I’ll admit it, I’m a closet superhero freak and it was all too apparent when I bought the early bird tickets to the latest Wolverine movie and stood in line for almost two hours to get the best seats. I’d like to say it’s because I grew up with four older brothers; they’re the reason I’m obsessed with the Spiderman’s and Batman’s of the world…but regardless, in line with all the other X-Men groupies, stood a 5’10, long blond haired, smiling tomboy eager to be let into the theater.

But, honestly, what is it that we love about superheroes anyway? When you think about Michelle Pfeiffer as Cat Woman, old-school Wonder Woman played by Lynda Carter, Halle Berry as Storm, Jennifer Gardner as Elektra, Jessica Alba dressed up as Sue Storm in Fantastic Four and, the ultimate, Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft, you can’t tell me you don’t think they’re rock stars. I’d give my left pinky to be any of them for a day, so what is it about them that makes them so incredible?

Honestly, I think we as humans know our limitations and love to fantasize about a world in which we can fly, read people’s minds, become invisible or beat up a guy who’s ten times our size in a perfectly choreographed fight scene. We want to be bad asses at heart, at least I do. For most people, our biggest fear is being ordinary, mediocre, or Simon Cowell’s biggest insult, “forgettable.”

However, my greatest epiphany recently was that we DO get to be superheroes and we DO get to have super powers, if we so choose. Now maybe they aren’t the cliché super human strength, the ability to move at the speed of light, or invisibility cloaks, but they are equally powerful. This lifetime is never about wishing for something you don’t have, but rather seeing what tools you can find to stick in your belt along the way.

For me, I realized that my life experiences have gifted me with incredible opportunities to pick up priceless tools: the work ethic I gained in grad school, the faith I gained when I lost a dear friend in car accident, the resilience I gained hiking Everest, the determination I gained on Survivor, the compassion I gained in working with underprivileged girls in Cambodia, and the appreciation I gained after witnessing poverty in Brazil. You see, in the real world, the intangibles we gain along our journey are where the real power hides.

I think with every experience we have, there is this opportunity to pick up another gift, another shade of color we can add to our pallet and another tool for our life’s tool belt. Regardless of the situation, whether happy or sad, terrifying of joyfully overflowing there is a kernel of truth that awaits you. In order to best navigate through the jungle of life, it’s in our best interest to gather as many things as possible to help  along the journey.

I may not be able to make things move with my mind, but I confidently know I have the work ethic to build a powerful company; I may never be able to fly, but I know I have the compassion to inspire a young girl to dream big; and Lord knows I’ll never read minds (though with the last guy I had a crush on it would have been uber helpful), but I know I have the resilience to pursue my passion in the face of adversity.

We all have the potential to be superheroes, to leave this world better than we found it, to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves and to be extraordinary, magnificent and truly unforgettable. Now, all we have to do is a get a costume, slap on a mask, and I have no doubt we’d give Cat Woman and the other hero babes a run for their money.

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Today is International Women’s Day!  And in special honor of women all over the world, historic or living presently, the IATG staff is doing a special edition IATG says:

Who do you admire????

August: Helen Keller. Against all odds, she accomplished more than more than most people accomplish in their entire lives. Her legacy forges on and carries a message that absolutely anything is possible!

Natalie: Princess Diana because she epitomized style, grace, and elegance. She was known as “The People’s Princess” and will always be remembered for her goodwill and beauty. Her dedication to charity and philanthropic work is admirable. Although her life was cut short, her legacy will continue on.

Edith: Mindy Kaling. She is a woman of color who is an amazing comedian, writer and producer. It’s not as common as you’d hope.

Danielle: Lucille Ball. She was the type of strong woman who was determined to never give up even when certain things (like rheumatoid arthritis) threatened to end her career early. She also paved the way for other female comediennes, not only by being fearless in what she was willing to do on-screen but also by being the first female head of a production company.

Alexis: Michelle Obama because she not only got named one of Harvard’s most Influential Alumni, but also was in Vanity Fair’s 10 Best dressed people in the world. Smart really is the new sexy!

Krista: Karen Coates is an absolute inspiration. I first picked up her book, Cambodia Now, from a land-mine victim in Batambang, Cambodia. It was a jarring insight into the history of Cambodia, and helped me understand the place I was traveling on a deeper level. I recently found out that she’s also a regular contributor to Gourmet magazine and is a correspondent for them in Southeast Asia, where she now lives. She is everything I aspire to be.

