Today, I took a ride, a very long ride on a small paved road of Kandal Province that seemed endless, past centuries of war and violence, villages, towns and cities, where construction boom is now the sound of a new Cambodia. No piece of land is free. It's being divided and kept inside concrete wall. People live along the bank of the Mekong River inside houses small and large, wooden, traditional houses on stilts or now bricked, modern design - that awful gaudy looking style of the Chinese graves spruce up everywhere all over Cambodia, in the same style, row after row.
I had never been on this road before, but it was a familiar one. I turned into a temple facing a big hyacinth covered lake where I sat for a bit to write and draw. In front of me banana groves sunk in water.
The sky was crisp blue. On my way back, I looked inside the temple being constructed: stupas, Buddha statues, paintings depicting the life of Buddha, green, yellow, gold, spires pointing up, majesty, though gaudy, the external appearance moved me to ponder the road back home, where it is and what I should be doing, whether or not I really have a purpose in this life.
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