There's this girl who is out to get me.
I don't believe it was her intention to cause me fear and pain, but it's inevitable that whatever she does will. There's a term for it -- they call it collateral damage.
She's the boogeyman in my closet, one that I created with a figment of my imagination. She could be real too. Who knows? My delusional mind sees her shadow claws at every corner, striking out on things that I cherish most, depriving me of them so all that is left is me and my fear of the dark.
Please don't leave me alone.
There are days when the rainclouds part and the sun shines in -- they burn her away. The crackle of material burning is barely audible when I bask in the sunlight. Yet she heals just as fast when the sun sets, and I'm left to my own devices again.
People think I'm crazy. I do my best to ignore her shadows when I'm with someone. I won't risk being shut away; that's her goal. I don't tell people about my fears, they'll say that I'm hallucinating and send me away.
You'll send me away.
Wednesday, October 26
Sunday, October 16
Insecurities
I won't go abstract. I promise.
In one month I sent out 39 job applications, four phone interviews, which progressed into two face-to-face interviews.
Yet, zero offers to work full-time in Singapore.
Four companies rejected me before I had the chance to speak to them. Two of them, due to business restrictions, can only hire me on remote-working and project basis. One decided to place someone more experienced and able to start sooner for the job; another didn't provide a reason. The rest just never replied.
I applied locally too -- two of them -- and got offers. Unfortunately, I had to turn both down due to the salary offered. I really, really liked one of those companies.
At one point, I was quite convinced that I'm not as good at my job as I thought I am. Why else would a meritocratic country say no then? The night when I got two rejections, both of which I've been interviewed via Skype or in person, my self-confidence crumbled.
I'm not your textbook millennial. I don't believe I'm entitled to anything, not even when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm a baby boomer living in the body of a millennial. I believe you should work it to deserve it. I never believed that just because I have a degree, I should have a job -- which was why I insisted on doing internships annually. I graduated with a CGPA 3.33 and ten and a half months of working experience. I serve my bond and achieved some good numbers for my portfolios.
I might have joked about being the lowest paid person among my group of friends to my superior, but I never once demanded for a raise. Nevertheless, my managers are kind people who requested a increments and salary adjustments, guided me and motivated me to where I am currently.
But I want to go. I felt as if I'm a long-bodied fish living in a tiny fishbowl. My muscles start to ache because my gills kept grazing against my tail. I don't need an ocean -- a bigger aquarium sounds nice, a small fish pond even better.
So I started my job-seeking spree. In every cover letter -- even when it wasn't compulsory to send one -- I wrote that I want to contribute with whatever skills I have. I'm also thirsty for knowledge, I told them I want to learn: I want to learn so badly. Be it software skills, human languages, computer languages, design, adaptability -- I want to be fed knowledge.
But perhaps I'm not good enough for that competitive environment across the Causeway. Gone are the days when I'll look at my phone expectantly, waiting for a reply to the previous email conversation. It's like going through a break up: you had a text to look forward to everyday, suddenly there's none.
The silence that follows.
The self-doubting.
The questioning.
Paper qualifications. Job experience. Appearance. Likability. At this point I can get none of it right.
In one month I sent out 39 job applications, four phone interviews, which progressed into two face-to-face interviews.
Yet, zero offers to work full-time in Singapore.
Four companies rejected me before I had the chance to speak to them. Two of them, due to business restrictions, can only hire me on remote-working and project basis. One decided to place someone more experienced and able to start sooner for the job; another didn't provide a reason. The rest just never replied.
I applied locally too -- two of them -- and got offers. Unfortunately, I had to turn both down due to the salary offered. I really, really liked one of those companies.
At one point, I was quite convinced that I'm not as good at my job as I thought I am. Why else would a meritocratic country say no then? The night when I got two rejections, both of which I've been interviewed via Skype or in person, my self-confidence crumbled.