Emily R.: Chelsea Handler because she has thrived in the male dominated late night scene, published two books, and has the top rated TV show on E!  All of this is possible because she speaks her mind, is fearless, and hysterical.  I admire all of her success and ability to not take life too seriously…She finds humor in everything.

Amy: Oprah Winfrey. She overcame an unthinkable childhood by building a successful career that she can be proud of; she uses her platform to bring light to important topics and is deeply involved in charity work.

Diane: At 98 years old, artist/sculptor Louise Bourgeois still devotes 6 days a week to creating controversial masterpieces that embrace feminine strength and masculine fragility.

Kenzie: I really admire Caroline Knapp for having the courage to open up to the entire world about her greatest weaknesses, from alcoholism to anorexia. Her writings have helped some people, taught some people, and inspired many people to live their lives vulnerably for the sake of others. She was not afraid of being flawed.

Morgan: Ellen DeGeneres. She exhibits the courage and confidence to be herself. After she infamously came out on her 90’s TV show, everyone thought Ellen had committed career suicide. Like the phoenix she is, the daytime diva rose from the ashes and danced her way into the hearts of millions. Whether it’s hamming it up on stage or appearing flawless in Cover Girl campaigns, she has always managed to stay Ellen.

photo by roman lily

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It reminded me of the drive home from summer camp. I would have stayed up all night, bawling my eyes out with my best friends I only got to see for two weeks each year, wishing I could fast-forward time to yet another fun filled summer camp session. Then there was the much dreaded, four-hour drive home, followed by a post summer camp depression. Now multiply that exponentially and it would still pale in comparison to my post Cambodia trip.

I think part of it is the jet lag of a 30-something hour travel day, an eight hour lay over in Korea and the time difference that almost exactly flips our nights and days. But the reality is that I just spent two full weeks digesting some of the most life altering experiences to date. While my coping mechanisms kicked in to allow me to stay focused in the moment, the vulnerability of being home allows me an excuse to take off my Wonder Woman cape and reflect on the whole trip; the good, the bad, and the painfully ugly.

However, if “love for travel” were a hue, my Maker certainly used an ample amount when painting my portrait. And the most beautiful aspect of traveling is not so much the mountains you traverse per se, but more the diamonds in the rough that you stumble upon along the way. I’ve always felt that the purpose of life is sifting through each experience to find the glistening specs of gold. And I think traveling abroad just provides richer streams and the opportunity to discover bigger nuggets; I refer to these as kernels of truth and I certainly found mine this past trip.

Kernel #1: While hell and horror will always exist (and thank you for this distinction Scott) there is always a “soot covered and stinking” little girl like Sreyno in the midst of it; and helping her is never as difficult as it seems.

During our visit to the landfill, we found another little girl and I witnessed first hand Scott’s ability to see her beauty and the potential she possessed despite the dirt and muck. He put her in the back of the truck on a Friday and come Monday, she was a clean, beautiful girl wearing a new school uniform and sitting in the front row of the classroom. While it’s not always obvious to the naked eye, if we are willing to look deeper, there is always beauty embedded in any ugly situation.

 Kernel #2: People subconsciously can smell deceit and inauthenticity from a mile away. While honesty and transparency invites opportunity and the assistance of others, manipulations and motives repel it.

I watched Scott about to offer a woman full assistance for almost two years including rent, utilities, food, medical aid and school for her children. All he asked was how much money she required each month. Rather than being honest, she lied about needing double the amount. Unaware of what lottery ticket awaited her, he offered a single bag of rice and walked away.

Kernel #3: Go with it. Period. Life is not on your terms and you can’t control people or circumstances. Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride; so simple and yet so incredibly profound.

Our 24 hour trip to Angkor Wat reiterated the notion that when you relinquish control and expectations, you can appreciate the adventure before you and bask in the ambiguity instead of fearing it. I could never have imagined or even planned that day and yet it was perfect.  

