“When
are you going to come back home?” That’s the question Moria asked me this
morning, as I we rode to the airport together, and after a week of trying to
hold it together, my eyes split open, and filled with tears. I’m going home
today. That’s what my calendar says. But I’m also leaving home. Then in three
weeks I have to leave home in Japan to go home to Wheaton. And four months
later I’ll be moving on to a new home again. Leaving a place is never easy for
me. I’m so excited to see my family and community, but I will miss Cambodia.
There
are some things I won’t miss: Like the drunk karaoke bar neighbors, or mud
flicking up from my bicycle, or the cars cutting me off on the road, or guys
making kissy faces at me as I bike by. I won’t miss the cats on the roof, spiders
on the toilet, rats on my dresser, or dogs snapping at my heels. I won’t miss
the sour bony fish soup or the smell of durian mixed with urine on the streets.
I won’t miss the headache from banging my head on the doorframe, or the perpetual
itchiness. But I'm thankful for the bad with the good here.
I
will miss family Bible study time, wrestling around with Yosue and Moria, and
hearing Mala’s voice project across the neighborhood when she’s trying to get
Moria to wash up. I’ll miss the crazy and kind-hearted World Relief staff, who love to goof off and who worship with such passion. I’ll miss fun times in the office with Nhaca and Cris. I’ll miss
hanging out with Sineath, Chanthea, Seyha, and Kevin. I will miss the driver,
Uncle Sovan, and his weird jokes that nobody gets. I’ll miss biking around the
beautiful Phnom Penh or riding on a moto as the city whizzes past me. I’ll miss
the neighborhood kids that always greet me, chase my bicycle, and play games
with me when I come home from work, little Hang, who usually forgets his pants, but never forgets his smile. I’ll miss Khmer food and Khmer coffee and
Laikin’s coffee stand. I will miss Bible study and all of the wonderful people
in that group, and the fun fellowship we’ve had together. I’ll miss the
Riverside and the church, and my home. I’ll miss speaking Khmer and worshipping
with Khmer people. I’ll miss warmth, sunshine, amazing fruit, and the sound of
pounding rain on a tin roof. I’ll miss hanging out with my family and my
co-workers and my grandparents, and friends.
I
hate to leave, but I love to move on to the next adventure. You know all about
it—the plight of an international or “third-culture” kid. I like to call myself
a Kanja: A warrior between lands--but right now I feel like the back bridge between cultures has torn an ab muscle or two. I planted a piece of my heart in the soil
under the mango tree at home. I hope I can return to it some day, but even if I
don’t, I will not regret planting it there, where it might make a few sprouts
and call to me across the ocean every once in a while. I have learned so much
here about the culture and language and people, and about poverty and
simplicity and the God who is with us, and the kingdom of justice and peace. I want to see, (as I hope we all do),
the world redeemed from problems of oppression, poverty, slavery, racism,
under-representation, and apathy. That’s why I know we need to continue to try to be kanjas. We
need to keep creating bridges between people and lands. When we open our eyes
to another culture, we hold the world in our grasp. We can catch glimmers of
hope for miscommunications and clashes to be eradicated. We can all be like
TCKs, aliens, and warriors between cultures. All it requires is listening ears,
open eyes, and arms that construct paths between differing perspectives. This
isn’t just about hopping between continents. We all have to create some kind of
communication-bridge to interact with each other, but we avoid building bridges
to some people. Who are we neglecting around us? Why?
There
is something programmed into all humans that makes us long for an unattainable
sense of home. I know that my true home is not the land of the free and the
home of the brave, but it is where the fear of God makes us brave and free. It
is not the land of the rising sun, but the land of the Risen Son. It is not the
Kingdom of Cambodia, but the Kingdom of Heaven. And it is that which captures
my gaze through all of the uncertainty and turmoil.
My
heart has been changed by this adventure and I hope to retain and apply this
transformation for the rest of my life. But I know there are many more adventures
to come. As I wave goodbye to my host-family, then turn to face the airplane, I
am facing my next adventure, with memories of God’s faithfulness behind me, and
with my damp eyes set on eternity.