I'm not your textbook millennial. I don't believe I'm entitled to anything, not even when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm a baby boomer living in the body of a millennial. I believe you should work it to deserve it. I never believed that just because I have a degree, I should have a job -- which was why I insisted on doing internships annually. I graduated with a CGPA 3.33 and ten and a half months of working experience. I serve my bond and achieved some good numbers for my portfolios.
I might have joked about being the lowest paid person among my group of friends to my superior, but I never once demanded for a raise. Nevertheless, my managers are kind people who requested a increments and salary adjustments, guided me and motivated me to where I am currently.
But I want to go. I felt as if I'm a long-bodied fish living in a tiny fishbowl. My muscles start to ache because my gills kept grazing against my tail. I don't need an ocean -- a bigger aquarium sounds nice, a small fish pond even better.
So I started my job-seeking spree. In every cover letter -- even when it wasn't compulsory to send one -- I wrote that I want to contribute with whatever skills I have. I'm also thirsty for knowledge, I told them I want to learn: I want to learn so badly. Be it software skills, human languages, computer languages, design, adaptability -- I want to be fed knowledge.
But perhaps I'm not good enough for that competitive environment across the Causeway. Gone are the days when I'll look at my phone expectantly, waiting for a reply to the previous email conversation. It's like going through a break up: you had a text to look forward to everyday, suddenly there's none.
The silence that follows.
The self-doubting.
The questioning.
Paper qualifications. Job experience. Appearance. Likability. At this point I can get none of it right.
Saturday, July 16
Like Kipling in Burma
At the mention of Yangon, the mind wanders to a land once called Burma. It sees golden temple spires reaching up to the skies and monks in saffron taking alms. The Lady appears as well, in a corner, with fresh flowers in her hair.
And then there's Bagan. An ancient land untouched by time, Land of a Thousand Temples, shrouded in mist on the early morning when we got off the sleeper bus. Shivering in the cold -- surrounded by taxi drivers offering rates that are too good to be true -- we waited for our guide.
Shwesantaw was already crowded when we reached. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the mythical Bagan sunrise, even when it was 19°C. The wait was excruciatingly long, especially when we had only a scarf to share.
And then it happened.
The sun rose. The mist dissipated, almost languidly. A million temples appeared on the plains: hidden behind trees, perched on top of hills.
You asked yourself if beauty exists only on a dimension parallel to ours, and if you're in that dimension now. Perhaps these holy ruins are entrances to another realm, for mankind is incapable of making such beauties. Legends could stem from scenes like these.
Time didn't seem to exist as we traversed the landscape. A 3G-fuelled phone and an e-bike were the means that guided us around this ancient place. There were places where all the eye could see was an endless sea of brown trees and sand. Other places, temples were as common as wooden shacks in a village.
Quietness.
How suddenly the people left this place, disappeared in time. Only the Irrawaddy River knows the full history, but it will never tell.
Like waking up from a dream, gasping for breath -- no longer the cold, dry Burmese air -- Bagan retreated from reality into memory. Even in memories, the rustling of leaves on the Bagan plains sounds muffled, retreated into the mists.
Kipling was on the road to Mandalay; we might have treaded the same path.
And then there's Bagan. An ancient land untouched by time, Land of a Thousand Temples, shrouded in mist on the early morning when we got off the sleeper bus. Shivering in the cold -- surrounded by taxi drivers offering rates that are too good to be true -- we waited for our guide.
Shwesantaw was already crowded when we reached. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the mythical Bagan sunrise, even when it was 19°C. The wait was excruciatingly long, especially when we had only a scarf to share.
And then it happened.
The sun rose. The mist dissipated, almost languidly. A million temples appeared on the plains: hidden behind trees, perched on top of hills.
You asked yourself if beauty exists only on a dimension parallel to ours, and if you're in that dimension now. Perhaps these holy ruins are entrances to another realm, for mankind is incapable of making such beauties. Legends could stem from scenes like these.
