My Conversation with Cancer

I'm already sick of you.
I'm already sick of talking about you.
You have been the topic of conversation since hospital admittance DAY ONE.
My days and nights since then has been all about YOU.
I'm so over you, Cancer.

You're so fuckin' needy.
"Look at me. Ahem...Cancer here. Yep, I'm in your lymph nodes. That was me, making it hard for you to breathe. Yep, what you thought was a chest cold, was me trying to get your attention."
You sneaky, attention whore.
I wanted to hide you.
Keep you a secret.
Hoping that the doctors wouldn't see you.
All along, I knew deep down that they'd find you eventually.

What the fuck was I thinking?
Thinking that I could outsmart doctors?
Thinking that I could outsmart YOU?

I thought I could keep up the lie.
That everything was okay.
That I wasn't sick.
Even though for several years, I could feel swelling under my armpits and in my neck
The size of golf balls.
Hoping that by some miraculous turn of events, YOU would go away.
If I could just push through the day.
Push through the light-headedness and shortness of breath
Push onto the next day
You would go away.

But you couldn't leave me alone, could you?
Nope you had to make your presence be known.
Well I hear you LOUD + CLEAR.
I can't ignore you anymore
It's really gonna be ME + YOU for a good long while
From now on, I'd have to face you everyday, really face you
And maybe in the process of facing you, I'd have to face myself

And I'm fuckin scared.
Not of the nausea, fatigue or the hair loss.
I'm scared that I'd really have to change.
I know that I'm stubborn.
I know that I like doing things my way.
I know that I hate being told what to do.

You're telling me to change.
Really change.
And I hate you for it.
I never invited you in, you fuckin party crasher.

I'm sick of you drawing attention to me.
You're forcing me to ask for help.
Another thing I hate doing.
You're asking me to stop playing small.
Enough of the self-help, motivational bullshit.
I just want to get through the day.

You're asking me to stop and look into myself.
I don't have time for that shit!
I've got jobs to juggle, bills to pay
And not to mention, movies to make.

Now go away. Leave me alone. I'm busy...

(arms crossed).

Movie Review: “Cambodian Son”

Personal journey of exiled Cambodian-American spoken word artist is poetic and raw

With images of Cambodian urban life juxtaposed between interviews and spoken word performances, “Cambodian Son” immerses viewers in a visual poem that is relayed with passion and conviction, much like the poetry of the film's main character, Kosal Khiev. The everyday mundane is captured beautifully such as monsoon rain falling on a coral tree and intersperses with the profound telling of a mythic story, creating atmospheric tension from one moment to the next. 

Although Director, Masahiro Sugano, presents a character-driven documentary that focuses on a broken judicial system, he manages not to overshadow the inner workings of Khiev's life, creating an intimate, yet complex portrait of a man on his own hero’s journey.

Lyrical in visual and aural style, Sugano weaves a story of transformation against the backdrop of Cambodian popular music and the syncopated beats of Khiev's spoken word poetry. Although the cultural and political context of Khiev’s story is situated in the present, the past is revisited through interviews told by family members in the United States and other K.E.A’s (Khmer Exiled Americans) living in Cambodia.

Kosal Khiev, subject of "Cambodian Son" documentary.

 
Khiev and many other Cambodian-Americans of his generation were born in refugee camps along the Thai-Cambodian border. The repetition of hearing and seeing Khmer Exiled Americans stating this prevalent fact was striking, reminding me that many of us share a common history (I, too, was born in a Thai refugee camp). In Khiev and these K.E.A’s, I saw the faces of brothers, fathers, and sons longing to return home, to families and communities unwillingly left behind in America.

Khiev’s family, like mine and others, were offered permanent resident status once they arrived in the United States – the same country involved in secret mass bombings of Cambodia in the 1960’s that lead to the Khmer Rouge’s enslavement and eventual genocide of the Cambodian population during the early 1970’s. 

Life in the United States came with its own set of struggles, many families like Khiev’s lived in housing projects, surrounded by violence and poverty. With little to no guidance, many Cambodian youths, particularly young males, turned to gangs as a source of support and protection. They were eventually involved and convicted of crimes in their teenage years.

