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| Old Khmer women preparing the flower boxes a few days ago |
Theara has been working for a long time in Petit Villa. He strikes you as super-friendly, the kind of guy you want to hang out with, on a Sunday afternoon at Starbucks.
It's your last day in Cambodia. You wake up to monks chanting. Theara knows your morning fix: iced coffee. He brings two glasses and lays them on your poolside balcony's table. He does the Sam Peash, the Cambodian act of holding two hands together, in front of the chest, to thank you for the 20 Thai Baht tip. It's your last day, so you've spent almost all your USD and all you have are small bills from other countries.
"Looks like the weather will be fine today", you tell yourself while looking at the sky and lighting a stick of Marlboro Lights. You take a sip of coffee from your glass and see one of the staff walking towards your room.
"Good morning," he greets you. His name is Sophea, the owner's nephew. You notice he looks a bit sad, "Grandma died last night."
You were shocked. A few days ago, there were just ceremonies next door to pray for her health.
You could only say, "I'm sorry."
Sophea continues to apologize, "So sorry for the ceremony", referring to the chants of the monks, "Grandma died at 2AM. Her son from Phnom Penh has arrived too. She was already breathing through her mouth, and not her nose earlier."
You continue to give your condolences and assure him that the chants do not bother you at all. He retreats back to the front desk, still a little shaken from the recent family tragedy.
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| At the restaurant with TC. Theara teaching you how to do the Sam Peash |
At the restaurant, Theara brings your breakfast: fried rice, fruit platter, and brewed coffee. You briefly talk about the "Sam Peash". He explains that Cambodians use this gesture to say "Okun" or Thank You and even "Welcome".
You wanted to borrow his traditional costume for a photo op, or probably ask where you can get it. You are a little surprised with what he said.
"These are the traditional clothes of rich people," he explains.
"Wow, you're rich", you jokingly respond.
"No," he flashes a sincere Cambodian smile, "This is made in Thailand. Everything here, we usually buy from Thailand. It's a lot cheaper. If we make it," he holds his sleeve, "it will be a lot more expensive."
You start stirring your coffee and light a cigarette.
"Did you like the chocolates?," you ask Theara. Yesterday, you made sure you give out all of the food left in your luggage, including the Cloud 9 bars Theara got. Bringing Philippine-made sweets has been a tradition whenever you travel.
"Yes, I like it a lot!", he happily exclaims, like a kid. Unfortunately, chocolate bars can be expensive in Siem Reap as they do not have locally made candies like this, according to him.
"What will happen to grandma?," you ask him curiously.
"Oh, we will pray for three to four days. Three to four since the hotel owner is rich. Usually, if you are poor, it will just be two to three days. Then, on Saturday, we will bring her to the pagoda to either burn or bury her."
It's a sad conversation. Theara mentions that the body will back in the house this afternoon. In Cambodia, they do not embalm the dead. You didn't ask anymore where she is, but you wanted to pay your respects too.
"Can I go there later? At their house?", pointing to the big house beside the hotel.
"Yes, yes. You can".
You learn that your shirt and shorts are okay after explaining that in your own culture, you should at least wear pants when visiting the dead.
Theara continues, "Only relatives have to wear VYE."
"What?", you clarify.
"Vye," and he holds his shirt again, as if explaining that it's his shirt's color.
You understood him right away. Only relatives have to wear white. In French, a popular language after years of colonial rule, W is pronounced as V.
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| The hotel owners sent this rice porridge straight to your room |
Hours pass. And after a lazy day of just hanging out in your balcony, taking a short swim, and trying the local goto version which the grieving family sent you, Theara picks you up from your room to go to grandma's house.
The hotel owner's home is just right next to the hotel. Almost everyone is wearing white and you suddenly feel out of place. Theara introduces you to the hotel owner, Sokthy, who is grandma's son, who is seated in the garage, with relatives around him, all paying their respects.
"Good to meet you," you extend your hand. He shakes your hand while you hand him a white envelope. All the people around you are wondering who you are. And though what's inside the envelope is not much, he does the Sam Peash. Not knowing what to do, you just bow a little, and say welcome.
Sokthy instructs Theara to lead to the house. You remove your slippers, among several other pairs, before proceeding to the living room.
You hesitate to pass through the door. From the house's balcony, the first thing you notice is the casket. It is gold and red, with intricate trimmings around the top. Grandma should be at peace now, as she is surrounded by her photos with family, boxes with yellow candles and banana hearts, and big, beautiful bouquets of yellow and white daisies.
"What do I do?," you ask Theara.
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| Goodbye Grandma |
"We kneel first," and he continues to show you how it's done, making sure you were sitting on your calves. "We light some incense. We pray. Then, we bow."
You take three yellow incense sticks and light them. As you sit there staring at Grandma's photos, not knowing what you were doing, you start wondering what kind of life Grandma had. One of the owner's nephews told you about the sad story that they used to be poor. But Sokthy worked hard after getting a hotel management scholarship in Europe. He worked his way up in a big hotel in the city. And after saving enough, he put up the resort. But as the nephew explained, "It was sad that when their lives started to get better, Grandma also started getting sick."
Theara whispers, "Are you finished praying?".
"Yes," you replied, not knowing if what you did was praying, when all you were thinking is for Grandma to get to heaven.
"Now, you bow," Theara instructs you.
With the incense sticks still burning, producing a fragrant whiff, you bend your entire body in front of Grandma's framed photograph. Another old lady behind you gives you instructions in Cambodian but you don't know what you are doing wrong. You turn your head to Theara, who clarifies you need to bow three more times, maybe because the number 4 has always been associated with death in most Asian cultures.
With a strained back, you pull yourself up for the last time. "What do I do next?", you ask Theara.
He smiles, "Now, you say goodbye to Grandma." •
T H E E N D