Time didn't seem to exist as we traversed the landscape. A 3G-fuelled phone and an e-bike were the means that guided us around this ancient place. There were places where all the eye could see was an endless sea of brown trees and sand. Other places, temples were as common as wooden shacks in a village.
Quietness.
How suddenly the people left this place, disappeared in time. Only the Irrawaddy River knows the full history, but it will never tell.
Like waking up from a dream, gasping for breath -- no longer the cold, dry Burmese air -- Bagan retreated from reality into memory. Even in memories, the rustling of leaves on the Bagan plains sounds muffled, retreated into the mists.
Kipling was on the road to Mandalay; we might have treaded the same path.
Sunday, April 3
Maybe, Just Maybe, We Should All Expect To Be Ghosted.
The prospect of being ghosted is like the boogeyman in your closet: you're not entirely sure if it's in there, but you know there's a possibility that it exists, and it won't give you a warning before it attacks.
It just appears.
Similar to ghosting: it's not about whether they are harbouring the thought of cutting all contact with you; it's when they actually do it, and you won't see it coming. It just happens.
Sometimes, you won't even know you've been ghosted until a few days or weeks later.
It dawns on you slowly. He's busy, she's out with friends. The message has been read, but there's not reply yet. You wait. A day later, no news. You've grown so used to talking to someone on a daily, and even hourly, basis that you're not used to falling back to an afternoon of phone silence.
Another day goes by. Maybe they're out of town, or they lost their phones. Should you text to see if it goes through? Or does that make you look obsessed?
Yet another day. You find the best way to phrase a short sentence just to check on them. Nothing too clingy, of course. The most casual ways of saying 'hi, are you still there?' are usually wordless. You send a link, a funny photo, or just an emoji.
Message sent. Message read. No reply. Your confirmation.
We now have a fancy way of describing this phenomenon: ghosting. While many think it's new, it probably has been happening even before Marie Antoinette's time. It's inevitable. Communication indicates a willingness to stay in touch, to be close to one another. The absence of it implies 'I don't want to be with you anymore'.
There must have been at least a million of unreturned letters through the ages, thousands of unreturned phone calls, trillions of unreplied texts. We feel cheated and abandoned. We feel like they at least owe us an explanation, a statement that clearly states the truth that we might not actually want to know:
"I'm not interested in continuing this relationship anymore."
Be it a Tinder match or an actual relationship, they say this is the most irresponsible way to end things. But what makes us think that we're entitled to this explanation, especially when we're actually not even... anything?
By the very fact that we're humans, with feelings? Those who ghosted us perhaps too have the right to not say what they don't want to say. Or in a more apt way, not say anything because they have nothing to say. Perhaps it's the best way to end things, because it's the cruellest way to end things.
So perhaps we should expect to be ghosted, as pessimistic and insulting as it sounds. In a world where everything has an end, some form of buffer should be installed to help us bounce back up. It seems that we'll be forever bound to the arrival of the postman and our phones, waiting for something that might one day stop.
It just appears.
Similar to ghosting: it's not about whether they are harbouring the thought of cutting all contact with you; it's when they actually do it, and you won't see it coming. It just happens.
Sometimes, you won't even know you've been ghosted until a few days or weeks later.
 |
| Credit: Favim |
It dawns on you slowly. He's busy, she's out with friends. The message has been read, but there's not reply yet. You wait. A day later, no news. You've grown so used to talking to someone on a daily, and even hourly, basis that you're not used to falling back to an afternoon of phone silence.
Another day goes by. Maybe they're out of town, or they lost their phones. Should you text to see if it goes through? Or does that make you look obsessed?
Yet another day. You find the best way to phrase a short sentence just to check on them. Nothing too clingy, of course. The most casual ways of saying 'hi, are you still there?' are usually wordless. You send a link, a funny photo, or just an emoji.
Message sent. Message read. No reply. Your confirmation.