At the age of 16, Khiev was tried and sentenced as an adult to 16 years in prison for his involvement in a shoot-out. It was during his time in prison, where he discovered his artistic voice as a spoken word poet by participating in an arts-in-corrections program.

Khiev was eventually released after serving 14 years of his prison term, only to be deported under the provision of anti-terrorism legislation that went into effect in 1996. The legislation called for the deportation of non-citizens who had been convicted under certain crimes. In many cases these crimes occurred years ago, with time already served, and after having started new lives, families, and businesses.

With any hero’s journey, we root for Khiev as he navigates applying and waiting on approval for a travel visa to the London 2012 Cultural Olympiad, invited to perform as Cambodia’s premiere spoken word poet. Yet, there are further obstacles he must overcome, leading to no immediate reward other than the ones he finds within himself.

Producer: Anida Yoeu Ali & Director: Masahiro Sugano

Khiev’s story is a mystery at first, but is gradually revealed, piece-by-piece, through interviews with fellow K.E.A’s and family members, interactions, and especially through the verses of his poetry. I'm convinced that poetry truly is his saving grace. This is where the film succeeds most, in humanizing the issue of deported Americans by delving into the life of Kosal Khiev, they put a face on a larger issue and demonstrate the power of art to inspire change.

The meaning of "home" is realized when we feel Khiev's desire to see his family, and they for him. "Home” and “family” aren’t mutually exclusive here; rather they are one in the same.

As a mythic symbol, Khiev embodies the act of finding one’s power when one feels most powerless – amidst the geopolitics, bitterness, and cultural confusion. Although “Cambodian Son” largely tells one man’s journey; it’s a journey that represents us all. Anyone that has searched for a sense of purpose, belonging, community, and "home" will see their own reflection in Khiev and experience the beauty when life is fully lived. Despite the challenges, we are able to let die, choices and thinking that no longer serve us and wake up to find that we can be born again to a new identity or way of life.
 
To learn more about “Cambodian Son” and future screening dates, please visit:
www.facebook.com/CambodianSon
www.cambodianson.com

Seeing Beyond the Mirror

I’m being asked to change.  My body is practically grabbing me by the shoulders and screaming “you’ve got to do things differently from now on, if you want to be happy, healthy, and whole!”  The psoriasis on my torso, back, arms, and thighs were clear indications that something was wrong. I’ve had minor flare ups in the past, but the patches were small and went away as quickly as they appeared.  This flare up is different -- there’s more of it and they’re taking longer to heal.  I could no longer recognize myself and felt, to put it simply, ugly, and disconnected from a body that seemed to no longer belong to me.  As unsettling as it was to look in the mirror everyday, for the first time in my life, I learned that my body had a message for me, and everyday since has been an exercise in self-love.  

The rest of this blog won’t go into the medical nature of psoriasis, but rather, I want to share how psoriasis has taught me to look within myself and beyond the mirror. 

Milton H. Greene's photo of Audrey Hepburn.

My psoriasis was getting worse over time – starting out as small dime size spots, eventually developing into larger patches that looked like the outlines of Pangea overlapping my torso and thighs.  I kept to wearing pants and long-sleeved shirts, even in high summer temperatures.  My skin also became itchier, making it difficult to focus on completing tasks without the constant need to scratch.  I would take salt baths everyday to help soothe the itchiness and exfoliate my flaky skin.  

A moment that stood out in my memory and shifted my sense of purpose was when I was standing in the shower, brushing off the dead skin and the more I brushed, the itchier I felt. I continued brushing so hard to the point of swelling redness.  Feeling defeat, frustration, and anger towards my body, I threw the brush down and began to hysterically cry.  As I was breaking down, I knew I was breaking through to some truths that I kept hidden.  At the core of my emotions and consciousness, was the need to release negative feelings and beliefs about myself.  For too long, I felt not good enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not talented enough, not worthy enough, etc.  I made a vow through sobbing tears that I would love myself and that I would no longer neglect and hate myself, make myself small nor ignore my power.