It’s daunting to recap such a life changing experience, one I could easily write a novel about. So allow me to simply express my gratitude to Scott Neeson for the life lessons that have and are continuing to change me, his dedication to the children of Cambodia and the caliber of man that he is- necessitating revisions for my own life’s standards. I also want to thank the inspiring Cambodian students at CCF, a testament to true survival, unapologetic about their circumstances and wildly joyful in spite of them. I miss their hugs already.

I always set foot on the plane to my worldly adventures one girl, but the one who returns home is always a new, refurbished version. This trip may have upped the anty because I think I was traded in for an entirely new model altogether. 

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If the Apocalypse ever comes to fruition, I’m pretty sure I have already experienced it. Our second to last day we were given the grand tour to what some might call hell on earth. While we had spent considerable time at the village nestled at the base of the actual landfill (11 football fields long and 100 feet deep), we had yet to actually step foot into the oasis of human debris.

Now if the endless piles of trash were cascading mountains and the endless streams of toxic sludge were glittering streams of cool water; the restate would rival that of the much-coveted Malibu proper. That simply was not the case.

Covered from head to toe, with a hat protecting my hair and huge rubber boots to protect my feet from the lava of inhumane filth; I trudged along the hillside of the landfill watching as people and barefoot children sifted through other’s trash to find their version of treasure. Working 14 hour days, children can make up to a dollar a day, enough for a day’s worth of food.

The thin blue, medical mask I wore did not begin to protect my fragile lungs from the clouds of methane gas floating above the concoction of human waste, body parts dumped from the local hospitals, rotting food, and the token Doritos bag or empty tube of Crest toothpaste that brought this gruesome reality home. I couldn’t decipher whether my nausea was from the repugnant smell infiltrating my fifth sense, or the repulsion than any human being is forced to live under these circumstances.

Only fifteen minutes of my life were spent in the twenty-first century Hades and yet it’s the type of experience that sears images in your mind that even with eyes closed, you cannot erase. I returned to the car empty, speechless, and my mind desperately clawing for meaning to what my eyes had just witnessed. Sometimes the only expression our bodies have for an experience is that of weeping. When our body knows not how to cope with the circumstances, as a last resort, we simply cry.

We drove to CCF 2, the all girls school, and I tried to hide behind my sunglasses, wiping tears that betrayed my actual state from the forced smile I hoped would serve as an adequate mask. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and excused myself outside. I slid down the wall, slumped on the floor of the porch and wept uncontrollably. I have seen my share of poverty in the foothills of Tibet, in the ghettos of Northern Africa and in the inner cities of Brazil. Yet nothing prepared me for the inhumane, revolting circumstances where people not only worked, but lived.

Silently screaming out for a reinstated faith in humanity that transcended my understanding, an angel pranced out and without a single word, Sreyno, a precious six year, crawled up into my lap and rested her head on my chest. Ironically my heart broke even more at this uncanny timing and the revelation it provided. Because previously, Sreyno had been victim to the landfill hell hole. Yet, in that moment, I was witnessing the redemption of her salvation. Though there are many children still out there, she was evidence that one less child roamed the wastelands.

She was my saving grace, my angel incarnate and my faith’s restoration. She comforted my soul with her humming as though there were a role reversal and I was the child and she was the adult. I held her and a peace overcame me. It occurred to me that this hell is neither the first nor the last that I am to encounter; but the beauty of life is that we can choose to crumble at the sight of life’s landfills and hell on earth, or we can trust that a six year old angel and our piece of heaven is on its way.

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Officially the best 24 hours of my life. We have been terribly busy working with the CCF girls; thus we decided to take a day off to visit Angkor Wat, the “8^th” Great Wonder of the world.

Unfortunately, Angkor Wat is a five hour drive outside of Phnom Phen and add a few more hours depending on traffic, accidents or stubborn cows loitering in the dirt roads. However, we were told that we simply could not come all the way to Cambodia and not make time to visit the hundreds of dilapidated ruins; it would be like flying to Egypt and not seeing the Pyramids.

Only having 24 hours for our day off, like any good, spontaneous travelers, we hopped on a bus with no accommodations, or ANY real clue as to where we might end up; we hoped with a little faith the traveling gods would take care of us. Needless to say our faith was well placed.