We now have a fancy way of describing this phenomenon: ghosting. While many think it's new, it probably has been happening even before Marie Antoinette's time. It's inevitable. Communication indicates a willingness to stay in touch, to be close to one another. The absence of it implies 'I don't want to be with you anymore'.
 |
| Credit: Gracenote27 |
There must have been at least a million of unreturned letters through the ages, thousands of unreturned phone calls, trillions of unreplied texts. We feel cheated and abandoned. We feel like they at least owe us an explanation, a statement that clearly states the truth that we might not actually want to know:
"I'm not interested in continuing this relationship anymore."
Be it a Tinder match or an actual relationship, they say this is the most irresponsible way to end things. But what makes us think that we're entitled to this explanation, especially when we're actually not even... anything?
By the very fact that we're humans, with feelings? Those who ghosted us perhaps too have the right to not say what they don't want to say. Or in a more apt way, not say anything because they have nothing to say. Perhaps it's the best way to end things, because it's the cruellest way to end things.
 |
| Credits: Favim |
So perhaps we should expect to be ghosted, as pessimistic and insulting as it sounds. In a world where everything has an end, some form of buffer should be installed to help us bounce back up. It seems that we'll be forever bound to the arrival of the postman and our phones, waiting for something that might one day stop.
Sunday, November 15
Amidst Angkorian Ruins
I've always been fascinated by ancient ruins. It's a sentimental thing, really. I like walking around ancient ruins, thinking about the hands that built the monuments, the feet that once stepped on those very grounds, and try to imagine the untold stories of the owners of those feet.
Temple-goers, novice monks, travelling hermits; nobilities, palace guards, servants of the royal households. Everybody's life story is worth telling, and I wonder what secrets these otherwise forgotten people once kept. It doesn't have to be a fantastic story, with clandestine meetings, political assassinations swept under the carpet, secret love affairs, and dark desires. I'm intrigued even by the simplest bildungsroman.
It has everything to do with my obsession with existence. I hate to be forgotten, to have my existence wiped off with time.
We landed in Siem Reap International Airport early in the a.m. and hopped onto the tuk tuk sent by the hostel. The Cambodian air was crisp, the weather lovely despite it being the height of the dry season. We stayed in Golden Temple Villa, a hostel which provides the services of a 5-star hotel at the price of an inexpensive youth hostel. The hostel was recommended by my fellow travel buddy, Reuben Teo.
You can get a private double room with ensuite bathroom for USD27 per night. It comes with free airport transfer, welcome drink (which was terribly refreshing and good. We even ordered it again the next day after exploring temples in Phnom Kulen), complimentary 1-hour massage, coffee or tea and bananas throughout the day, wifi, and 2 bottles of mineral water daily.
Besides being really friendly and helpful, the staff actually take the trouble to remember their guests. We were pleasantly surprised when they recognised even the water bottles we're carrying, and returned it to our room when we accidentally left one of them in the hostel's restaurant.
Food served in the hostel's restaurant was really good, be it Western or local. For USD4 you can get a breakfast set that includes eggs (any style), sausages, grilled tomato, yogurt with fruits, and a cup of coffee or tea. You may also opt for a local breakfast of simple grilled chicken with steaming hot rice, served with coffee or tea as well, at only USD2.
The hostel also offers transport packages to Angkor, via tuk tuk or sedan car. Prices vary depending on the locations chosen and the mode of transport. We paid USD15 for transport to the major temples in the Angkor Archaeological Park, covering Ta Prohm, Angkor Thom gates, Bayon, Baphuon, Angkor Wat, Prasat Kravan, Ta Keo, and Sras Srang). This is excluding the entrance fee to the park, rates differ according to the different packages.
It was my second time visiting the Angkor Archaeological Park. The bas-reliefs in Angkor Wat had left a deep impression on me 5 years ago when I first went to Angkor Wat. A personal favourite is the Churning of the Ocean of Milk, which showed the devas and asuras working together to extract Amrita, the nectar of immortality.