Since then, I’ve learned that at its most basic function, psoriasis is a form of inflammation.  My psoriasis was telling me that that something wasn’t working properly in my body due to an infection or some type of damage or attack on my cells.  I believe innately that these negative beliefs that I was holding onto were forms of infection, leading to inflammation that was showing up on my body.  Therefore, I needed to examine these beliefs and begin the process of healing.  I also believed innately that there was a natural, holistic and spiritual cure.

This book opened my eyes!

I read books and watched documentaries on juicing, detoxing, and anti-inflammatory diets.  I also learned to be mindful of my mental and emotional state, discovering too that stress is another factor that causes inflammation.  Through changes in diet and thinking, my body is showing signs of healing.  

However, the attempt at breaking old habits and creating new ones hasn’t been perfect. I’ve fallen off the wagon numerous times eating sugar and drinking coffee, knowing very well that it could aggravate my psoriasis.  It wasn’t until a recent visit to a chiropractic wellness center that I was reminded how important it was that I re-commit myself to healing.  The doctor was adamant that if I didn’t take care of myself and stick to a high alkaline/anti-inflammatory diet, that my psoriasis could get worse, leading to wear and tear on my joints over time.  He said with firm authority that I needed to be accountable for better eating and lifestyle choices.  I felt a wave of shame, my defenses went up and I found myself repeating, “I know, I’ve done the research, I know what’s good for me and what’s bad for me.” At the end of the consultation, he left me with these words: “you may know this information, but you’ll only go as far as you want to go”.  I've often meditated on his words.  I know now that in order for me to truly heal, I need to feel the fear of change, and find the courage to let go anything and all that doesn’t serve me.  

What are you willing to let go of that no longer serves or works in your best interest?

Buddha is Hiding in Chicago

I moved to this neighborhood four months ago.  While on my walks to and from the Argyle Redline station, I noticed more and more the qualities that make Andersonville unlike other Chicago neighborhoods that I’ve lived in.  Firstly, there’s the architectural mix of new and old; diversity in class, race, and sexual orientation; and families with children and young urbanites that call this neighborhood home.  However, what I discovered that made my residence here even more worthwhile was that Cambodians who arrived to Chicago in the early 1980's first settled in this very neighborhood.

Prior to moving to Chicago, I knew that there was a community of Cambodians that lived here and have always been curious about their experiences as refugees in this city.  Since moving here four years ago, I had yet to meet someone who was part of that original group of Cambodian immigrants.  Aside from the Cambodian Buddhist temple that stands a few buildings down from my apartment, I didn’t see any other signs of Cambodian history in this neighborhood.

Signs that marked new life for many Cambodians in Chicago.

That is, until an encounter with the owners of a local jewelry store.  My mother was visiting for a week and wanted to go to one of the Asian-owned jewelry stores nearby.  There are several jewelry stores along Argyle Street, but we decided to walk into one that had Cambodian lettering in gold on a red awning.  In talking to the owners, a gracious Cambodian couple, they asked me where I lived and I told them, “Argyle & Glenwood,” and they responded by telling us that they lived in my neighborhood twenty years ago along with other Cambodian families.  This couple eventually moved to Skokie, a suburb outside of Chicago.  Although many Cambodian families have moved to neighboring suburbs, it turns out that many of them still remained in the neighborhood.  Since that conversation with them, I started noticing names on some of the mailboxes in my apartment building that were of Cambodian origin.  I even got excited overhearing conversations in Khmer when I walked by Cambodians who were entering or leaving the nearby Buddhist temple. 

Cambodian Grrrls turn punk.

In the hopes of meeting other Cambodian-Americans, I attended a couple of “Cambodian themed” events.  The first was a book launch at the Chicago Cultural Center for Cambodian Grrrl: Self-Publishing in Phnom Penh, written by Anne Elizabeth Moore.  Moore traveled to Cambodia to live in the first women’s university dormitory in the country’s history.  In the spirit of punk resistance, she taught these young Cambodian women self-publishing and encouraged them to think critically about their culture.  Media literacy and self-publishing in the form of zines, according to Moore, demanded space for young women to have a voice in their culture – one where theirs is usually ignored.  I saw this as a tool for young women in Cambodia to creatively tell their stories and what struck me most was when Moore stated that this tool allowed “…girls to take ownership within their space of the city and they saw themselves as having power and influence on what the world thought about Cambodia.”  Another interesting aspect of the book launch was when someone from the audience asked about the possibility of bringing media literacy and self-publishing to young Cambodian women living in America.  I thought that this was a great idea because there are countless communities across this country where young Cambodian-American youths are starving for a creative outlet.