Top 10 Reasons our Angkor Wat adventure earned “Best 24 Hours of My Life” Award:

1. We got the equivalent of a first class upgrade, bus style.

2. The moment we arrived, we met an incredible Cambodian guide named, Sali who hooked us up with a hotel, return bus tickets and a full day tour for 20 bucks (everything included).

3. We bribed a police officer to allow us to climb the endless stairs to the heavily gated and highly restricted, top steeple of the temple and got the best pictures EVER to prove it.

4. I got to feed monkeys AND an elephant.

5. We watched one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen over the ancient temple skyline.

6. We ordered in-room, full body massages that only cost us 6 dollars.

7. Our tour guide, Sali, and his best friend, Mr. T, took us to the best, local Cambodian restaurant in town where no one spoke a lick of English.

8. We went out afterward to a bar called “Angkor What?” and met a group of 15 incredible, gorgeous backpackers from Sweden that we got to flirt with with for the entire night. (What are the chances? I thought that only happened in the movies.)

9. Emily and I had the greatest comeback in pool history to beat two guys who’d been running the table all night (something we could never do again if our lives depended on it).

10. We stayed up the entire night to catch the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen and still managed to make it back to our departing bus by 7:30 am where we slept the next five hours and awoke when we arrived home.

We could not have planned a better trip if we had tried, but I think that’s the beauty of traveling. Not so much the things you’re expecting, but more the unanticipated twists and turns on a Technicolor roller coaster that is life’s greatest adventures. There are those who plan everything down to the nitty gritty details just so they feel certain and safe. Then there are those who hop on a five hour bus ride to a far off town and hope for the best. I’ve found that while there is a happy medium to both life styles, the second one is hell of a lot more fun.

We returned home exhausted, but added some of the best new life content to date. As my mom always says, “You can rest when you’re dead.” Some of the best adventures just require you signing up for them, and trusting the rest will take care of itself.

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Obviously, the girls we have been working with the past week come from some of the most difficult, unfathomable circumstances: poverty, abuse, neglect, diseases on levels I’ve been spared to see up until this point in my life. However, when a child is accepted to one of the six schools at CCF, they are given room and board in a beautiful facility, three meals a day (plus snacks), endless clean drinking water, one of the best educations in Cambodia, priceless English lessons, new school uniforms, vital vaccines and access to around the clock medicine and doctors.

CCF is to these kids what The Chocolate Factory was to Charlie; only the everlasting gobstopper comes in the form of a brilliant education and the endless chocolate river, a limitless future. One of the perks, along with the obvious, is that each student, once a year receives a new outfit and a fun filled day that would make the wealthiest kids on Christmas envious.

We had the honor of using some of the money we raised to take eight girls on their annual shopping spree. We hopped in the car and headed to the main mall in Cambodia with the youngest of the girls, who had never crossed the threshold of such a goody-filled fantasy land. Her eyes lit up as we walked into the multiple story, mega-complex and it was hysterical to see her little body jolt at the sight of an escalator, like the gods had just handed her supernatural abilities to transport herself from one location to another. She stepped on and looked to me, confused how I could be so nonchalant on such a super shuttle.

We walked into the first store and straight out of Pretty Woman, I beckoned the women over to take “very” good care of our precious girls. For the first time, I understood why our parents spoil us, because I had no problem shelling out money at the site of these little girls’ twirling around in pink dresses that they had only seen in old, ripped-up, magazines among the other debris littering the landfill.

What a transformation, we walked out with eight bonfire princesses and headed to the Mecca of Cambodian pizza. From the outside, we looked like any of the other wealthy, private school outings, until the food came. We ordered more food than a frat party watching football could eat: chicken wings, french fries, several large pizzas and an endless pitcher of coke. You wouldn’t know it by their tiny, misleading frames but these girls can eat three times their weight in food. By the end of the meal, there was a plate full of chicken bones, several empty cups and every plate was shiny, as though licked clean (literally).

Our part three to this trilogy was an ice cream stop two floors below us and, to my dismay, the extra stomach girls claim to have with respect to ice cream reigns true in Cambodia as well. Our girls each got a huge bowl of their favorite ice cream and our day was coming to an end until their excitement exponentially exceeded the four story mall ceiling when they witnessed for the first time ever, balloons.