There's a kind of majestic aura to it, especially when you're walking on the causeway towards the central temple structure, flanked with Naga balustrades. Ruins, scarred with the occasional bullet holes from the civil war, but what opulence and grandeur it exudes. It remains one of the grandest reminder of the once golden Angkorian empire it represents.
Some find the thousand faces of Bayon eerie and unsettling. An interesting irony, since these are the faces of a boddhisatva. Alone he is serene, in hundreds he is like Big Brother (we were reading Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four during the trip, hence the reference).
We hired a private driver and guide, Kimleng Sang (a friend of Reuben's), for a day trip to Banteay Srei, Phnom Kulen, and Beng Melea. It cost us USD235 for the whole trip, inclusive of petrol, parking, entrance fees (Phnom Kulen National Park is not part of the Angkor National Park, hence you'll need to purchase a different set of tickets for this), and bottled mineral water. Kimleng is very well-versed with the history of Angkorian temples. He's also a professional photographer, and always happy to point out the good shots. He even gave us a brief photography tutorial with his DSLR throughout the trip.
The intricacies of carvings will delight any artist, designer, and photographer. A very breathtaking site, looking at dancing apsaras in their resplendent garments, with their beautifully carved belts and rich jewellery. The story of Rama and Ravana was also meticulously recorded in Banteay Srei: from the abduction of Sita to Ravana's final defeat. It's time I start reading the Ramayana and Mahabharata.
Kimleng also told us an amusing story of how a certain French man tried to steal part of a bas-relief from Banteay Srei without success, and ended up as the Minister of Cultural Affairs in France later in life. Where do you find that kind of determination and confidence nowadays? Oh well.
If you've read the Kama Sutra (which, I assure you, is not as scandalous as popular belief) and are as immature as I am, you'll have to try your best to hide that childish urge to laugh when you're at the River of a Thousand Lingas. The carvings are said to be at least a century older than the temples at Angkor Wat.
Though some say it's best viewed when the river is dried up, I think the site more beautiful with a shallow river. And if you're lucky, you'll manage to see glimpses of carvings depicting Vishnu and Lakshmi on the river bed.
Water current contributes to the natural erosion of these ancient carvings, which is actually really sad considering that the carvings were purposely commissioned to acknowledge the sacredness of this river, only to be gnawed away by the very waters they pay tribute to. We didn't manage to explore the river bed extensively, missing out on the famous waterfall carving of Vishnu and Lakshmi.
We headed to Preah Ang Thom after that, a temple that houses a huge statue of a reclining Buddha carved out of a stone boulder on the mountain itself. According to Kimleng, the statue used to have diamonds for its eyes, which were unfortunately stolen.
Expect it to be crowded as it's a popular pilgrimage spot for Buddhist devotees in Cambodia. Near the steps of the temple is also a little fenced area, where you'll see the footprints of Buddha imprinted on the stone ground. Monks can be seen blessing devotees and chanting prayers in the temple compound. The mountain is thought to be sacred, so is the temple, you'll need to remove your shoes before stepping into the compound as a gesture of respect.
Speaking of which, I personally feel that it is very important for tourists to be respectful at religious sites. It is appalling to see some tourists walking around temple ruins in bra tops, cropped tops, micro-mini shorts, and sometimes even topless. As much as you would like to criticise the Asians as being overly conservative, it doesn't hurt to show a bit of respect to their culture and religion. As the saying goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. As much as the heat is suffocating, what makes you think the locals aren't sweating just as much as you are?
The waterfall at Phnom Kulen is a great place for a short respite from the unforgiving Cambodian mid-day sun. It's also a popular holiday spot for the locals, many of them renting the gazebos nearby for a big family picnic. The local children are nimble, and like children around the world, fearless. They would climb up the slippery rocks and dive, performing impressive mid-air somersaults.
