After our Saturday tour of Angkor
Wat, I walked up the stairs to the kitchen to enjoy a frozen yogurt and
time out of the blazing sun. With my yogurt in hand, I leaned against
the stairs’ railing, my eyes (as always) ceaselessly searching for
something, anything of interest. This did not take long as our
guesthouse is next to what appears to be the remains of a foundation
strewn with other forms of litter on the left, a disarrayed house
behind, and a home with a large cement patio with dirt and litter
throughout it. And children. From my second story perch, I spotted and
waved at two children, half-clothed and joyful as they played in the
pumpkin-orange dirt that is a mainstay in Siem Reap.

 
These two children, a boy and a girl, both seemingly under the age of
five, seem to not just be content but happy with forming shapes in the
dirt and kicking a plastic water bottle around. While I saw this in the
Philippines as I played with street children, I am still surprised at
how much happiness can be derived from such simple objects. The
 happiness I spied on was more than any I could sum up having nearly
everything I could want in my life a few months ago.
 
 I had heard about such happiness from others–stories that were shared over tea, dinner, and late night conversations that never got old. Stories about being happy with nothing. I believed such a concept was possible because I trusted those who shared them with me, but as the children’s laughter reached my ears, I now knew that these stories were more than that–they were (and are) a reality. Now, as I have nearly nothing to my name, both here in Cambodia and back in the States, I plan to hold this story dear enough to make it a reality, despite my previous materialistic desires. Time will tell in this area…