These men would pay whatever fee I wanted to charge for time spent with one of my girls working the streets. These men came from all walks of life, some cheated on their wives, some lost their wives during the civil war and some appeared for only the company of a girl, any girl would do; these were lonely, insecured and timid men. 

Some were wounded by a landmine, a grenade or a gun fight but their handicaps didn't stop them from seeking a chance with my girls. There were men with less means, yet, they were convinced they could land a girl. I admired their determination as far as giving them credit where it was due.

Others were plain pathetic. They were dismissed before they could come near me. These were the men who neglected their hygiene. Their stench could be smelt from miles, signaling those within the radius they were on their way. It was time to run and hide. We chased away these men as soon as they entered our field of vision.

These men came from every corner of the kingdom seeking me and my girls in Phnom Penh for one purpose and intetnion only.  How did they hear about me was never clearly explained to me, and I didn't push the issue further or care to know. I chose to be oblivious of things I deemed trivial after realizing that word travels faster than light so I let it spreaded like a virus. I didn't waste a penny advertising my services, but men everywhere seemed to know what I offered and at what price. If I could write, I would have written a menu clearly describing each service provided by the girls. It would have been handy and convenient and sped the negotation process with the men.

Upon seeing me, these men thought this could be it, at last, they could get a girl, any girl, didn't have to be a girl of substance or a well-groomed girl; any girl would be suffice. They had a need, and they came to me, hoping to get the satisfaction that could feed that need. Given I was not a miracle worker, but I did do wonders for some men that came to me with sufficient fund. They would leave me feeling fulfilled, a purpose well served, a goal complete.

They felt human when all their needs  were met satisfyingly.

In a situation like this and the situation they were in, these men knew they couldn't be be picky or choosy. They would just grab what they could get and would feel lucky to get what was given to them, anything helped a lot; their mental attitude was like those men's standing on street corners holding a sign with the thought of collecting change from approaching strangers run rampant inside their heads like a broken record, reminding them to continue standing, more change was coming.

Not all of the men who showed up would get a girl. This was a business and I didn't feel charitable. When men were shown the door, they would leave with their heads down, shoulders slumped, shuffling with a depression bestowed on their faces, only a few would protest my decision to reject them.

Whining, crying and be argumentative would not go far with me; I could not put up with such behaviors, especially when they came from grown men.

There were many factors at play that would get men rejected.  Money was the main root cause for most of the rejections, and I didn't look kindly upon these men. These men should know that I did not, would not, could not offer free or discounted meals at my joint, before working up the courage to approach me and waste my valuable time.

I got many mouths to feed, and I had experienced extreme hunger before so it was imperative the kids in my group get to eat their daily meals so that they didn't have to experience extreme hunger, the kind that was willing to take the kids' lives if these kids were fed the next day.  It was a matter of survival, not simpathy. I simpathised and empathised with these men, but I was thinking from a business perspective and my concerns for the well beings of my kids. Nothing was personal.

These kids didn't come to the streets by choice like I did.  They were thrown and forced out of the living quarters due to a myriad of reasons. Most were orphans because the genocidal Khmer Rouge had slaughters their mom, dad, and sisters and brothers. Their relatives were too poor to feed another mouth . They were lucky they had found me. Soon after, they would regard me a brother, a non-blooded family member. As such, I took upon myself to look after their well beings. 

Who else would do it? There was no one; a government was just forming under the directions of the Vietnamese invaders. I took the initiative and stuck with it through thick and thin and never quivered or cursed at God. It was a previlige and an honest for me to serve and protect those kids.

They were mine. I raised them. I fed them. I protected them. I was one of them. I needed them more than they needed me because isolation had torn me up before and I was incredibly hurt by its viciousness that I did not want to come into contact with it again. My kids provided me that fence -- the fence that separated me from isolation. I made sure  that fence would always be there. Of course I never revealed this information to them.

How could I? It would have weakened me if I did; respect for me would have vanished; this was my skeleton in the closet.  I needed to stay strong, be strong. I was fighting the streets and I had to win every day or I ceased to exist. My kids would have faced isolation and extreme hunger if I had gone to another dimension, another plane, another level of evolution. I wouldn't wish this upon anyone, not even my worst enemies.

Isolation is a cruel beast. It eats you alive from within, doesn't your age. Run should you find yourself facing it. Ask for help. I'm sure there's someone nearby that is willing and ready to offer help. Seize it.