There are clothes for rent if you're itching for a dip in the cool waters but forgot to bring extra clothing. Feel free to haggle, I managed to rent a simple blouse for 2,000 riel (about USD0.50). The water is clear, you can see fishes swimming around your legs, which made me even more paranoid about accidentally stepping on fishes.
I used to regard Bayon as my favourite temple, until Kimleng brought us to Beng Melea. While Ta Prohm enjoys its fame as 'Tomb Raider temple', Beng Melea is affectionately known as the 'Jungle temple'. However, do enquire further when tuk tuk and taxi drivers offer to bring you to the 'Jungle temple' as they could sometimes mean Ta Prohm as well. Like Phnom Kulen, Beng Melea is another park all by itself, so you'll need to pay an entrance fee of USD5 to enter.
Beng Melea seemed to be consumed by the jungle and its own ruins, the latter being yet another legacy of the civil war. It seemed like one of those ruins that you could only look from the outside, what with the entrance being buried in piles of large stone bricks. We followed Kimleng's queue and climbed up the walls to peer inside the temple. It felt very much like a real life Temple Run game, us treading precariously on fallen stones.
And then Kimleng hopped into what looked like a makeshift 'entrance'. I got really excited when he confirmed that we could actually enter the temple, that this was the less known 'entrance point' for tourists. I thoroughly enjoyed jumping from brick to brick, walking along the edges of temple walls, and peering into empty, abandoned chambers.
Still not much is known about the temple, enhancing its mysterious allure -- a dilapidated temple engulfed in vines, trees, and little flowers. It's really poetic, with a name that means 'lotus pond' in Khmer, hinting that there used to be one in the temple during its glory days.
We also saw a smaller version of the Churning of the Ocean of Milk in this temple, a broken piece posed on the ground among the other fallen stones.
The journey back to Siem Reap took a little more than an hour. We also stopped by the exhausted quarry of Phnom Kulen, where the rocks used to build many Angkorian monuments were taken from. The rocks were transported to the building sites via a canal, a 35km journey.
History remembers names like Suryavarman II and Jayavarman VII, but what about the nameless men and women who once carved, built, and walked the grounds of these temples? Only traces of the daily lives of ancient Khmers on the walls of the temples remain. Perhaps the beauty of a carved lady in Banteay Srei was inspired by a labourer's wife, the face of Ravana an inkling of a man's boyhood nightmare, the faces of Bayon a representation of the ideal serenity they seek.
 |
| Beng Melea temple |
Temple-goers, novice monks, travelling hermits; nobilities, palace guards, servants of the royal households. Everybody's life story is worth telling, and I wonder what secrets these otherwise forgotten people once kept. It doesn't have to be a fantastic story, with clandestine meetings, political assassinations swept under the carpet, secret love affairs, and dark desires. I'm intrigued even by the simplest bildungsroman.
It has everything to do with my obsession with existence. I hate to be forgotten, to have my existence wiped off with time.
 |
| Girl with lotus flower in Banteay Srei temple |
We landed in Siem Reap International Airport early in the a.m. and hopped onto the tuk tuk sent by the hostel. The Cambodian air was crisp, the weather lovely despite it being the height of the dry season. We stayed in Golden Temple Villa, a hostel which provides the services of a 5-star hotel at the price of an inexpensive youth hostel. The hostel was recommended by my fellow travel buddy, Reuben Teo.
 |
| Credit: Tripadvisor |
You can get a private double room with ensuite bathroom for USD27 per night. It comes with free airport transfer, welcome drink (which was terribly refreshing and good. We even ordered it again the next day after exploring temples in Phnom Kulen), complimentary 1-hour massage, coffee or tea and bananas throughout the day, wifi, and 2 bottles of mineral water daily.
Besides being really friendly and helpful, the staff actually take the trouble to remember their guests. We were pleasantly surprised when they recognised even the water bottles we're carrying, and returned it to our room when we accidentally left one of them in the hostel's restaurant.
