For the mother, the sibling and the friends.

HOMESICK

adj. - Acutely longing for one's family or home.
 

adj. - som har hjemve

adj. - heimwehkrank 

adj. - qui a le mal du pays, qui s'ennuie de ses parents (un enfant)

adj. - 회향병의, 고향을 몹시 그리워 하는

In any language the meaning of being homesick is not an attractive one. To acutely long for family or home is a hard thing to admit because being independent is important, especially to those who have chosen to put themselves in a possible homesick scenario. Especially to me.

I never did understand how people could be homesick unless they were forced away from home. Having not set foot in my mother's house in 18 months, hugged my brother, played with my niece, laughed with my friends or simply woken up to a comforting familiar British brisk morning, I'm beginning to understand. It's a feeling I'm not particularly comfortable with as it puts an odd amount of pressure on current circumstances. Every great day is slightly tainted with the thoughts of my niece drawing me pictures. Every cheap foreign meal is less welcome than the thoughts of eating with my family. All the beautiful pictures taken are not going to be as valuable as those I could take of my nephew whom I've never met.

Homesickness is not a familiar feeling and it's not a welcome feeling. I'm not acutely longing but I'm longing all the same and each day I think that I'm that much closer to having a cup of tea with my mum, playing with my niece and nephew, hugging my brother and sis-in-law and laughing once more with my friends.

92 days and counting.

Cambodia's love

It's taken me a while to write this blog entry and for two reasons. The first is that I was in no way ready to write. Cambodia was extraordinary and I was so consumed by it that I couldn't focus on getting it on to paper, I needed to let it all sink in. The second reason was that, well, I didn't quite know what to write? How do I explain Cambodia and it's people? How do I explain the sheer love and happiness that seems to radiate from them in all their poverty and especially in the shadow of Pol Pot. It's hard to put words to it but I'm going to try.

I've been to quite a few countries now where poverty is rife. The rich and the poor live side by side with no middle ground. The wealthy rise from their western beds, have hot showers rinsing the dirt off with shampoos and soaps, they eat a hearty breakfast, hop in their air conditioned cars and drive off for another day of work. As they drive they will pass poverty stricken families who will watch these modern people rushing about their lives as they go about their simple ones. This isn't just in Asia of course, this happens worldwide but here it just seems different. There is no space between the classes, they simply exist together with no questions and strange as it may be, they almost seem blind to each other. On one street there could be five rich households and right next door, families that have no running water, little food and only each other to keep themselves entertained. These strange relationships, if you can call them that, can be found in Cambodia too but to me, it's no where near as dramatic as anywhere else I've been. 

There is a kind of general love between everyone in Cambodia. A respect and consideration that gently graces each and every person no matter their financial status. You watch wealthier people bypass chain stores and head directly to poor street vendors always showing each other kindness. The sick and poor who beg on the streets and try to sell their goods to tourists will often get business from passing locals who spend their money on books and tat I assume they already own. I witnessed younger Cambodians helping their elders and vice versa with simple things like pushing a bike or shaking fruit from trees. Often I watched strangers stop and briefly chat and play with children in the street, sometimes buying them a bag of crickets before departing. Everywhere you look you find the rich and poor walking side by side and unlike other countries, here they are more than aware of each other. For me it was a disconcerting experience. We don't show each other that kind of kindness where I live. We are too consumed by our own lives to help others with the simplest of tasks so often. It made me sad to belong to a country like that and long to call somewhere like Cambodia home. A place that has gone through hell but instead of stew in their grief or shut the world out, they have become some of the most loving people I've ever met.

 

Many don't know the story of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. I certainly didn't know much before I visited Cambodia. I knew of Pol Pot and his genocide but I was in no way ready for the horrifying details that I came to learn. I can't image having my family ripped apart, watching neighbors and friends disappear overnight or simply witness my country being broken so dramatically. Unfortunately these things have happened too many times in the past. This time however Pol Pot and his minions make Hitler, as a person, look like a puppy. Hitler invented the term 'cleansing' and it seems the Khmer rouge adopted it with pleasure however, as horrific and tragic as Auschwitz was, Cambodia took it to a whole new level. 