My first duty regarding my girls was their safety and I took this one particular duty very seriously. No one, except my runners, knew the girls' whereabouts. That was an extreme measure I took to ensure safety for the girls I pimped.

These girls stayed hidden at various locations as they casually went about their businesses as usual until they were told to come to work. At which point, they would drop their errands and head to their assigned places where they were to await a man's arrival.

My network of runners were my telephones, my cell phones, my gps, they relayed information between me and the girls as my negotiations with the men progressed. The runners were the hardest working kids in our group; they were the veins that kept our operation flowed flawlessly. They expensed the most energy, all kudos went to them. They deserved more than just three square meals a day. They deserved a mom, a dad, brothers and sisters; they deserved a loving home, a normal childhood.

I battered these men with a series of questions that would reveal who they were, what their psyches were like, their states of minds at that moment, what type of persons they would become during time of anger.  I was surreptitiously inducing anger in them by asking personal questions that would invoke deep emotional negative responses.

A special skill I acquired while playing on the streets with other kids in the neighborhood.

Some questions could be viewed as offensive especially when they came from the mouth of a child, in a society where grown men were to be looked upon with a certain amount of respect. 

I had absolutely no respect for these men; my respect went to my girls, some had kids older than me, to support and this profession helped them bring food to their dining table. Of course, they deplored being employed this way but didn't mind the goods this profession afforded them.

This was a dog eat dog world, and I supported their efforts, their bravery after hearing they wanted to sell their bodies for financial gain, after being persuaded not to dive into this line of work because the stigma, especially in a close-knit society such as Cambodians', would stay with them for as long as their natural lives, maybe longer. They understood the stigma and chose this profession, anyway. Lives were at stake, tough decisions like these had to be made.

Right or wrong, it was not my place to judge. My job was to provide a safe environment which they could work and the men that they saw would not upset their emotional balance or physically rearrange their facial features.

I became an unlicensed, practicing psychologist, diagnosing these men until I was assured the girls were going to be safe once I entrusted them to the men.  I had to know these men's subconscious mind, I had to know what was lurking behind their thinking, could there be a Jack the Ripper hiding behind their fascades? I had to know.

I was the girls' first line of defense, the boy in the front line, the first to die should there be a deadly incident like a mad man charging in, unloading his gun; I was unafraid, even of the men who were vexed at me simply because they couldn't see any of my girls and there were many men like these.

Some of them had threatened to end me, and I would get in their faces about their intention the way I was getting into the face of Mindeyes19 demanding for the identities of his NSA agents that wanted my head. He wouldn't relenquish such information, stating he'd rather die with the secret -- what a lame excuse, what a cop out, what a fraud. We all knew no such agents existed -- another one of his grandiose claims exposed, busted.

My safety was never a concern; in other word, no one gave a f*ck about my safety. If I were to die, no one would miss me, maybe the kids in my group would whimper a few seconds.  My mom wouldn't even know that I had ceased to exist, left for another dimension.

That was how things were in plain sight. It came with the territory was how I took it.

I made the men understood the girls would always be in charge, and that they couldn't do anything without the girls' approval before hand. The girls held all the power and the men must submit their power to the girls; they must be submissive at all time while in the companies of these girls.

Their time spent with the girls was considered a privilege, abused it and this privilege would be provoked after given a clear explanation, and they couldn't request for a refund. That was another line of defense. This policy was to force the men to be in their best behavior during their time spent with us. One mishap and they would get kicked out. We simply would not take chances nor do we give chances.

These men were full aware that they were on my playground wanting to play with my girls. They knew they had to operate under my rules. These rules were strict but within reason. I was a reasonable young man.

I knew the men's needs and I had what they wanted so it was quite easy to control and manipulate these men, to get them to agree to anything under the sun; the power was in my hand and I didn't have the courage to abuse it. I just wanted safety for the rest of us -- safety of my girls was paramount to me that I put my life on the line for it.

No weapons of any sort could be allowed and would be confiscated for the time being if weapons were brought in, assuming accidentally.

These girls were to be gazed upon and worshipped as if they were the Apsaras, the celestial angels that are gracing the Angkor Wat walls since the Angkorian time.  Some of these girls were moms to some kids some where. How could anyone look at them differently or be indifference to them?