Remembering the Killing Fields exhibit.

The second event was the opening exhibition of Remembering the Killing Fields at the Cambodian American Heritage Museum.  The exhibition was a huge success packing the house to the brim.  Opening remarks were made by notable speakers, but the most notable of them all was the keynote speaker, Elizabeth Becker (former New York Times correspondent and author of When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge Revolution, and one of few journalists at the time who interviewed Pol Pot).  In her speech, Becker made the observation that unlike other Cambodian enclaves in the U.S., Cambodians in Chicago were able to rise above their struggles as refugee immigrants by helping one another.  In no other Cambodian community is there a museum dedicated to preserving the memories of Cambodia’s Killing Fields.  I often wondered why that is the case: why has the Cambodian community in Chicago been successful at mobilizing themselves for a greater cause, where other communities with large populations of Cambodians haven't been able to do the same?

Although both events left me inspired and pondering, the highlight of attending them was meeting a young Cambodian-American woman who recently graduated from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.  In the brief conversation I had with her, I found out that she grew up in Chicago and is now back home with her parents.  She's currently an Americorps member, volunteering at a clinic that her parents visited when they first moved here from Cambodia.  In time, I plan to get to know her better and hear more about her story.

There's no denying that this is a special neighborhood, made more special with the history of Cambodian-Americans in Chicago.  The people I've met such as the jewelry store couple and the college graduate who grew up here, compels me to want to learn more about their experiences and ultimately document it.  Perhaps it's time to start planning my next documentary project...

Here's to Life

Although I’ve had this blog account for awhile, it wasn’t until some recent changes in my life and the encouragement of a friend that have finally pushed me to write my first blog entry.  I’ll briefly explain what led me to this point.  Four years ago, I moved up to Chicago from Indianapolis with my boyfriend and dog Jojo.  We each had our reasons for moving up here – as a huge Cubs and Bears fan, he has always loved Chicago and I wanted to go to grad school, yet be close enough to my family if I needed to see them.  Another underlying reason that compelled me to move was the desire to live in a bigger city.   I cherish my time in Indianapolis; it’s where I went to college; made lasting friendships; and essentially came of age.  However, our relationship to a place is much like our relationship to people – there is a beginning and sometimes, an inevitable end – or in my case, you outgrow the relationship and need to move on, in order to further stretch your wings and grow.

Anyway, here we are living in a cramped studio apartment and adjusting to the transition.  I’m trying to navigate the terrain of film school and prove to myself that I belong in the world of filmmaking, while Andrew is struggling to find steady employment beyond freelance work for newspapers.  The first few years were tough, and really challenged our relationship.  Eventually, Andrew found work in a job he loves, working for a small consulting firm and I knew without a doubt that I will continue to make films for the rest of my life, in whatever capacity - be it writing, directing, or producing.  This point of clarity came with a price; the breakdown of a five-year relationship to someone who I thought would become my husband one day. 

Revisiting an old book.

Which brings me to the present; Andrew and I are no longer together.  Last month, I moved out from the apartment we shared and here I am again, adapting to transition.  Since our break-up, I’ve worked on mending the broken pieces within myself, perhaps pieces that were broken long before Andrew and I ever met.  Nonetheless, I’m aware that healing takes time.  How long?  I may never know.  But I made a promise to myself, that I will not commit myself to a relationship until I am whole.  I learned to not expect for someone else to “complete me” (my life is not a Cameron Crowe film).  I can only complete myself.

I end this blog entry with the reassurance that I’m embarking on a new journey and with the anticipation that more personal discoveries and friendships will be made along the way. 

Theme song of the day:  Barbra Streisand’s “Here’s to Life”