In 1975 the Khmer rouge took over and their dream was to turn Cambodia in to a Communist country. Of course this meant ridding the nation of capitalists which included anyone of wealth or learning and of course they must rid themselves of anyone not Cambodian which included Chinese, Thai's, Muslims, Christians and of course whites. The list is endless of what was not acceptable and the list extremely short for what was. All they wanted and needed were simple farming people whom they could mold and shape in to perfect communists. In doing all of this they brought about one of the worst genocides in modern history, brutally murdering nearly 2 million innocent people out of only 7 million. We can painfully reflect upon ethnic cleansing in WW2, Rwanda, Former Yugoslavia and even Sudan but for me there is something different about Cambodia. I think it's the sheer brutality, the lack of bullets may be it. The lack of worth in a human life that they would rather beat them to death with clear effort than take a bullet and end it quickly. All war is horrific and I'm in awe of anyone whom has lived through one. 

There is a place called S-21 in Phnom Pehn which was once a school. When the rouge took over it was turned in to a prison camp but not just any prison camp, this is one where they tortured and murdered man after man, woman after woman and even child after child. People who simply wanted freedom, people who had been educated, innocent children who had undesirable parents and even people who just wore glasses. This all sounds too familiar. 

These souls were stripped of life for no reason at all and when we visited S-21 you were more than aware of it. Untouched S-21 is a terrifying place that everyone should see if only to witness the brutality of man. A place where they felt bullets were worth more to them than human lives so instead beat their prisoners to death.

 

 

This prison murdered too many to mention but it wasn't just here that death lurked. People were sent from the cities to live in the country. Whilst there they were stripped of everything and forced to wear black outfits so every person was equal. The crazy thing about it was that these people were never going to be equal. They were beaten and raped by the rouge soldiers. Forced against their will to work endlessly to provide food and arms for the same soldiers that were murdering their families and refusing them the most basic things in life, like food or water. For years the soldiers tortured the people, murdered their families and stood by as thousands and thousands died from neglect. If they didn't die in camps they would have been taken to a place now known as 'The killing fields'.

    The Killing fields was in the simplest way a place to torture, murder and get rid of bodies away from gazing eyes. All that needs to be said is that this place broke my heart as I'm sure it did to thousands who have visited. Mass graves litter the land, bones still protrude from the ground after a rain and the monument above is stacked with the remains of the people who perished in such a horrific manner. This place should be seen by all so that we can learn and attempt not to let anyone make this mistake again, just like we should visit all the other places around the world like it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rouge only officially lasted until 1979, just shy of 4 years of hell. In that time they murdered nearly 2 million people and for years after more died at their hands. The Rouge continued to kill and raid villages from their jungle hideouts and the land mines still to this day kill people and precious animals. The aftermath for those who survived it and who lost family or were brutally hurt themselves isn't as obvious as it could be. People have simply got on with it. The wounded may be living in poverty but they are shown kindness in the streets and they themselves radiate an incomprehensible happiness. It's baffling. I will never fully understand what the Cambodian people went through and I'll never understand how they took so much and have come out the other side even more beautiful as before they went in. They have taught me a great deal about family and simply about caring and loving each other. They have also taught me an extremely valuable lesson of taking time. Taking time to relax and appreciate myself, my friends and family and the world around me. So for that, I thank them and one day when I return I'll find out what else they have to teach.

The day the darkness came

Families are fleeing their homes, children are separated from their parents and then there's me. I'm alone but no more or no less terrified of what's about to happen. I've seen it once before and to this day, I've feared it as if it may one day find me, which it had. The sudden darkness, the growling sounds and the fatal aftermath. The community is terrified, more than terrified if there is such a thing? I can feel death coming.

I rush out of hiding and I'm instantly shadowed by a large mass of grey Jack fish. Usually I would be scared of them but they barely notice me. I join their group, using them to protect myself. They erratically move over the coral, colliding with other fish all trying to escape. Suddenly the school divides and I'm left alone, open to the sea. Looking around desperately I can't help but absorb the devastation that is happening, and the darkness hasn't even begun. I notice the sun first, how despite what's happening it's shimmering and throwing beams out on to my multicoloured home. It's beautiful. I remember how it was even more beautiful years past.

A lone Clown fish breaks through a beam of light, thrashing and jerking, agony showing on every stripe. In fear I swim away and join another large group of fish. This time it's a real mix, some like me and some that would not normally interact but in panic we have all gathered for protection.

