Kampot: Part Two

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Despite having misled Kamala and Samon's Village about my motorbike riding skills, everything went just fine. On Day #1 we drove up to Bokor National Park, home to the old French Bokor Hill Station. The trip was incredibly beautiful and it was my first look at some real greenery in Cambodia. Rainy ... Read More

When Koh Ta Kiev Koh Ta Kicked Me Out

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I'm going to follow up the bummer post about genocide with a nice story about sleeping in a tent! On a beach! The first part of this will be about the island, the end will be about how the island got rid of me. After a few days in Phnom Penh I hopped on a little van headed south to Sihanoukville. I ... Read More

Phnom Penh: Part One

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NOTE: This post is lengthy and will be boring if you prefer my stories about eating bugs. If you’re not interested, skip to the photos. BUT! I will say that the history of Cambodia and some of the things I learned during my first visit to Phnom Penh are so much of the reason that I’ve loved it! ... Read More

In the Mountains: Part Two

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In addition to eating the meat of "animal killed in forest," the best part of Mondulkiri has been spending two days with the Elephant Valley Project. The Elephant Valley Project (EVP) is an ecotourism project run by the Elephant Livelihood Initiative Environment (ELIE) which is dedicated to ... Read More

In the Mountains: Part One

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For the past four days I've been in the mountains of Cambodia. Sen Monorom is the capital of Mondulkiri Province and home to all sorts of outdoor activities in the jungle. Mondulkiri is also home to the Bunong Hill Tribe who who are a minority in Cambodia, but actually make up the majority in this ... Read More

How to Spend a Night in Battambang

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I am SO behind here and I apologize to those of you that have been sitting at the screen WAITING for my next post. In the time you haven't heard from me I have been having BBQs with ex-pats, riding motorbikes over snakes, exploring rusty crashed Chinese ships and snuggling puppies with ... Read More