If these men were to offer a negative opinion in association with any of my girls, they would be told to leave by my guards, rersisting my guards would only get their legs broken; this action was left to the discretion of the guards. I would not, could not take part in such violence.

As I stated earlier, I could be losing my compassion. I could be rude; I could be cruel. This was the very reason why I stressed the importance of compassion, to always have it near so that it could keep our emotionl state well-composed and well-balanced under pressure, under any circumstance.

In other word, we have to and must remain an island against all the waves of violence crashing onto us.  Hold onto our compassion, reign it in if it's trying to leave; it will stabalize us and keep us sane.

Compassion keeps us from losing ourselves and become physically violent against other human beings; the potential of us becoming extremly violent is always there, at the ready, hidden deep within us, waiting for its moment to ruin our lives; many lives ruined each day due to violence.

I had been pushed and pinned against walls many times in the past, but I had never lose my cool; I always remained calm, poise and composed, often times, silent. If I had exploded with violence against my foes, I would feel bad for having damaged them or they would have had my head on a stick if I failed to defend myself.

We saw this cruelty implimented by the Khmer Rouge after they jettisoned compassion. This was one of the great lessons that could be learned from the Cambodian genocide.

I used to get angry when hearing nearly two millions of my people died in silence and no one was screaming, shouting or fighting back against the murderers. Now I believe it was their silence that saved the nation. They died in silence because they didn't want their relatives and friends to face the same fate as they did or maybe their compassion had humbled them to the point of practicing non-violence against their aggressors.

Again, compassion keeps us human. Dignity and integrity keep us whole, and our soul takes us to heaven if such a place exists.

After a man had passed the clearance stage, he was allowed to be with a girl of my chosing, any one of the girls who happened to be working that day. This man would be blindfolded and escorted by the two guards to an undisclosed location where the girl was awaiting him.

The two guards would secure the perameter of the location where the girl and her man were to conduct  business behind a closed door, usually on roof tops, away from all the prying eyes.

We were streets kids that slept on roof tops of sky scrapers. We had access to all the roof tops because most buildings were still vacant. We often used these buildings as our own personal restrooms, just picked a room and went about doing our business. Forget about washing hands, water couldn't travel up a skyrise because there was no pressure; nothing was working.

The guards would stand their posts in case the girl grew uncomfortable at any given time during her interlude with the man or intruders who wanted a free show; none of that shenanigan allowed. I could charge a fee. In fact, I presented the idea to the girls, but none of the girls wanted that so that topic never came up or discussed again.

These interludes would only last fifteen minutes, never longer, again, this allotted time was to protect the girls.

After the man had finished conducting his business with the girl, he would be blindfolded once gain, led to a street; once there, the two guards would release release him to the public, and the girl would return to running her errands or whatever she chose to do with her precious time.

Men that were well to do financially could see the same girls three times and that was it. They could return but must see a different girl; this was to keep a relationship from forming. There were no exceptions to this rule or any other rule; these rules were set in stone. If a girl chose to violate this rule, she would be banished from the group; she could no longer work with us or be recognized by us. She could go back home or remain on the streets, away from us; we could care less.

A rendezvous with one of my girls could be very expensive especially for a poverty stricken country like Cambodia. I kept the fee high intentionally, and the fee would be doubled for each of the men's subsequent returns, to keep most men out or some of them from returning. Only a few extremely wealthy men were able to return to rendezvous with many more girls. 

This system worked well for all involved, and none of my girls would ever get hurt. They girls came to me and they would be accepted into the clan if they kept up with their hygience and weren't too demanding; I didn't want to deal with difficult people; I had enough to manage already.

The girls loved me and showered me with effections; some looked after the boys in our team during their leisure time; some boys felt they had a mom even just for a little while.

These boys were great runners and great at relaying information to and fro. They worked hard, broke a lot sweats for the benefits of our little operation. They hardly complained despite running in  the heat and in the cold, often time, barefoot, in rags; they were glad they weren't naked, eager to be a team player, to be productive in any way they could because they knew without the group, they would be left to the mercy of the environment and other human beings who had lost hope and compassion, people of violence.

Despite of our unfortunate circumstances, we had more fun than most school kids (the only regret I have now is that I can't read or write Khmer; I should have attended school). We had each other. There were always laughters shared, which killed silence and destroyed isolation at the same time, killing two birds with one stone.