We bought them the bright air pillow of their choice and came waltzing out of the mall full-bellied, double-fisting ice cream bites, interrupted with rigorous balloon inspection. I don’t care what culture you are from, what country you call home, your class, ethnicity, religion or education level, girls will be girls. There are few things in life as rewarding as a day at the mall with pizza and ice cream except maybe vicariously experiencing it through little Cambodian girls whose appreciation transmission has an addition three gears.

And the best part: the ENTIRE day cost me less than 100 dollars. There were ten girls (including Emily and myself), eight new dresses, lunch, ice cream and balloons for everyone. There is not a thing in the world I could have bought myself that would have brought me as much joy as showering those girls with a shopping spree of love. Officially the best 100 bucks I’ve ever spent.

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CCF, the school we have been working with since our arrival in Cambodia is like any boarding school in LA accept it doesn’t help if your father is the head of a major studio or your mother serves on the board of the MET. In fact, the criteria is quite the opposite. The majority of applicants are orphans living in/around the country’s biggest landfill subsisting off a dollar a day (if they are lucky) from picking glass shards and metal scraps from the belly of humanity’s waste.

However, despite the often horrific family circumstances these children are extracted from, one thing Scott (founder of CCF) does very well is to have a deep compassion for the importance Cambodians place on family and to ensure his students make regular home visits. Though depending on the voyage necessary, some students get to make the home trek more often than others.

We were lucky enough to follow one of our favorite girls (Nay Hoouy) home to meet her family on a day journey to what seemed another world altogether. The adventure began with 17 girls piled in the back of a truck for a two hour drive to a ferry ride across the river. That was followed by another truck ride to a tiny dock with a long, wooden canoe propelled by a makeshift car motor that, rather than a white stead awaiting her royalty, looked more like a anorexic donkey suffering from narcolepsy.

This trip home was anything but glamorous, but seemed to resemble the silent reverence and anticipation of a pious journey to Mecca. In fact, I was in dismay at the resilience, hardened fortitude and the “do what you gotta” attitude of these girls. Not a single one complained about having to stand in the back of a truck for hours with the sun pounding on their faces, not one whimper about the four increasingly inconvenient modes of transportation and not so much as a frustrated sigh at the dirt swirling around them like Texas Tornado and his motley crew of dust bunnies.

Instead, they were simply grateful for the opportunity to make the trek home in spite of the complicated process because it paled in comparison to what awaited on the other end of the muddy water. I myself had to bite my tongue to not comment on the mosquitoes, the swarming flies, the sweat dripping down my ribs, my empty stomach screaming to be fed and my aching back from the avant-garde approach to my conventional transportation expectations.

However, the moment we arrived, all my pathetic excuses justifying my discomfort and annoyed state of mind evaporated in the midst of my overwhelming sense of wonder. I felt like Christopher Columbus arriving upon an indigenous culture, pure and untainted by any form of outside influence. If there were a Utopia ,this tiny speck of earth on the world map would be in contention for the title. It was a gorgeous island with sprawling palm trees and a lovely, unexpected feast awaiting Emily and me. There were winding paths with final destinations that flirted with my imagination, children’s laughter as though on loudspeaker and kind eyes staring at us from the front door of each tiny, wooden hut we passed.

Greeted with prayerful hands, irrepressible smiles and a generosity that far surpassed the few dollars I drop in the weekly during the church offering, I was honored to be their guest. Unfortunately, “welcome” has lost its luster and hangs alongside the other retired jerseys of rote words, but if our all-star came back for another season, I would very much classify this experience as having never felt so “welcomed” in my entire life. This tiny Cambodian island, no bigger than a mile or two in circumference would give the entire South a run for their money with regard to hospitality.

You wonder why the kids would ever leave this miniature piece of calming heaven, but the reality is not a single person in that village can read or write, their poverty feels every hiccup of Mother Nature’s precocious and finicky personality. Simple sicknesses become potentially deadly because there is no access to antibiotics, most of the people will never set foot off that island and suddenly you realize that our girl, Nay Hoouy and the other students at CCF have been given not simply an education, but a future. CCF has provided opportunities that she could not have fathomed in the comfort of her front porch’s hammock. Maybe ignorance is bliss, but then again once you’ve had a taste of that other world and then given the choice of the blue pill or the red pill, like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix, you simply cannot go back to the life you once knew.

