Phnom Penh: Synchronicity of Possibility

The timer switch of dawn, a flickering lamp and the city switches on.  A smooth transition from the jungle of the night, emerging from the heart of darkness, where we plunged into concrete karaoke cells.

Overwhelming synchroniCITY of possibility. Intense gruelling heat seeps in and fires my soul. Cooled with a tower of iced beer and a crash of water bursts on my head. Happy new year. 

Motos rumbling, swerving with skilful negotiation and ferrying unlikely family loads.  Roasting duck, steaming chilli soups and sticky pork with giant porcelain teapots of green tea which dissolves  into the mush of tall glasses of ice.

The country keeps on moving, recoiling back from decades of pain, disconnection…perserverance. The reliability of this morning’s breakfast in the avenues of Phnom Penh. I see barefoot monks, bustling blobs of orange. I am buoyant.

The light masks the creatures of the night and enslaved human bondage. 

Vexed virginal virgos exert their new lives because they can. They can join the soap opera, too many colours, glamour and lies. Easily flying high with serene twirling hands.

Intense Khmer gangster high, resisting the tuk tuk ride and rice wine. Calmed by balloons, a simple mellow joy marred by sallow eyed skeletal sadness.  Stolen childhoods and cheated generations.

Phnom Penh, transitional city of possibility. 

Monsoon is coming soon.