Amazingly, we still owned the streets a few years later and didn't return to the life of thievery, of being nomads during those years. We were lucky to have our prostitute pimping business landed on us when it did, because we were running out of neighborhoods and territory to steal from.

How much further could we go in the same direction? Where does it end? We had to take a detour somewhere along the way; we needed a new life, a new approach, a new way of living, a roller coaster ride to keep us in a state of panic and on our toes. God decided to make me a pimp, so that I could continue feeding the kids.

Street life may not be as glamorous as we would like it to be or make it to be, but our stomachs were full most of the day. We slept well in the warmth of blankets on roof tops, and we basked under the sun during the day, no school, no pressure, no responsibilities, no worries -- this was life of luxury.

Because we didn't have hard roofs over our heads, we got to see more stars than the most previliged kids in the kingdom.

We bathed in the river in front of the Royal Palace. We fished there, too, only with grenades standing atop of a military ship that was half sunk. How I loved swimming in that lake in only my trunk, stopped to gawk at beautiful Khmer girls bathing in their sarongs, behind me stood the majestic royal palace.

Everything was innocent then, a total contradiction to way we lived.

Some could say we lived a blessed life. In some ways, we did.

Life was rough; it could get worse. Because I had such great companies with me most of the time, street life wasn't so bad. The longer I remained on the streets, the more I became accustomed to it. I became one with it. 

I started to repeat my daily routine as if I was living a normal life, as if I had a home to go to, as if I had someone waiting for me, as if there wasn't anything unusual about my circumstance. In some ways, there wasn't anything unusual about my life at all. I was a normal kid living a normal life.

I lived as if I was a teenager, as if I was an adult and at one point, I lived as if I was the king of this kingdom while I was wandering the grounds of the Royal Palace after breaking in; I walked on silver floors, enthralled by the ornateness of all the rooms, and sat on a golden chair, wishing I could have a piece of it -- that was the pinnacle point of my life -- a street kid sitting on the king's throne, that was my connection to the Cambodian king; this was before the palace was opened to visitors, when only a guard manning the front gates; anyone could have broken in if that person wanted to do so.

In so many ways, it was my previlige to be living on the streets of Phnom Penh, Cambodia, right after the fall of the Khmer Rouge regime. I was experiencing life in its lowest form, which was surviving under the harshest, most unforgiving conditions while support a bunch of street kids who had absolutely nothing and under the most life-threatening situations, and I walked out with my compassion, dignity and integrity intact.

How did I fall into the life of a street pimp?

As street kids, our main concern was food, followed by a place to sleep without getting harassed by the property owners or the authority. Once we had that worked out, we spent our day reveling on streets, playing games for rubber bands and marbles. Of course, I had the most rubber bands, everyone wanted to win some of mine through card dealings.

The problem was I got very good at every game; again, the strategy to win any game is to figure out your edges or disadvantages. Get those worked out until you are on par with your opponent; a fifty percent chance of winning; if not, walk away from it. You can't get this odd in any casino; the casinos already got their edges worked out, wrote out the rules to favor them in the long run and you had to play by their rules. With the edges locked in and in their favor, the house would always win.

Don't play in a casino.

Go to the streets where every player has a fifty percent chance of winning in any game. The winner is decided by luck and a small percentage by strategy. You win some; you lose some -- that’s the name of the game.

You play for fun and the excitement, to bond with your fellow man, not to break his leg or his arm because he pays you a little later than usual.

As we were having fun one afternoon, a young female sprinted through our circle of players, knocking some to the cement sidewalk while some grabbed onto her.

She explained between breaths that the city police were in hot pursuit of her.  When she explained her situations to us, her eyes traveled to me. Although she didn’t speak to me directly, I sensed she wanted my help, any help I could give to get her out of this predicament would be greatly appreciated. And when I looked up, my eyes would meet hers; a connection was established at the moment, a moment that forever stamped on my mind.

Her smile was genuine, simple, honest was radiating from her. She glowed like a person who had finally reached Nirvana. She was one of a kind. Somehow, circumstances threw her into this predicament she was trying to run from, and I was the only one she looked to for assistance.

How could I turned her turn in or turned away from her? Her eyes were pleading and I couldn’t take my eyes off her, although she was quite attractive -- attraction was not the reason, and she was way older than any of us kids. I wanted a mom but not a mom that young.

