have to worry so much about people’s picky space issues.

It’s interesting though, how maybe this notion of sharing helps reveal some of how the sex trafficking industry is still going strong. I know that's a bold statement and quite a leap from roasted pigs and Landcruisers, but consider this: many girls we encounter have been sold by mothers who have debts with the brothel owners.  If everything, including filial and financial responsibilities, are shared especially within a family, is it easier to throw totally inappropriate expectation on children?

How to balance “I” and “we,” “mine” and “ours” is an infinitely complicated game.