Looking down I can see eyes, hundreds of eyes watching us as they shelter in the shadows beneath. I want to stop and warn them, warn them that they're not safe. Even those who can disguise themselves aren't safe. The darkness sees us all.

I can't stop. Must keep moving.

Just as we begin to put some distance between us and the war behind, I'm thrown backwards through the water. Dazed, I half drift and half swim around. My vision takes time to come back to me. Through a haze of bubbles a blue starfish gently floats towards me, quietly drifting, missing it's legs. Behind the damaged starfish I can just make out what was once our large group but is now a mixture of parts and still dying fish. Another blast suddenly comes from behind but I can't move, paralyzed with fear and not knowing where to go. Where can I go? I decide to hover between two soft corals, each and every one of it's fingers pulsating with terror.

Then, I begin to see it, the slow movement of the darkness above. I'm not sure what it is but it's big and it overpowers the sun. The water is quivering around me and I hear the sounds of death from nearby. I take my chance and very slowly swim out of my hiding place. There are downward falling bubbles and streams of something thicker than water. Above that, the overwhelming darkness. The thick water makes my once clear and bright home darker and fish turn to shadows. I watch the thickness engulf them and then their shadows fall heavily to the ocean floor. Larger shadows that are probably sharks or rays ebb away to nothing, racing to the deeper waters. A path that I can't follow.

Without really thinking I race out from the edge of the reef. I swim with all my might dashing past the once peaceful community, manoeuvring through the dying kelp, avoiding the thick water and floating dead corals. I come to a large and very old sponge family and take cover beneath their long arms. There are other fish under here with me, the lucky ones. Looking out to the war zone I note the casualties who have perished so suddenly. They are everything that make our home magnificent. The seahorses, the octopus, crabs, jellyfish, urchins and the hundreds of fish of all colours. The darkness is destroying it all.

As i watch it all being broken apart I begin to hear it, the slow groan and that strange ripping sound. The last time I heard that noise a large wall dragged along the sea floor and swept up everything in it's path. I saw a dead dolphin tangled in it. That was the first time I'd ever seen one.

Looking to the other fish, we all decide to leave the old sponges safe embrace and make our way to deeper waters. We can't go too far for the currents are too strong, but maybe we can get far enough away and wait until the darkness has gone? I swim out first and the others follow. The water is hot and feels strange, like swimming through millions of hot bubbles. I'm too scared to swim amongst the corals below because of the dead or dying so I swim above them, speeding along with all my might. Some fish are faster and glide past me without any trouble. I can see the edge of the reef, I'm almost there. To my right I notice more downward bubbles. The current is already strong and I'm being pulled towards it. The larger fish can fight it's strength but I'm too small. I can't swim any harder and the bubbles are getting closer and closer. Then in a moment I'm falling. Spinning in searing agony as the thick water engulfs and penetrates my every nerve, I swirl and twirl my way downwards. I see my home outside of the thick waters hold. The reds and oranges of the corals and the comforting blues of the open sea. The sun isn't shining at all now and as I near the sandy floor and my end, my last thought is that the sun will never get to glow and shine upon my once radiant and dazzling home again. For, I fear it and I are lost to the destructive and merciless darkness.

Picture from: www.sustainabilityninja.com

Picture from: www.vestaldesign.com

Dedicated to the declining reefs and its inhabitants that will one day disappear for good.

http://www.opsociety.org/






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Finding my grandfather, a personal story

A couple of years ago I decided to dig in to the past and find out about my family. As I have no blood aunts or uncles, there for no cousins, and a generally small family I wanted to learn more about the generations before. It was for my own curiosity but also to pass along to my brother and his children. 

I've always felt a little different than my family, not in a bad way, but I just always wanted to know where I got my talents. I found out much more than I expected and dug my way through record after record until I hit the 1200's.

It's amazing the things you can find out but there was one thing that shocked me. I had never even given a thought to my grandfather. Who was he? Where did he die? This is my father's father and my brother was named after him but I never bothered to ask why he wasn't around. It's always seems more magical to dig hundreds of years in to the past than it is to look just a couple of generation back. So, when I began asking questions I was shocked to find out he died in Malaya in Kuala Lumpur in 1951. Almost one year after my father was born in Scotland. When I found this information out, I told myself that one day I'd find his grave and pay my respects to a grandfather I never knew. Today I went to Cheras Road Civil Cemetery in Kuala Lumpur and I finally, finally paid my respects.