I found myself conflicted by her troubles. I honestly didn’t wish for this. I was content with the facts we had food and a place to sleep. How much more could a street kid need?

Our eyes met again, and I knew I had to jump to action, she had to be rescued from the approaching police. Her Creator sent her to me or else she wouldn't be running into us or given the chance to meet me -- I had nothing, I knew no one.

What could I possibly do for her? She seemed more put together than I could ever be; she held her head up high, she was confident, sure of herself; she was pulling me like gravity towards her; I fought it; in the end, I relented to her pull.

More to come

Displaced people with empty stomach and dried mouth kept strolling into the capital, begging for anything of value, mainly for consumable goods to feed their young children -- this was poverty showing its ugly face, mocking these people, pointing its index finger at them as if it was their fault that they found themselves in this unpleasant situation. 

They were unsured of their new life, of their new class, new station in this new society, as they wandered through the city, not knowing, pondering, searching for suitable sites to rest their exhausted and worn out bodies but their strong mind kept telling them to be hopeful and they were -- hope was all they had, they had to cling to it. 

For some, hope at this junction was good enough, it was acceptable compared to the hell they were fleeing.  At least, they weren't living in constant fear of dieing, of being executed, of being taken into the woods and never return to their loved ones, of being forced to work until their feet couldn't support their small frames anymore, until their hearts gave out. 

They had each others; they were with their family members; they were alive. 

If it wasn't for hunger, they would be the happiest people on this great earth; they would jump for joy; they would rejoice. They would be walking on Cloud 9. Walking? They couldn't even pick up their feet to advance another foot, every movement was laborous; lethargy had taken a crippling toll on their bodies for many years now.

This was Cambodia at the bottom rung, its face deep in human excrements, after it was stomped upon by the Khmer Rouge without any regard for its future and future generations and after it was ostracided by the world communities for years due to disagreements with the Khmer Rouge's ways of governing its people, justified but not intervened, in hind sight, a big mistake on their part.

It was going to take tremendous efforts for Cambodia to rise up from this depth, to scrape all the feces thrown at it.  Rise up it must for the sake of its resilient people. These people would give a hand to a strange in need of help even when they were clinging to their own life by the fingers.

For some of these new arrivals, it was like returning home; this was where they used to reside before the evacuation, before the civil war took place, before the Americans initiated the candestine bombing campaign inside Cambodia to drive out the Vietcongs. Cambodia was a neutral country.

America had gone too far with their efforts in a fight against the North Vietnamese, over-reaching, violating the territory of a sovereign nation.

As a direct result, many Cambodians died. Anger flared, rage inflamed, others flocked to the Khmer Rouge vowing revenge or at least vowed to defend their country against the Americans' senseless attacks on the innocents, empowering the Khmer Rouge even more.

America had become the bane of the Cambodian civil war, before, it were the bones supporting Cambodia, the vertebrate that made Cambodia stood up to the rest of the world and be counted as an ally, as I understood it then.

I had to point a finger at someone; America was it. I had to explain the conflicts to other kids my age, in my group, that this war was not our fault, and that we along with all of the non-military Cambodians were the victims but we should never act or behave victimized because we were human.

As such, we could not be victimized, we could only rise above it; therefore we should be able to rise above this civil war that was still crumpling and piling on us, burying us, weighing heavily on us, suffocating us at times, but as long as we could still breathe, we could break out of this confinement because we had evolved since then and our mind had expanded since then, we are wiser now; we had become more than who we were, the first step towards enlightment.

We could be walking, smiling, joking, flirting with the opposite sex but never with death, listening to music, composing a better song in this light at the end of the tunnel.  According to Morrissey, this light never goes out.

We should be celebrating but we weren't, instead we hoped because it was all we had; so we believed -- someone made us believed.

We had just escaped hell. A celebration should be in order, at this very moment, but no one listened or cared, some pretended to listen, some pretended to care.

It was time we move on to better things, better living, but we were exhausted from the walking and not eating; we couldn't even drag our feet another inch without aching; so we believed; someone told us to believe.

Be victimized would only reduce us to the way we were; human could not advance with this way of thinking, with this way of behaving. This was just my own personal opinion. I didn't mean to preach or anything negative by it. It was simply an observation, and I could be completely wrong.