Thus Nay Hoouy’s response to my question of, “Do you miss your family?” makes perfect sense. Her polite response: “Yes I do, but sometimes I do not because I love to study, hard…” Her English is eons beyond most her age and she came home this time with a huge, framed certificate for being the number one student out of over a hundred and thirty. Her reward was five dollars, more than her family could make in two months.

She proudly presented her recent award to her parents who were beaming with pride. Then she pulled out the crisp fiver dollar bill and her mother about dropped her baby brother and fainted. Nay Hoouy is certainly making her dreams come true, dreams she didn’t even know she had at one point. However, in doing so, she is fulfilling those of her family as well.

They always say that to meet a person’s family, to see how they were raised and where they grew up gives great insight to who they are; I beg to differ. I’ll boldly say that it is not merely insight but as critical to the context of one’s life as stage direction is for an actor. Nay Hoouy had already won my heart, but stepping into her world, witnessing her vulnerable, exposed roots gave new depth to a pretty little girl who sits in the first row of the classroom at school.

So maybe we are not in control of what cards we are dealt, even when we ask the dealer for a reshuffle or an additional card. We’re not ensured our hand will be joined by a member of the royal court. In which case, it gives merit to the cliché, “It’s not the cards you’re dealt, but how you choose to play them.” Undoubtedly, I got dealt one hell of a hand in this lifetime, but I’ll tell ya what: I’m looking across the poker table at Nay Hoouy and she’s giving me quite a run for my money.

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How quickly the unfamiliar, the uncomfortable and the foreign can become a familiar, comfortable home. Emily and I arrived less than a week ago to a country unlike anywhere we’d ever been. The sights, sounds, colors, and smells tripped the alarms inside our minds that fortunately keep us within the parameter of our safe zone. Only this time, it was too late; we were thousands of miles from anyone or anything we knew.

I have been more uncomfortable in the past week than I would even know what to do with. I have squirmed more in conversation and pantomimed to properly communicate in a language I don’t speak. I have eaten more things that I am unable to classify even after they found their way to my belly and I have handled more sick, diseased children than if I were the only doctor assigned a whole country.

Yesterday, I ate at an outside café and witnessed an elephant walking down the street (now the second I’ve seen), an open truck of headless pigs, a blind quadriplegic begging for money, a man with a tumor on the side of his neck as big as a grapefruit and a girl no older than fourteen “dining” with a Western man three times her age. Worse, these precious snip-its, each worthy of “News of the Weird” publication, were all presented to me before my dessert and I even had a proper introduction.

I told Emily yesterday, “Okay, I’m ready to go home now.” Like a self defense mechanism, I shut down and wanted to return to La La Land, to my 21^st century Pleasantville, and step back into my precious bubble. That’s when it occurred to me, what is so safe about being comfortable? What is so comfortable about playing it safe? We live in a world where fear hovers around us at all times, like one of those dog fences that requires no physical fence, but instead a hidden wire underground and a collar that zaps you if you misplace a paw outside the designated area.

The worse part is we create our own imaginary fence and we dance in the world of safe, because if we dare step outside our “should’s” and “ought to’s,” then an electric-filled catastrophe awaits us. Worse are the ridiculous costumes we dress our excuses and fears in: throw on a pair of doubt, a wig of fear, or a jacket of not enough. Maybe it’s money, reputation, pride, assurance, image, ambiguity, or the golden ticket of what you don’t know. But we all have them, all the reasons why we never venture outside the front yard of our comfy paradigms – except for the girls here, of course, who simply have no choice but to live, breath and dance outside their comfort zones. They offer no excuses, graciously take whatever they’re given, never complain, and are joyful in the face of opposition, as though taunting it’s even existence.

So this is what I’ve come to realize: I don’t know what this world has in store or me, whether I will see all my dreams brought to fruition, whether I meet the “one,” have two babies or four. I don’t know if I’m meant for greatness or mediocrity, whether my home will be this side of the world or that, but one thing I do know with unwavering certainty is I will search to the end of the earth looking for the answers instead of waiting for someone to serve them to me on a platter of convention with a spoonful of cliché.

Because only if we are willing to step outside normality, to fight for our dreams, to chase down life’s adventures instead of waiting for them to politely knock on our front door – only then will we find what we are really looking for, the best version of ourselves.

