There is so much beauty in this world.
The hydrangeas this year have been gorgeous. I do believe they are one of the most popular plants for flower beds in West Philly, and they are utterly breathtaking. I don't think I ever noticed how many color varieties of hydrangeas existed.
Andrea and I went berry picking last weekend. There's a state park near Lancaster city bursting with mulberry trees and black raspberry bushes. While it's still early in the season for raspberries, we managed to pick about half a quart. Yummy, fresh black raspberries for free...what could be better? Well, perhaps seeing Andy and Lana and many other dear friends in Lancaster. It was a fabulous weekend, only to be brought to an abrupt turn when I returned to Philly to news that my oldest host brother passed away in a drowning accident. Surely, this couldn't have happened. I felt so far away from my host family, Prey Veng, everything. I still do in some ways.
Maybe that's why I've been cooking Cambodian food all week. I transported papaya, for snack after volleyball on Thursday, tied on the back of my bike with a kroma. When I bought the papaya at the Cambodian shop nearby, I chatted with a ming I had never met before, in Khmer, for a good 20 minutes. After volleyball some of us went out for bubble tea, another happy memory of Southeast Asia. As crazy as it sounds, I needed that 10 mile loop with papaya tied on the back of my bike with a kroma. I needed the space earlier in the week to talk about my host brother. I feel so useless sometimes.
In Cambodia, when a person passes away, there's a series of 'bunns' or celebrations. The first is 3 days after the person passes away, culminating with a trip to the wat to cremate the deceased. The second is 100 days after the death. The third is 1 year after the death. For those who have the resources, additional bunns can be held each year afterwards. My most distinct memory of funerals are the sounds; funeral 'music' is characterized by the awful, high pitched wailing of a dying string instrument and drums. It's one of the most mournful, heart wrenching sounds. But, aside from the noise, funerals require your presence. Like when I see hydrangeas here in Philly, they require me to be mindful, to stop and reflect. Like the raspberries that will be just thorny bushes in a few weeks, our lives will end. Even when the pain starts to dull, my host brother will still be deeply missed.
1 comment:
I can see the fluctuation of emotions in this post, but also the hope. I am glad that you are mindful of your host family, but sorry that it had to be such a difficult reminder. I can hear the music from the wat now. Almost like it's 5 in the morning again and the music is blaring...
On another note, I was really excited by your post. I'm sitting at my desk with of boquet of hydrangeas I just picked and fingers stained purple from picking mulberries yesterday. Apparently someone picked most of the black raspberries last week! I went with Andrea's friends so I'm sorry I miss you, but glad you also go to enjoy berries and the outdoors.
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