We suffered unnecessarily; to suffer is to understand, to know and to be in bed with compassion; this is the only bright side of suffering I could conjure. Agree or disagree, this is how I chose to view suffering.

When suffering and compassion are in bed together, they make us think about, help us understand the world, cojuling us to see the world through its eyes that's when we realize we are all in this together; and when suffering and compassion fight together as a tag team, they become the opposite of an eye for an eye, which according to Gandhi will make the whole world go blind.

To others, the capital was a new sight to behold, to marvel at -- they were farmers; they knew cows, not cars, they knew thatch huts on wooden stilts, not concrete buildings with reinforced bars, they knew dirt roads, not asphalted ones. They knew walking, not hitching a ride. They knew jungle, not concrete jungle. They knew how to survive -- they had survival skills, quite essential to daily life.

The city had quickly swollen with more people as time went by; others escaped to bordering countries then hopped to the Western world via taxi and airplanes as if they had enough of Cambodia, at least for now, but vowed to return, at least for a quick visit to soothe their souls.

We Cambodians could not stay far away from our motherland for too long. We would be lost and confused if we were to detach ourselves from our culture and customs for a certain period of time.

International communities finally took notice of the aftermath and was horrified by the destruction the Khmer Rouge left behind, the destruction to properties and its own people, mainly its people. 

Assistance was called upon, and the UN was on its way to take charge of this country, to put things back in order, to restore normalcy if there was such a thing.

The UN had the personels, the knowledge, the experience and the deep pocket to get the job done.  The kingdom would soon be handed over to them for the betterment of the people and of this nation.

The Khmer Rouge had surrendered their posts and retreated to their hiding places in the jungle.  Now and then, a few of them would create chaos with machine guns and grenades, reminding everyone the Khmer Rouge could still be a threat to the kingdom. Be aware, be cautious when travelling within this nation but most of all, be vigilant.

It was time to rebuild; it was time to heal: it was time to forgive but there would never be a time to forget. How could anyone forget such atrocity?

As for me, it was time to steal; I became a thief, a damn good thief.

I roamed the streets and flea markets with other kids, most were orphans and some were runaways like myself and somehow they found themselves walking along side me; I guess I was magnetic for such personalities, must be the vibe I put out, attracting.

I became their brother, mother and dad; I was their orphanage, their protector and provider. It was thrusted upon me and I didn't seem to mind it; in fact, I enjoyed their respective companies. Without them, the feeling of isolation would have force me to take my own life, and death would have been glad to see me.

I met loneliness, found it everywhere on all the streets and I didn't like it one bit; it instantly became one of my greatest enemies, always kept me on my toes as it tried to become my companion. I battle it constantly to these days by staying positive and productive in any one of my many endeavors.

Loneliness dwells on the streets, and it's generous with its time so stay busy. Heed this advice now and stay off the streets.

We worked as a team in extracting possessions from the unlucky few shuffling into our field of view, each of us had a role to execute according to plan and as rehearsed -- we rehearsed our plans as the drama troupe would rehearse their play before the opening night. Each participant must know their role concretely.

If there were lines, they would have to memorize them. We didn't take chances in our line of work. If we failed to execute our plans successfully, we didn't get to eat -- this was our reality, nothing was sugarcoated.

Distraction was the name of the game, the core of each of our plans. We had a good number of disciplined, well-qualified team players, our number could overwhelm a scene.

We arrived at the destinations, scanned for the targetted goods, staged fights, created commotions, a rukus; when all were distracted, a team of runners under my lead, would dart to, snatch and bolt out with the goods in our hands at amazing speed.

It was as simple as it sounded.

Repeat the process several times per day at different locales, the number of plans per day depended on our greed, aggressiveness and mood on that particular day. We executed our plans every single day without fail.

We had to eat and food didn't come cheap. Because we were kids, the vendors would always try to cheat us out of our money, however little was in our possession.

If anyone of us wanted a brand new pair of shoes, we would individually, on our own, alone, go out and seek the pair we would like to wear and stealthily, surreptitously extract that pair of shoes and strolled out. If the vendors noticed, bolted out as fast as ligthening.

Anything we wanted could be ours the next moment. That was how efficient we were. We were small, in torn clothes and rags, we were fast, could run a marathon and win.