Sergeant Donald McGregor Macmillan, Scots Guard, died 1951

(Wikipedia)

The Scots Guards are a regiment of the British Army. The regiment cherishes its traditions, especially on the parade ground where the scarlet uniform and bearskin have become synonymous with the regiment and the other Guards regiments. The regiment takes part in numerous events, most notably the Beating Retreat, Changing of the Guard, Queen's Birthday Parade, Remembrance Sunday and State Visits. 

During WWII Both battalions fought all over the world but were back in the UK by 1946, having returned from Germany and Trieste respectively. In 1948, the 1st Battalion assumed the role of Guards Training Battalion, a role that lasted until 1951.

The 2nd Battalion was sadly once more involved in war, however, when it deployed to Malaya during the native insurgency there as part of the 2nd Guards Brigade. The State of Emergency in Malaya had been declared in June after increased violence and terrorist acts against British, Asian and other citizens.

During its time in Malaya, the 2nd Battalion performed a variety of duties, including, in their involvement in the Emergency, guarding duties due to the Malayan Police's manpower problems, but also performed more aggressive tasks, such as patrolling into the dense jungle or hunting for CT. 

The patrols were difficult for the Commonwealth forces, who did not know where the CT lurked, and who had to contend with all the many aspects of the jungle, such as the diverse animals and sounds that make the jungle their home (especially leeches), and the claustrophobia of such a place, with the soldiers having probably been accustomed to living in relatively wide-open cities. A very apparent danger was the deadly booby traps laid by the CT. Patrols at times, despite hard slogging in the energy-sapping jungle, gave very little to show for the hard-work, but when contact was made with the CT, it invariably ended in fierce, close-quarters combat, with much valour and professionalism often displayed by the battalion. 

In 1948, the Scots Guards were involved in the Batang Kali massacre. By the time the battalion departed Malaya in 1951 for home, it had lost thirteen officers and other ranks. The Emergency was declared over on 31 July 1960, the Communists had been defeated.

Sadly one of those officers was my grandfather who was killed by a sniper on 25th January 1951, only a short few months from possibly going home to continue his life as a husband, father and to become a future great grandfather. 

I may have never met him, I may have never known him but, I'm deeply proud of a man who paid so dearly to protect his country.

My grandfather, Sargent Donald McGregor Macmillan.

Acquainted with sleep

Sleep is a funny old thing, especially whilst travelling. I've found it becomes less of an ordinary veiled part of life and more of an entity. To me, it feels like sleep has detached itself and is walking invisibly side by side with me, constantly communicating and there for making me unavoidably aware of it.

Never before have I been so acquainted with sleep, I feel like I should name it to ensure I'm not being rude or maybe it has a name already? Throughout my life I haven't ever really had sleep troubles, only at extreme times of stress have I been made aware that my sleep is looming over me. I've been lucky to just go through life with sleep simply participating in my life, quietly and simply, only ever turning up when most needed. Of late however, sleep is right there and at all hours, persistently whispering in my ear and I tell you, it's getting old.

Where have the days gone that I would awake easily and happily and be released from sleeps clutches without trouble? Where have the nights gone that I would fall in to bed and slowly let sleep surround me and consume me? 

Sleep is with me all day and night, pulling me down and down until I have no energy to fight it. It whispers to me as I go to the store. It follows me like a shadow as I spend a day out in the South East Asian sun. It smothers me any time I sit for too long. And why? Why has it decided to become my stalker, to follow me everywhere?

Because..... travelling is tiring.

Because, I'm tired.

At times I want sleep to reveal itself in a form so that I could hit it or simply glare at it, make it go away. However, there are times I feel its comfort, the anger towards it ebbs away and I find I lean on it like an old friend. Never before has it been such a serious part of my life, it was always essential but never serious. It tells me everything I will ever need to know. It tells me when I need to eat, to drink and especially when I'm sick. It did this before but never in such a profound way. Maybe it's been trying to communicate like this for years and found I just wasn't listening, so had to make me listen. Maybe it saw how exhausting my life was coming and decided to take my hand and lead me to the end of this journey. Whatever it's motives, I'm glad it's here but if you are listening sleep, I have a message.