So I implore you to stop living scared and stop living safe. We have but one life to have as many adventures, life experiences and fanciful tales to waste them staring at the same wall in the same room of the same house. I now welcome the dis-ease walking around the Cambodian streets which are all too familiar now. What I don’t know no longer scares me; it simply seeks to introduce me to yet another version of myself.

After all, the beauty of the unknown is that it only maintains that status as long as you pace around the party unwilling to introduce yourself.  Seek out what terrifies you, bask in discomfort, dine with a bit of the foreign; because to really live, requires a fearlessness that is only forged by stepping in the fire, not merely dancing around it.

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We were invited to and attended a traditional Cambodian wedding yesterday in the village right outside an enormous landfill known as “the dump.” Apparently, the women take over four hours to get ready and they all rent beautiful, beaded, sequined dresses and the men rent dapper suits to fill their end of the bargain.

The transformation the people and the village underwent for this special occasion was fascinating and down right unfathomable . It was as though a piece of the dump was magically carved out and a colorful kingdom with bright lights, food, music, dancing and singing were imported under a grandiose tent. Though I had walked that same land days prior, I would not have recognized the festivities that warmly welcomed me on that particular night. I dropped my ten-dollar donation at the door for the new bride and groom and headed to Cambodia’s version of Disneyland.

I was also astonished by how these people seemed completely unaffected by their poverty, the fact that they literally live on a landfill, that it was sweltering hot, and that their Cinderella fairytale would revert to a harsh reality the following morning. It was gorgeous, exactly what a wedding is supposed to be: eating, singing, dancing, eating, toasting, and drinking,… did I mention eating?

In fact, I got so swept up in the moment that against all better judgment I came back to the table after a quick lesson in traditional Cambodian dance, and began to eat as though I were at a Four Season’s Christmas buffet. The meat was incredible, the pickled onions unlike anything I had ever tasted, the baked cashews delicious and the drinks poured over unbottled water delightful.

I was so busy enjoying myself that I forgot where I was completely and all the rules that apply with regard to what not to eat in foreign countries. All of a sudden, mid-bite of my second helping, the “uh-oh” siren was screaming inside my head louder than a jailbreak. The worst was the fact that, even if I spit out that entire bite, it wouldn’t undo the past platefuls I had already downed.

From that moment forward, it was a waiting game. Like a criminal awaiting their punishment, knowing their mercy was in the hands of God, I too was awaiting the repercussions to my mindless gluttony. And finally, it started with a slight fever and before I knew it was worshiping the precious, porcelain god.

Needless to say, whether it was the mystery meat, Satan’s cashews or a myriad of other non-American, bacteria infested, delectable Cambodian delights, I have been paying a heavy price ever since. The good news about traveling abroad is that yes, while you get to step outside your comfort zone as my last blog so eloquently captured, there is also a luxury in stepping back into familiar land when circumstances demand it.

In my case that entailed an expensive phone call home just to hear my mom’s voice and tell her that “I wasn’t feeling well” (as though she could do anything about it). An all too familiar diet of pre-packaged Balance bars from the good ol’ USA, back-to-back Hollywood movies lent to me before my departure, a comfortable couch, my Mac computer to catch up on family/friend gossip, familiar company from my iTunes library, and a coke in my hand gave the full American effect.

Had I closed my eyes, I swear I would have been home, sick on my couch, being (luckily) nursed to health by Leonardo and Kate’s phenomenal performance in Revolutionary Road (yes, an illegal copy) and Sean’s Oscar worthy nomination in Milk. Ahh, the movies.

So yes, woman down. But listen here mystery meat. You didn’t get the best of me. Game on. I figure it’s like lightening, the chances of me suffering from a round two of sneak attack; I envision myself like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump, screaming, “That’s all you got?” A full day of bed rest should do the job. Hopefully I’ll be back out there by tomorrow, in time for an all day adventure to a remote Cambodian island.

P.S. I’m officially a vegetarian for the next five days. I wish I could say it was because I love and respect animals and choose not to support the mistreatment of them but lets be honest, it’s more so that I don’t have to spend another night with a pillow, sleeping on the ceramic floor of a five by five bathroom waving a white flag and pleading that my life be spared by Captain Gag Reflex and his infantry of stomach annihilators.

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