I was elected to lead the group because of my speed and the stimina to run the distance; success was almost guaranteed for every outing under my command. I took pride in what I do, I took care of the details, I took care of my runners. I'd rather be the one that get caught. They placed  their trust in me and I had never abused that trust.

Group efforts required only for big ticket items such as gold and/or silver body ornaments and/or artifacts.

The stolen goods would be sold for spending cash and I would be the negotiator and finder of purchasers. Whatever the amount was per day, we distributed that amount equally to our team members.

The money we made ensured us we had something to eat that day -- that was priority number one, number two was a place to sleep and we slept in turns and number three was warmth, keeping warm and staying warm at night, every night.

We traveled to every part of every nearby city implimenting our plans, our strategies, we were efficient with our methods; we became really good at what we do; we always had plenty of food to consume with money left to purchase clothes; if the clothes were too expensive, we would find ways to take possession of it.

I got caught several times during my thiefing career and each time I got beat up until I couldn't wiggle my fingers or my toes, until I couldn't move my body, and that was how justice was served, and I deserved every twitch of the pain, every bump, every bruise, every cut and every drop of blood, but I didn't shed a tear, not because I could tolerate the endless kicks and punches delivered to my body with full force by grown men.

I didn't shed tears because I was ready to die; besides, the pain these grown men inflicted on me could not come near the pain I received from the teachers and principals who disciplined me with yard sticks while I attended their schools. The reason they took such drastic action because they thought they could bend me, could force me to read, to add and to subtract numbers. I had no interest in learning whatsoever, none.

Education got my father and many others killed.

I was only interested in being outside and explore this new playground called Phnom Penh, it was big to a small person.  There was a lot of boulevards, avenues, streets and alleyways fingering out in all directions. Schools could not cage a person like me.

This black sheep wanted to wander and make discoveries, not of the scientific kind, just wanted to know what was lurking in the next corner and further down the road.

I wanted to know things, and I wanted to know now; I didn't want to learn; learning was such a tidious and slow process. Who had time for such activities? Certainly not me.

Give me a wall, and I will break through it; that how I was operating. No one can cage a mind; it's too elusive. Try catching an eel and that's a fish and not a mind, notice how difficult it is doing so.

The Khmer Rouge tried and failed miserably; they were more afraid of a strong mind than a strong body, and so they killed and killed and killed more than two millions of their countrymen in a very short period of time. They were very efficient killing machines; no one could deny them their killing skills; these killers, muderers must have many years of experience, proving practice does make perfect.

The teachers and the principals could literaly break my body, open it up but they could never bend my mind, even though I was just a child. They could burn me at the stake, as long as I still had my mind, I would win. They could only win if they put a bullet, maybe two into my head, distributing my brain cells in all directions, painting red pictures, grim, gruesome as they may be, on walls.

My mind was stronger than steel -- it had to be in order to survive the streets.  I would do anything, including taking arms, to shield it from unscrupulous individuals and there were many scavenging the streets. I knew this because I lived and breathed it; no one could tell me otherwise.

I encountered the street scavengers on many occasions and they were all unpleasant. One almost shot me between my eyes.

More on this later.

What the teachers and the principals didn't know was that their heavy handed discipline forced me onto the streets, but I couldn't blame them; their intention was well meaning.  I believe they really wanted me to do well, they were really concerned about my future, about  my well being; in so many ways, they were parenting me. For those reasons, who could blame them even when they had no compunction for their actions.  It was their intention that counted most in my book. 

The beatings after getting caught for theft were always severe and never involved the police; people were taking the law into their own hands. Compassion often got lost in the moment, in the action, in the rage, rage if not controlled can kill compassion in seconds. What a scary thought!

These adults really thought they could straighten me out, and I really hoped they would take me in as in into their house, took pity on me after they finished attacking me, instead of leaving me to die in the cold of night; I was relying on their compassion. This was what I wished for, maybe I could be good again, rehabilitating myself.

Could somebody please take me in?

I could return to school to face those teachers and principals again and be gladly accepting their excruciatingly painful discipline but their discipline, no matter how bad, could not be worse than the streets or the cold of nights or the hunger.  There was always that possibility -- the possibility of me leaving the streets, dead or alive it didn't matter to me at all.