Food served in the hostel's restaurant was really good, be it Western or local. For USD4 you can get a breakfast set that includes eggs (any style), sausages, grilled tomato, yogurt with fruits, and a cup of coffee or tea. You may also opt for a local breakfast of simple grilled chicken with steaming hot rice, served with coffee or tea as well, at only USD2.
The hostel also offers transport packages to Angkor, via tuk tuk or sedan car. Prices vary depending on the locations chosen and the mode of transport. We paid USD15 for transport to the major temples in the Angkor Archaeological Park, covering Ta Prohm, Angkor Thom gates, Bayon, Baphuon, Angkor Wat, Prasat Kravan, Ta Keo, and Sras Srang). This is excluding the entrance fee to the park, rates differ according to the different packages.
 |
| Ta Prohm temple |
 |
| Bayon |
 |
| Baphuon |
 |
| Angkor Wat |
It was my second time visiting the Angkor Archaeological Park. The bas-reliefs in Angkor Wat had left a deep impression on me 5 years ago when I first went to Angkor Wat. A personal favourite is the Churning of the Ocean of Milk, which showed the devas and asuras working together to extract Amrita, the nectar of immortality.
There's a kind of majestic aura to it, especially when you're walking on the causeway towards the central temple structure, flanked with Naga balustrades. Ruins, scarred with the occasional bullet holes from the civil war, but what opulence and grandeur it exudes. It remains one of the grandest reminder of the once golden Angkorian empire it represents.
 |
| The many faces of Bayon |
Some find the thousand faces of Bayon eerie and unsettling. An interesting irony, since these are the faces of a boddhisatva. Alone he is serene, in hundreds he is like Big Brother (we were reading Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four during the trip, hence the reference).
x x x x x
We hired a private driver and guide, Kimleng Sang (a friend of Reuben's), for a day trip to Banteay Srei, Phnom Kulen, and Beng Melea. It cost us USD235 for the whole trip, inclusive of petrol, parking, entrance fees (Phnom Kulen National Park is not part of the Angkor National Park, hence you'll need to purchase a different set of tickets for this), and bottled mineral water. Kimleng is very well-versed with the history of Angkorian temples. He's also a professional photographer, and always happy to point out the good shots. He even gave us a brief photography tutorial with his DSLR throughout the trip.
 |
| Banteay Srei temple |
The intricacies of carvings will delight any artist, designer, and photographer. A very breathtaking site, looking at dancing apsaras in their resplendent garments, with their beautifully carved belts and rich jewellery. The story of Rama and Ravana was also meticulously recorded in Banteay Srei: from the abduction of Sita to Ravana's final defeat. It's time I start reading the Ramayana and Mahabharata.
Kimleng also told us an amusing story of how a certain French man tried to steal part of a bas-relief from Banteay Srei without success, and ended up as the Minister of Cultural Affairs in France later in life. Where do you find that kind of determination and confidence nowadays? Oh well.
 |
| Kbal Spean: River of a Thousand Lingas |
If you've read the Kama Sutra (which, I assure you, is not as scandalous as popular belief) and are as immature as I am, you'll have to try your best to hide that childish urge to laugh when you're at the River of a Thousand Lingas. The carvings are said to be at least a century older than the temples at Angkor Wat.
Though some say it's best viewed when the river is dried up, I think the site more beautiful with a shallow river. And if you're lucky, you'll manage to see glimpses of carvings depicting Vishnu and Lakshmi on the river bed.
 |
| Vishnu and Lakhsmi |
Water current contributes to the natural erosion of these ancient carvings, which is actually really sad considering that the carvings were purposely commissioned to acknowledge the sacredness of this river, only to be gnawed away by the very waters they pay tribute to. We didn't manage to explore the river bed extensively, missing out on the famous waterfall carving of Vishnu and Lakshmi.
