4:20pm, and I’m sitting on my nice, comfy, soft, bed in an air conditioned, clean room.
My body gives a sigh of relief as it relaxes into clean softness it hasn’t experienced in weeks.
And the room is quiet.
Too quiet.
The four silent white walls of the hostel enclosing me remind me that I won’t feel the blazing hotness of the glaring sun. My skin won’t be caked with dirt anymore. I won’t have to scratch at new mosquito bites every few hours. I won’t have to brush my teeth outside with my headlamp and Nalgene bottle. And I won’t hear the sound of my boys calling my name again.
I miss them more than I expected. I miss the way they call my name, “Stepanie! Stepanie!” I miss playing ninja with them. I miss planning English lessons and playing games. I miss the way Wusang*’s face lights up whenever we give them a surprise gift. I miss learning Khmer from staff and kids. I miss the silly capers they get into, catching lizards, climbing trees, singing songs, making kung fu poses. I miss the way they don’t mind getting locked up in their dorm every night (this is to prevent them from running away), shouting our names cheerily from the bars of their windows. Their hearts are so pure, joyful, and courageous.
I’m so sad I didn’t get to say goodbye to them properly. I didn’t want to prolong our goodbyes, so I thought I’d just hug them goodbye when we were actually about to leave. Due to a misunderstanding, the driver picked us up, and instead of returning to the centre, headed straight for the road to Phnom Penh.
It’s been such a privilege to be able to work at TCC this short month. Those boys’ hearts were so open to loving anyone. When we first arrived, the little ones would run up to us and say, “What ih your name?” (they had trouble pronouncing “s”s) – one of the few English phrases they knew. I’m so honoured that the person they loved got to be me. A simple wave and smile seemed to win even the older boys’ hearts.
I think they’re going to miss me. But what I know is that I already miss them…lots.
