On the planet of Earth, on the continent of Asia, in the country of Cambodia, in the city of Siem Reap, on the road named King’s Road, there is a building named Premier Entertainment. The building in question stands out on the the dusty expanse that I came to realise was what Cambodia calls a road. During the day, it sits there, a seemingly-pristine white block decorated by diagonally-slanting white slats. Despite being rather more abstract in aesthetic sense than the shacks which abut it, it is fairly unnoticeable and indeed, rather forgettable. Pass it once at night, though, and your perception of it is irrevocably changed. It is illuminated a purplish-pink, and the slats a slightly darker shade. As you drive past it, you sneak a quick glance inside, and what meets your eyes is an alien landscape. It’s an entirely pink chamber with corridors snaking out from a central annex and columns slanting at obnoxious angles yet somehow managing to still reach the ceiling. The more astute amongst you may have realised what this building is and what purpose it serves, but those who haven’t will have to try a little harder. I don’t recommend googling it.
Obviously, I did at some point discover what the building was, somewhat ironically, discovering its (relatively colourful purpose) made it seem all the more mundane. All the inane conspiracy theories and lewd rhetoric that we inundated the building with were irrevocably denied and reduced to one, undeniable truth. Having learnt this truth, I cursed myself for my naïveté, laughed awkwardly at my eagerness to find out the truth, but most of all, lamented the loss of the legends we adorned the building with.
I find, however, that the story of Premier Entertainment was a reflection of a larger theme, a microcosm of something that involved not just a triad of fascinated teenagers but a many more people. This theme made itself evident to me slowly as my stay in Siem Reap progressed, tantalisingly lifting its veil of ambiguity and revealing itself to me in its mundane, disappointing glory.
It displayed itself to me in the temples of Angkor Wat, a centuries-old complex celebrated the world over for its complex and nuanced architecture and the history it represents. I too was caught up in its beauty (I took over 200 photos that day), but to me, it was a beauty best appreciated from a distance, as the sun crested the top of the temple, casting long shadows across the meadow and an ethereal glow around the temples spires. As I got closer to the temple and explored its chambers, my perception of it changed. It transformed from a magnificent, almost-stately shrine to the powers that be to an unforgiving mass of sculpted stone, soaring above all those who entered, as though to assert its own power above those who shaped it. The beauty was still evident in the ornate carvings and sweeping vistas from the higher levels, but it was an alien beauty, impossible to comprehend and relate to, no longer something that could be appreciated without a certain amount of fear. As I stared down the hall which contained some 300 depictions of heaven and hell, I considered not the dichotomy of good and bad, but rather how someone who wished to worship could possibly be comforted by the lack of colour and the uniform intricacy which must have been incomprehensible to all but those who designed them. Instead of feeling the serenity that pervaded the place, I was infuriated by the scam artists who persuaded gullible tourists to part with their money, ostensibly to support the monks who live at the temple (I later found out that there are none).
It reared its ugly head as I sat on a bench with the children I was helping at an orphanage and spoke to them about their lives. We discussed their favourite subjects, what they wanted to do in the future or simply why they were talking to me instead of engaging in the ferocious game of pseudo-football that raged in front of us. Slowly, I began to get to know them, to understand where they were coming from when they spoke of their frustration in math lessons. I realised then just how different we were. I had been irrevocably shaped by my experiences and they by theirs, and this was reflected in everything from the way they laughed when I demonstrated the similarity between my name and the sound a motorbike makes when it starts to the way they looked at me with wonder when I showed them how small Singapore was compared to Russia. It was demonstrated to me when they spoke of their wonder of seeing 4 storey-tall buildings in Phnom Penh and through the efficient way with which they overcame difficulties (at one point, a thoroughly overenthusiastic student threw a frisbee onto the roof and another child pulled himself up onto the roof, retrieved the frisbee and promptly jumped right back off again). Working with them was immensely edifying and I hope that I was able to return even a fraction of that, but it would be a mistruth to say that I understand their situation intimately. Ultimately, I was the person who showed up in the morning, played with them,(hopefully) taught them some things, but returned to his comfortable hotel in the evening and messaged his friends in other countries on facebook and went wherever he wanted for dinner. I’m proud that I was able to help them and I do feel it’s given me a better idea of what they experience, but I don’t think that doing what I did fostered any real appreciation in either party as to what the other was all about. Perhaps I just didn’t get enough time to learn as much as I needed and wanted to, but there was a perceptible barrier between me and any truly complete identification with them.
My 6ish days in Siem Reap were a haven from the commitments that generally plague my hours, and I enjoyed them thoroughly. I’m glad I was able to make even a small change in someone else’s life and personally, I think I developed in my understanding of how the world worked. This newfound understanding, however, didn’t yield any answers; instead, it opened up questions. It shed light on something which had hovered on the fringes of my psyche for a very long time but had never quite wormed its way into my consciousness. At long last, I think I’m beginning to understand how we can never quite understand things the way others may believe we can and how lost we can feel if we become acutely aware of this disparity. At long last, I think I’ve realised that life can be ambiguous.
And when it is, it’s even more ambiguous than the name ‘Premier Entertainment’.
Abzonnian Ramblings 