Waiting is Heartbreaking

I have two tiny puppies, Chihuahua. The bigger one is male, and the smaller one is female. They have become part of my family for years that I'm so used to having them waiting for my return every day, after work.

Everything went in repeat; saying goodbye to them every morning and hello to them every evening become my favorite habit.

Especially, the smaller one, she followed me like a shadow. She went everywhere I was. She slept nearby me every night. She waited next to me when I took a nap, and she sat face to window when I was home late.

But 2020 comes, thing changes. I have to leave home to another province for awhile, maybe for 6 months or longer. I have to help my grandma's work there that I cannot reject.

Last morning in Phnom Penh, It was like she knew I was leaving, for I had a few packages. She followed me to ground floor which she normally refused to go in the morning because she knew I went to work. The way she ran after me on that day got tear in my eyes. I had to try to think about other things else to get over her for a while, otherwise I would cry for sure.

It's terrible to think of someone is waiting for my return, yet this time it takes longer than usual. It's even more horrible to think they have no idea how long that longer will take. Hours? Days? Week? Months? They have no clue at all.

What if they don't understand and they think they are abandoned and not loved anymore? To think of that, I feel broken already. I'm going to miss them so much.

Being Shorter Than People My Age

People often tell me that I should not be happy, for I am shorter than people my ages. Even some time, my relatives say the same thing. And sometimes, they even recommended me to take some medicine, but I refused to.

Honestly, I don't feel bad about my height at all, although their words sometimes go against me. Or it seems they are making fun of me. Or being too much. And I understand that some people just make a joke with no bad intentions, and I don't mind that too.

But why being shorter than people my age is a matter? Nah, I'm not that too short to be worried about it. Yet, I feel like I'm more satisfied with what I'm born with, with what I am right now.

Maybe it's because I love higher guy. Then being this height would be easier for me to look for taller one. And if I'm so tall already, how and where do I get another taller one?

Perhaps, I love the feeling of being cared or protected. Like when they help me getting stuffs on shelf which I'm out of reach, when they don't mind helping me opening the jar because I'm smaller, when they let me go first, or help me carrying my stuffs.

And also, being this small size makes me feel like I'm a lot younger. For many times, younger people called me the way they called people their age, and got surprised whenever I told them my actual age. They even asked for ID card to verify.

For whatever reason, being shorter is not ashamed, it would be ashamed if you are unable to love your own skin, and try to change it for other pair of eyes. Be you!

Box of Matches

This article was written for my professor in year 1, semester 2, on topic "Childhood Memories"  on March 09, 2018.
Edit and Rewrite: November 19, 2019

When I was about 10, I was so playful, especially with matches. I felt like it was so amazing. It could burn everything in a blink of eyes. It had attractive color and beautiful light. I was just like the only magic in universe that I could hold on my hand. Also, it was cheap at that year, cost KHR100 per box. 

Since I had gotten the matches in my hand, I just never went anywhere without it. I had learned to light it and burn garbage around my house. Sometime I picked up small pieces of woods, built them up like a house and burnt them away. That matches brought me the happy moment with my childhood friends.

Remember once when I and my friend just got a new box of matches, we played in forest next to my house. We burnt garbage like usual until it was time for lunch. We had to leave there, but we did not forget to shut down our flame. As I walked away from there, I saw my friend lighted up his match and threw it to grass field which was half green half dry. And we all went for lunch. After lunch, I came there again. I was shocked because the field turned to black which was the cause of being burnt. My neighbor who helped to stop fire there when I was not around came up and blame me, for my friend told them I did it. So, I had to explain them step by step until they believed me. Or maybe they just did not want it further.

A few weeks after, I got another box of matches. And when I walked pass the same forest, I did the same thing, the way my friend had done the day before. I made fire on top of my match and threw it into a very dry grass. Suddenly, it reminded me of my last worst event, so I went close to the match and stepped on it to make sure the flame was gone. But not! I made the same mistake. This time was even worse. It burnt in larger area. Luckily that the same neighbor was still there and helped out on time again. This time, no one blamed on me because no one knew I was the one who did it.

The mistake in that year taught me a very good lesson; to be careful, to never play with fire, and to be more responsible for what I have done. Whenever I saw kid played with matches, I always advised them to never be involve with it or be more careful with flame they may make up.