We headed to Preah Ang Thom after that, a temple that houses a huge statue of a reclining Buddha carved out of a stone boulder on the mountain itself. According to Kimleng, the statue used to have diamonds for its eyes, which were unfortunately stolen.
 |
| Entrance to Preah Ang Thom temple |
Expect it to be crowded as it's a popular pilgrimage spot for Buddhist devotees in Cambodia. Near the steps of the temple is also a little fenced area, where you'll see the footprints of Buddha imprinted on the stone ground. Monks can be seen blessing devotees and chanting prayers in the temple compound. The mountain is thought to be sacred, so is the temple, you'll need to remove your shoes before stepping into the compound as a gesture of respect.
 |
| Reclining Buddha in Preah Ang Thom |
Speaking of which, I personally feel that it is very important for tourists to be respectful at religious sites. It is appalling to see some tourists walking around temple ruins in bra tops, cropped tops, micro-mini shorts, and sometimes even topless. As much as you would like to criticise the Asians as being overly conservative, it doesn't hurt to show a bit of respect to their culture and religion. As the saying goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. As much as the heat is suffocating, what makes you think the locals aren't sweating just as much as you are?
x x x x x
The waterfall at Phnom Kulen is a great place for a short respite from the unforgiving Cambodian mid-day sun. It's also a popular holiday spot for the locals, many of them renting the gazebos nearby for a big family picnic. The local children are nimble, and like children around the world, fearless. They would climb up the slippery rocks and dive, performing impressive mid-air somersaults.
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| Phnom Kulen waterfall |
There are clothes for rent if you're itching for a dip in the cool waters but forgot to bring extra clothing. Feel free to haggle, I managed to rent a simple blouse for 2,000 riel (about USD0.50). The water is clear, you can see fishes swimming around your legs, which made me even more paranoid about accidentally stepping on fishes.
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I used to regard Bayon as my favourite temple, until Kimleng brought us to Beng Melea. While Ta Prohm enjoys its fame as 'Tomb Raider temple', Beng Melea is affectionately known as the 'Jungle temple'. However, do enquire further when tuk tuk and taxi drivers offer to bring you to the 'Jungle temple' as they could sometimes mean Ta Prohm as well. Like Phnom Kulen, Beng Melea is another park all by itself, so you'll need to pay an entrance fee of USD5 to enter.
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| One of the ruined gates of Beng Melea temple |
Beng Melea seemed to be consumed by the jungle and its own ruins, the latter being yet another legacy of the civil war. It seemed like one of those ruins that you could only look from the outside, what with the entrance being buried in piles of large stone bricks. We followed Kimleng's queue and climbed up the walls to peer inside the temple. It felt very much like a real life Temple Run game, us treading precariously on fallen stones.
And then Kimleng hopped into what looked like a makeshift 'entrance'. I got really excited when he confirmed that we could actually enter the temple, that this was the less known 'entrance point' for tourists. I thoroughly enjoyed jumping from brick to brick, walking along the edges of temple walls, and peering into empty, abandoned chambers.
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| From the inside |
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| The causeway |
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| Broken walls |
Still not much is known about the temple, enhancing its mysterious allure -- a dilapidated temple engulfed in vines, trees, and little flowers. It's really poetic, with a name that means 'lotus pond' in Khmer, hinting that there used to be one in the temple during its glory days.
We also saw a smaller version of the Churning of the Ocean of Milk in this temple, a broken piece posed on the ground among the other fallen stones.
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| Churning of the Ocean of Milk |
The journey back to Siem Reap took a little more than an hour. We also stopped by the exhausted quarry of Phnom Kulen, where the rocks used to build many Angkorian monuments were taken from. The rocks were transported to the building sites via a canal, a 35km journey.
History remembers names like Suryavarman II and Jayavarman VII, but what about the nameless men and women who once carved, built, and walked the grounds of these temples? Only traces of the daily lives of ancient Khmers on the walls of the temples remain. Perhaps the beauty of a carved lady in Banteay Srei was inspired by a labourer's wife, the face of Ravana an inkling of a man's boyhood nightmare, the faces of Bayon a representation of the ideal serenity they seek.
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