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So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.


The Profile


Zanzibar
Age. 39
Gender. Female
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Altadena, CA
School. Other
» More info.
The World









The Link To Zanzibar's Past
This is my page in the beloved art community that my sister got me into:

Samarinda

Extra points for people who know what Samarinda is.
The Phases of the Moon Module
CURRENT MOON
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
My hero(s)
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER


Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
The Schedule
M: Science and Exploration
T: Cook a nice dinner
W: PARKOUR!
Th: Parties, movies, dinners
F: Picnics, the Louvre
S: Read books, go for walks, PARKOUR
Su: Philosophy, Religion
The Reading List
This list starts Summer 2006
A Crocodile on the Sandbank
Looking Backwards
Wild Swans
Exodus
1984
Tales of the Alhambra (in progress)
Dark Lord of Derkholm
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The Lost Years of Merlin
Harry Potter a l'ecole des sorciers (in progress)
Atlas Shrugged (in progress)
Uglies
Pretties
Specials
A Long Way Gone (story of a boy soldier in Sierra Leone- met the author! w00t!)
The Eye of the World: Book One of the Wheel of Time
From Magma to Tephra (in progress)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Harry Potter 7
The No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency
Introduction to Planetary Volcanism
A Child Called "It"
Pompeii
Is Multi-Culturalism Bad for Women?
Americans in Southeast Asia: Roots of Commitment (in progress)
What's So Great About Christianity?
Aeolian Geomorphology
Aeolian Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
Cube Route
When I was in Cuba, I was a German Shepard
Bound
The Golden Compass
Clan of the Cave Bear
The 9/11 Commission Report (2nd time through, graphic novel format this time, ip)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
Twilight
Eclipse
New Moon
Breaking Dawn
Armageddon's Children
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
Crucial Conversations
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
Dandelion Wine
To Sir, With Love
London Calling
Watership Down
The Invisible
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Host
The Hunger Games
Catching Fire
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
Infidel
Neuromancer
The Help
Flip
Zion Andrews
The Unit
Princess
Quantum Brain
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
Delirium
Memento Nora
Robopocalypse
The Name of the Wind
The Terror
Sister
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
Libyan Sands
Sand and Sandstones
Lost Christianites: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew
The Science of God
Calculating God
Great Contemporaries, by Winston Churchill
City of Bones
Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
Divergent
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Old Man and the Sea
Flowers for Algernon
Au Bonheur des Ogres
The Martian
The Road to Serfdom
De La Terre � la Lune (ip)
In the Light of What We Know
Devil in the White City
2312
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
Red Mars
How to Be a Good Wife
A Mote in God's Eye
A Gentleman in Russia
The Fatal Conceit: The Errors of Socialism
Seneca: Letters from a Stoic
The Juanes Module


Juanes just needed his own mod. Who can disagree.
Cambodia
Sunday. 7.19.09 12:50 am
We're walking through the jungle.

It is oppressively hot, but I've grown accustomed to the heat and I am wearing long pants for modesty and protection from the sun and the jungle. The ancient stone path beneath our feet is covered in a thick layer of white sand. We are headed towards Ta Prom, the Jungle Temple.

Our tour guide informs us proudly that this temple was featured in one of the Tomb Raider movies. The film crew didn't want to damage the stone walk leading to the temple with their movie trucks, so they laid down sandbags on the walks to protect them. When they left, they did not take the sandbags with them. Slowly the bags had disinegrated, leaving the path looking like the beach that it resembles today.

There is no resentment in his voice: he loves Angelina Jolie. So does everyone here in Cambodia. She cares about the people, he says. He is proud that Angelina chose Cambodia as the place from which to adopt her eldest child.

One striking thing about Cambodia is how empty it is. After the busy streets and markets of Ho Chi Minh City, the streets and temples of Siem Reap seem quiet, even when you account for the smaller size of the city.

Approximately one seventh of the population of Cambodia was murdered by communists during the 1970s during the reign of the bloodthirsty Khmer Rouge. Even now there are deaths each year from the old landmines that the Khmer Rouge left buried around the country. The absence of these people and the descendents they never had makes the empty streets of Siem Reap seem even emptier. The city and countryside seems dampened, like a profound quiet had settled upon it out of which the people were only now emerging.

Our tour guide tells us that his mother had ten children.
"I am the only one left," he says, "the Khmer Rouge killed all the rest of my brothers and sisters." His voice carries no hint of emotion, just the straight-forward, even tone of people for whom hardship has become a way of life. Someone asks him what Cambodians think of Americans, and he breaks into a wide smile. "In Cambodia we say, 'Japanese are very photographic... Koreans are very pushy... Americans are very friendly... and Cambodians are always smiling."

We reach the Jungle Temple, with its many smiling faces. It seems that despite their history, the Cambodians have been smiling since the days of Jayavarman VII in the 12th century.



The roots of the silk cotton trees drape over the walls into the enclosures. Roots of other trees have erupted out of the floors in quieter parts of the temple. The jungle is slowly swallowing Ta Prohm back up. But for the huge smiling stone faces, we are mostly alone.

We walk slowly from the temple and beautiful music reaches our ears through the trees. It is a group of crippled musicians, each with some part of his body destroyed by a landmine. Most of them are blind, some others are missing legs, faces, arms, feet. They are seated on a brilliant woven mat playing traditional Cambodian instruments with skilled hands. Their sign introduces them as the Crippled Musicians Prasat Preah Khan. They are selling homemade CDs for $10, on the honor system since very few of them can see. I buy one, stuffing my money into the small box they have placed in front of their mat.

The magical sounds of the Cambodian violin follow me long after I have left jungle.




4 Comments.


i like ur description, makign me wanted to go there myself too
» jolenesiah on 2009-07-19 05:55:03

That is rather depressing, but the pictures are nice.
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