Meanwhile the only muscles my masseur had vigorously worked
happened to be the only muscles I didn’t want her to work. I had gotten a
fairly nasty sunburn on my shoulders while snorkeling and explained while
pulling down my shirt and pointing to the blistered red skin, “Painful!” Well, I
can only assume she thought I meant painful as in “Tight! Work it baby!!” And
since my shrieks of duress seemed to be taken as compliments, and also because
I am wildly non-confrontational, the massage
progressed predictably from the torture phase to the laying catatonic while she
straddled my thighs and administered
random karate chops to my head phase, which naturally led to the press on what
I can only assume were strategic pressure points on the insides of my hips phase,
(probably something to aid with my digestion or make me more fertile…surprise
Russ!) this phase made me nostalgic for home; reminding me of the time I
volunteered at the scout expo to be a first aid patient and the scouts
practiced applying pressure to stop the “bleeding” of a “bullet wound” and after
all twelve of them tried and I was still “bleeding out,” they wisely moved on
to practicing tourniquet merit badge tying on me with Sam, the runt of the
scout litter being called on to rip his t-shirt into strips for the cause,
“Stop being selfish Sam, Do you want her to die right in front of you?!!”
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| These beauties loved having their picture taken, Angkor Wat, Cambodia October 2014 |
But at some point the tourniquet merit badge phase ended,
(I’m not sure how long it lasted… I may have temporarily passed out when she
found my neck pressure points) and as I regained consciousness I noticed all
movement had stopped, the room seemed fuzzy around the edges as air filled my
lungs again and I noticed my t-shirt had ridden up a bit, and in the humidity
laced dark my masseur was quietly and intensely studying my stomach. She slowing
began tracing the silvery length of a stretch mark, I was a little embarrassed
at first, but then I looked up into her beautiful mocha face, her wide unblinking
doe eyes starred back at me as a smiled spread like a sunrise across her lips
and she said in stilted English, (while patting her size -0 stomach) “We are
the same!” Then she bent and fascinated, traced another stretch mark, I resisted
the urge to say, ‘Honey, we could be here all night!” and pausing she asked
shyly, ”How many children you have?” “Three boys” I said holding up three
fingers. “How many children you have?” I asked pointing at her. She smiled and scooted up a bit onto my lap
into a more comfortable conversational pelvic straddling position, “I…. 3” she
said, holding up three fingers. “How old” I wondered, “One girl 9 year, one boy
5 year” and then she paused and once again begin tracing another stretch mark
--- “and one baby boy one year,” she said slowly, “baby boy killed, husband killed one year in
car accident.” “They died one year ago?” I restated, shocked. “Yes,” she
continued as she starred earnestly into my eyes, “Now every day I alone.” Well, what else could I do but sit up (no
small task when she was straddling my lap) and even though I didn’t know the
customs of Cambodians, I hugged her anyway, and looking into her melty
chocolate eyes said the first thing that popped into my head, “Yes. We are the
same.”
 |
| At the morning market, waiting for a sale, Cambodia October 2014 |
In Cambodia all the markets are made up of a string of rickety
shacks, where people sell their goods. They sit on their stalls a pile of rice noodles
resting next to their bare feet, they refold scarves and stack raw meat, they
smooth t-shirts and call as you walk by, “What you want lady? You like this scarf
lady? Pure Cambodian silk lady. You try? What color you like?” While browsing I kept seeing shirts that
said, “Same Same” on the front, and “But Different” on the back. Apparently the phrase is used a lot in
Thailand and has spread to most areas in Asia, and can mean just about anything
depending on what the user is trying to achieve, for example, Question: “Is
this a real Rolex?” Answer: “Yes sir, same same but different.” Meaning, it looks exactly like the same
thing, and in so many ways is the same thing…but it’s not actually the same.
“Same same…but different.”
 |
I literally am the most computer savvy person I know...obviously,
because for the life of me I can't figure out how to get this photo to flip..
.and I wanted one of me wearing the "Same Same" shirt I bought...
but take it as a metaphor; it's sideways because everything doesn't have to be the same! |
What struck me in that dimly lit, sweaty massage room (besides
the kung-foo hands of Mae as she proved her affection through a series of karate
chops between my eyes) was how we are all the same, at our cores the same. The common thread of humanity weaves us all
together in tight binding stiches. I knew nothing about the struggles Mae endured,
I didn’t know how it felt to lose a child; but I confess, in my midnight
moments, I’ve known how it felt to loose part
of a child. I understand how it feels to struggle, and that life sometimes
swings without gloves; that grief can box your ears; sit on your chest while
you cry uncle. I felt a connection to Mae, because we had both been stretched
by life; Same same.
