Hope

The girl selling gasoline from a Caltex drum at the side of the road smiles a pretty smile and waves,  the old woman walking house to house with a basket of noodles on her shoulder stops for a chat . The cyclo driver and the motodop share a cigarette and a laugh over a game of cards on the street. Good people, real people all struggling against the odds to carve a future for themselves and their families amidst so much misery and hopelessness..

 It’s the people of this city, the 1 million souls that make up its population, the ordinary hardworking people that try hard to live decent lives and give their kids decent lives amidst the ugliness that are the real heart and soul of this town.  you see it every day.

 You see it in the thousands of English students that cram the many private schools, good students, kids that know their futures depend on their education and  that their education is paid for by the hard work and sacrifice of their parents.

  Pretty Khmer English students, virgin girls  in Hipless britney jeans  and buckle  belts, sleeveless Tshirts tight enough for bra straps and belly buttons to show, New Collection fashions  worn with an innocent sexuality and calculated flirt. Good girls, girls that follow their parents, girls going to college, girls saving themselves for the marriage bed.

 She have hips asks my wife, she have bum?

  Driving home late at night with my wife, suddenly the headlight fades and goes out, we creep home slowly.  A cop sees me and blows a whistle “I know I know” I nod, pointing at the headlight.  He blows again and I pull over. Rolling up his sleeves he unscrews the headlight and fixes it, waves goodbye, refuses a cigarette. “Bad for Health”, he says.