Times almost up.

The awkward wax

Every girl gets to that point where they think, Hmmm it' about time to get a wax for downstairs, nobody else wants to see a national forest, let alone me. So, whilst in Mumbai I decided to get a bikini wax. I debated it and decided that I'd just go for it, what's the worst that could happen?

I actually went to get my hair coloured first. The hair on my head that is. That was the more pressing matter at hand as Katie, Fionn and myself had just been participating in the Holi festival. The worlds biggest water fight throughout India and other Hindu nations celebrated by throwing coloured water at each other. The thrill of this day is unparalleled however it doesn't mix very well with blond hair. 

So with a mop of pink, green, blue, red, purple and god knows what else, I went off to the hairdressers. I went in and had a choice of brown, brown or brown hair colours. I chose brown. They dyed my hair and all was well. 

I asked the hairdresser if they did waxing too and she became very shy and simply nodded in reply. I knew it would be weird waxing a foreigner but I needed it done and I didn't trust myself to do it. I was led to the back of the salon and a large curtain was pulled across, creating two spaces. The problem was, if you looked in to a mirror, which was every single wall, you could see the other customers, the main door and what was happening outside. Awkward. 

I crossed my fingers there was another room somewhere but to my dismay, there was not. The lady handed me a towel and a bar of soap and said 'Please wash yourself'. I was mortified. Not about what she asked but by the way she asked, like I clearly looked the type to need to wash. The second awkward moment came shortly after this when I entered into a little laundry room with my soap, towel and bashed ego. The water from the hose was freeeeeezing and of course, there was no door.

When i came back out, the lady whom I shall name Dorris, had set up 3 chairs. I would of come over and plonked myself down but I was naked from the waist down beneath my floral towel. Dorris, whilst I was washing, had taken my trousers and hung them up. My pants too, which was awkward moment number 3, due to them being big, black and full of holes. So i sheepishly shuffled over with the tiny hand towel covering myself.

She gestured for me to sit down on one of the seats. The seat was leather so my bum stuck to it like cling film. Then Dorris did something I wasn't quite prepared for. She moved the two other seats in front of me, lifted my legs and placed one on each seat. My buttocks were trying their hardest not to un-stick themselves from the leather so i was having to lift myself up and in the process making the most embarrassing noises. Dorris smiled and told me to relax. How am I supposed to relax? My ass is stuck to a chair, I'm practically in stirrups and all I have between your face and my flower is a tiny teeny towel. 

Not even the last piece of dignity I placed upon my towel lasted. Dorris whipped it away from me and I was naked. N.a.k.e.d. She looked directly down at my nakedness and raised her eyebrows. I was weeping inside.

Dorris began stirring her pot of sugar wax and as she did, I watched the comings and goings in the mirror. I watched a lady stroll in the main door, greet people and proceed to walk directly towards the curtain. She was heading this way. I looked from her to my nakedness and back again but there wasn't anything to be done. Dorris had just slathered on the first of the wax at the same time the lady entered the area. She smiled at me and then instead of getting embarrassed and avoiding eye contact like any normal person in a bizarre situation, she breezed over and bent in for a good look. I was now an exhibition.

Dorris not only ripped at me like she was in a therapy session, she laughed about it. I winced every time she used pieces of t-shirt or rag. Where were the wax trips and the cooling lotions?

A while later, she was almost done. I had a few visitors, including Dorris's mother who took a keen interest. At one point a conversation broke out as three older ladies pointed and chatted in a serious manner. This worried  me but Dorris explained they were saying I was pretty. That gave me the heebies more than I can say.

Dorris got some scissors and tweezers and finished off the job. I had decided early on not to look for fear she was ripping so much off it would leave me a nondescript human. Finally the words I'd been waiting for 'done'.

I beamed at her as she handed me a mirror. I swallowed hard and had a look. I froze. She had taken everything. She had stripped me of hair and dignity. I gave a half attempted smile and began to dress, after nakedly shuffling across the room with an audience. I briskly paid and fled the scene. 

Katie had come along at the perfect moment and in the humid Mumbai weather, we strolled back to the hostel with an ice-cream. I was feeling rather chilly and it was nothing at all to do with my vanilla scoop.