My latest Instagram photos

  • This week has been messy. I’ve been impatient and indecisive and rude to strangers. All the things you were not. In two months we’ve gotten through Father’s Day, your 45th wedding anniversary and the 4th of July, but your birthday yesterday brought a whole different feeling that I can’t quite explain. It has weight, but of a magnitude I can’t quite understand. . Last year on this day I called you in the dark from a campground in Belgium and felt a twinge of regret. I thought “next year I’ll be there.” And I was. Except you weren’t there. I’m sorry we couldn’t coordinate that better. . We wanted to do things you would have liked. I got my nails done. We went to lunch at Subculture Coffee and shared the sugary coconut cake that I got mad at you for wanting a few months ago. Back when I still thought it was possible to control things out of my control. The last time I deemed the cake unnecessary for us you said “I’ll have it on my birthday.” Sorry for blowing that one, but we had it for you. We toasted forks and cried and it was horrible and delicious. . We talked about how nuts it is that you’re not here and about fake leather car seats and about my life. We stayed for two hours. . I’m not sure what I expected. To feel triumphantly capable of honoring you? I didn’t. While I’m not sure what I was hoping for, we did manage to get through the day. We ate coconut cake and we were together and it was the most raging party we could muster. . Happy birthday, Mommieokee. Hope you saw us and felt happy. I hope you felt known.
  • I didn’t really want to post what I posted a few days ago. I did it because I was tired of posting things that felt sad. And I missed talking about traveling. But in reality I really just wanted to say something about my mom. About how I say good morning to her every morning and about how sometimes I ask in my head “are you here?” I wanted to tell the story of trying on a dress and being undecided and realizing I would have texted her a photo except her phone is sitting on the kitchen counter and I would have been the one to see it the next time I visited my parents house. Or, rather, the house of my parent. I’ve thought about explaining that my voicemail is forever full because I have 23 voicemails saved from her dating back to 2013, assuming that one day I would obsessively listen to them but now I can’t stand the idea. I would have said something about hiding out in the fitting room of the tiny store so that when I came out and bought the dress no one would say anything about me wearing sunglasses inside. I could have mentioned that the dress didn’t really fit (it’s a little big at the top for those who come here for the fashion content 😂) but I got it because she would have. . What I really wanted to do was tell a bunch of internet strangers and internet friends that nothing feels quite like me and I can’t stand small talk or Taylor Swift anymore. That I only want to be around people that don’t know me very well to remove the pressure of being some version of normal. That I only want to be around people that know everything about me so that I can get away with just keeping my mouth shut and disappearing in the background. Mostly I just wanted to express that I have no idea how to be because I mostly feel like I’m in a little rowboat with the exact right number of oars but no idea how to use them. . In January I had an opportunity to hang a bunch of my photos on a few walls. My mom must have asked 20 times if I was going to use the photo of the monks. I never knew exactly what photo she meant, so here’s every photo I’ve ever made of a monk. All three of them. Just in case.
  • I booked my first trip to India only because I loved Darjeeling Limited. The bright colors, the sweet lime lady and the soundtrack with all my favorite songs by The Kinks had me sure it was my place. But it wasn’t my place. I half hated it. So I went again. And that time only a quarter of me hated it. So, of course, I did it again. My third trip lasted nearly two months and included a few instances of having to push a Royal Enfield uphill. There was also a rip-roaring night of fun sharing a room with a giant Huntsman spider and a few of his smaller pals. Unsurprisingly, despite all that, I’ll go back. . The last time I was in Varanasi I stayed at a place tucked into one of the winding alleys. It was so well tucked that at night the only way to be sure I was heading in the right direction home were these guys. They sat in a smoky concrete room playing a game that, from what I could tell, only involved smoking, coughing and yelling in quick angry bursts at your best friends. I watched them every time I passed and the last night they motioned for me to come in. This guy in white was the ringleader and while he looks like a grumpface, just a second before this photo he was smiling.
  • All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again! . // from “Death Is Nothing At All” by Henry Scott-Holland
  • My mom kept her perfume in the refrigerator. Maybe it was a result of living so much of her life in a hot place like Miami. They’re all still there. . As a tiny Michelle, when she put one on in the kitchen I knew I’d be spending the night eating pizza and watching movies with a high-school neighbor. And despite being pizza nights for me, those evenings felt so fancy. . I go into the refrigerator and smell them now. She still has all the scents I remember her wearing. Chanel No. 19 for nights out, Cabochard for other occasions. Issey Miyake for work just before she retired. The Jo Malone Mimosa and Cardamom I bought for her at Heathrow two years ago. She had ripped a sample out of Elle Magazine knowing she wanted it because my mom knew what scents were meant for her. . My parents bought me Mademoiselle Chanel when I graduated from college. It was meant to be my first nice scent for the job I was about to start. While I loved it, I somehow veered off course. Now I wear a lavender essential oil on normal days. This makes me feel like I failed her, but here we are smelling how we smell despite it all. . This is what it’s like. A trip to the kitchen to get water is actually a journey through the scents of life with my mom. I can’t remember specific instances, but they all smell exactly like every single memory. The last few years she just smelled like her. Clean, kind skin that always tried to be what I wanted her to be. And she totally was.
  • It’s been a week and I’m still not sure what to say. My mom was like nobody else I’ve ever met. She had an effortless aloofness that I always wish I had. But she had an excitable passion for anything her friends and family loved. I once decided I loved biscotti from one particular south Florida bakery and she bought them out of their stock to send to me in Syracuse. Knowing I love sushi, she sent me a set of ten chopsticks. When I wore flippies to work all summer she sent me a collection of five more in multiple colors. She sat through Gator football games and Marlin baseball games because my dad loved them. And because she never did anything just a little bit. She loved southern things like peach cobbler and grits. She wore 70s Ferragamos, Ginger Flower lipstick and ballet flats. She always smelled exactly like herself no matter where she was. She advocated for good naps, getting unexpected gifts for people and making sure other people felt seen. She was one of the first women in a male dominated profession and I distinctly remember when she called me out of the blue in 2015 to tell me why it was so important that we elect a woman as president. I’ll probably cry at least once in public every day for the rest of my life, but here we are. I kinda thought I’d write something a lot more poignant, but I guess that’s the truest thing I can say. Words can’t possibly express enough thanks to everyone who has called and texted repeatedly even when I couldn’t bear to respond. And to those who have written, sent food, gotten on planes, stopped by and hugged us. Thanks also to the people I know who have shared so openly about loss - in person and in writing. I think that will be a compass.
  • It’s fitting that last thing I texted my cousin was “looking forward to it!” Every time I knew I would see him I was looking forward to it. That’s the kind of guy he was. I knew he’d make fun of me for something I’d long forgotten about and then he’d remind me that the Miami Hurricanes are better than ‘Cuse. When that was out of the way we’d talk about all the other stuff that makes a life a life. . When he was on, he was the kind of person that made things fun before the official fun had even begun. He loved his family. He once rented an entire house in the Florida Keys and invited the whole family to come enjoy it. He didn’t wait for an okay or an agreement - he just booked it. He baked pies for people around the holidays and brought them over as a surprise. He volunteered his time. He served in the US Navy. If I missed my annual birthday call I knew my voicemail would be full with a multi-minute message that covered topics like politics, my advanced age and how we’d celebrate if we were together. He almost always referred to me as “cuz” in those messages, with an accent that always sounded so southern to me. . I probably never told him, but I’d always imagined us becoming closer as we got older. I imagined us in our 60s, maybe all being together for Thanksgiving talking about our grandfather. In a few days we’ll celebrate him and I continually catch myself mistakenly imagining him there - celebrating too. . In our last text conversation he asked if I had time to talk about an idea. Of course I did. And, of course, I was looking forward to it. So Mike, here’s another “I’m looking forward to it!” Because if we get to love you and celebrate you, I’ll look forward to it no matter what. Despite the fact that I miss you.
  • Just for this week, two days, two hours, one minute - let’s forgive ourselves. Just for a second.

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