 |
| Royalty at the Temples at Angkor Wat, these girls were so sighably beautiful, Cambodia 2014 |
For me, my life has been a reconciliation in learning to be
compassionate. Sometimes being kind is the easiest thing in the world; it’s
natural to want to comfort a toddler whose just tripped, or hug a friend whose been
diagnosed with cancer. But there are other times when showing compassion has felt
like choking on bile. For example, there was the time Alex shoved Logan in the
pool (fully dressed) because (naturally) Logan was a better swimmer than him,
and it made him mad. Or when Alex knocked a kid’s birthday cake (yes, the one
my friend had slaved over, and stayed up all night to remake it THREE times
until it finally resembled Buzz Light Year) to the ground because he had wanted
to blow out the candles, and it wasn’t fair that only the birthday boy got to! (Bet
you were glad you invited us to the party!) Or a favorite of mine includes the
time he threw a mango smoothie from the back of the van to explode against the
windshield and cover me from head to toe with vitamin C … (like a forced
hydration mask really). And yes, of course we were on our way to get family
pictures. And yes our color scheme was white and gray….and shades of orange?
And that was just last week! (I’m kidding :) )
 |
| Alex indulging me in a rare selfie shot. He's even smiling! It's a Miracle! October 2014 |
I have learned true compassion
for another soul can never be approached on unequal footing; where one person plays
the doctor and one the patient, because the tendency to be-little the sick
while you wax philosophically about the genius of your medicinal skills is too
great, and it doesn’t ring true to the afflicted. But rather, as we approach each other from a perspective
of common ground; patient to patient, healer to healer; vulnerable as we pad towards each other, our
shirts cautiously raised, revealing our
fragile underbellies, the silvery scales of our scars; can true connection take
place. Implementing this practice reminds me of something I learned during my
first yoga class, because you’ve never been truly vulnerable until you’ve been
asked by the instructor to demonstrate the pose “Down Dog Bow” (google it) or
tried to stretch your unstretchable body into poses like the “Please don’t trip
over me” pose. At the end of the class the instructor bowed to us and said, ”Namaste,”
and the class then in turn bowed back and repeated, “Namaste” to the
instructor. In Cambodia this gesture is
also how you thank someone; hands clasped in front of your heart as if you are
praying, eyes closed as you bow your head to the individual you wish to thank. The
gesture Namaste represents the belief that there is a divine spark within each
of us; an acknowledgment of the soul in one, by the soul in another. A literal
translation means, “bow me you” or “I bow to you.” The spirit within me salutes the spirit in
you.
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| My friend Adam demonstrating Namaste, Cambodia 2014 |
The trick is, that at least for me, real life is distracting
and I am hopelessly flawed. I get sidetracked by worrying if someone is going
to slip in the trail of sweat I’ve left while attempting to do the bended cat
pose, and I react too fast, anger jumping in my veins when I’m worried if we
can get the deposit back from the photographer since Mango is NOT on my color
of wheel of approved colors for my skin tone. But mostly I get scared (and fear
casts a long shadow) because It’s hard to reveal my scars when I’m certain that
when I raise my shirt I will be the only one with stretch marks (*I never once
have been). Or because like every other person I know, someone has at some
juncture pointed and laughed at our weaknesses, which makes us want to curl
around our fragile underbellies like a porcupine and shoot anyone who comes
close enough to see that we’re not just a ball of stone but a living creature
(Please note that my son Spencer –the writer, thinks this is a poor metaphor, hedgehogs curl
into a ball not porcupines, and porcupines don’t shoot quills but rather fling
them, never-the-less indulge me will you?) It’s easier to take a defensive
stance and not let anyone close or justify our mistreatment of others as valid
because it’s a protective measure; we swing first, thinking “If I wound you,
then you can’t wound me.” But in the end, nobody wants to be a boulder of
quills, nobody wants to be disconnected. For me, I’ve learned it’s only when I
act with pure, undiluted love towards another that true connection takes place
and hearts are healed. Therefore, if we are same same and if the spark of
difference is to be recognized and honored then we must all put down our stones
of judgment so we can lift up the arms that hang down, and in turn be lifted as
well.
 |
| Noodles? Chicken? Pad Thai? This lady is your go to girl! Cambodia 2014 |
We are all on the same team so lets stop lining up against each other. We are all duplicates, synonymous, tantamount, equals; that’s
what I learned as Mae explored my most vulnerable spot in a sticky room in
Cambodia; we are all the same, and our differences must be respected and
learned from. I’m glad I traveled half
way around the world because those random Karate chops to my glabella cleared
the clutter from my memory so I could remember my shared humanity, because in
remembering I found strength. Now if I
can just remember to bring a towel to yoga and to keep smoothies out of the car
I will be golden.