I was ready to meet death head on but death didn't come for me.  It failed me. It disappointed me. I was angry at it. I was so welcoming of death that I started searching for pills in abandnoned buildings. When pills were found, I joyfully swallowed them.  I went out, bought spoiled food and ate it gleefully.  I got sick and threw up for days, but death stayed away from me, didn't even come by and say hello; I felt rejected, I felt unwanted, I felt hurt, I felt like a member of my family had died.

Why didn't you take me?

Instead death sent in its cousin illness to do the dirty work, attacking my inside, weakening me from within; it was a clever strategy but was ineffective when used on a child like me. Death was a coward and I would say so in its face if it came near enough to me!

I concluded on my own term that death was afraid of me. How else could I conclude it? This explained why I was able to survive the streets for so long with a bunch of kids under my wings. This explained why when I was shot at, bullets veered from me. This explained why the grenade, pin pulled, didn't explode when one rolled to my feet. This explained why I never stepped on land mines even though they were everywhere.

I grew up too fast, experienced too much, too early, my sensory was overloading rapidly; it was too much for a child my age to handle. There was nowhere else I could go, no one I could turn to. I became a permanent fixture on the streets of Phnom Penh; I was lost but not yet lost to the world. I was simply breathing, taking in oxygen, giving up on life, I was a fish on dry land after flopping about for hours, waiting to intake the last gulp of air.

I needed a direction, point me to one. I was begging for it.  I needed a warm bed, a thick blanket and a soft pillow. I needed a shower. I needed porridge, chicken or fish, it didn't matter. I had nothing, no one. I was famish, skin and bone, I was homeless for Christ's sake. What I had was a big void inside my heart and in my soul -- so big there was room for death,to occupy, but death decided to leave it vacant.

I was all alone under a forever contracting and expanding universe as if it was breathing. Perhaps it was.

To some, earth is an organism, maybe our universe is, too.

A sense of isolation was eating me alive from the inside out.  I wanted it to finish me; death didn't sound so bad after all, but isolation didn't comply, denying me this great pleasure.

Everything and everyone had refused my request to accompany me to meet death. Were they all afraid? Was I the only one unafraid?  What more could I do? I chased death and it ran away like a dog with its tail curled up between its legs. I decided to move on with my life.

Speaking of a dog, I remember crossing by a window of an apartment late one night. Inside was a black dog crurling up by the front door and I was cold, tired and sleepy.  I remember wanting to go and knock on that door and ask the residents if I could sleep with the dog, if I could sleep where it was sleeping, if I could just be inside for a moment. 

I just wanted to keep warm, maybe for a blink of an eye because the cold that was blanketing me, hugging me snuggly like a long lost friend, started to play with my perception of reality, I was afraid of losing my mind, afraid of losing it. It was late and the residents were sleeping and I didn't want to wake them up so I walked away from that apartment wishing I could be that dog.

That dog was living large; how I wished I could be it. That was my life lower than a dog's.

To the kids in my group, I was tough because I didn't cry while I was taking the punishment from grown men. To them, I was the man of steel; I could breathe fire like a dragon, I could stop a bullet with my teeth, I could pick up a mountain and turn it upside down. I was like no one else. I was their one and only super hero or maybe the only person they knew.

I was the one who stood by them when it counted most. I was someone they could trust, someone they could look up to; I was them in so many aspects.

I knew their souls because mine was just like theirs. It was them who energized my life. I had to live, if not for me, I would do it for them.

More orphans and runaways joined my group because there were no other options available to them. I was it --  the best they could find, someone they could live with. Join my group or be left alone; being alone on the streets would be a grave mistake; highly not recommended in this kind of environment.

We needed to generate more fund as our group continued to grow; there were more mouths to feed.  This responsibility fell onto me because I was their leader, the chosen one. Somehow, I was not worried; I knew we could stay the course. I encouraged everyone to keep moving forward like nomads -- we were nomads.

Our operation sprouted wings; we were venturing into pimping girls of the night, not by design; if so, must be done by the Creator, not us because I had never aspired to be a great pimp -- the thought had never crossed my mind. I didn't even know what it was.

 

And so I became a pimp just like that, occurred in just one night, a damn good pimp I must say because I knew every corner of every street.  I knew every hiding spot.

Every girl working the streets needed me to keep them away from the grabbing hands of the police, from the arms of the law because prostitution was illegal, and I charged these girls a huge percentage of their earnings, and sometime I demanded more from them, and they would meet my demand every single time.

Life was getting better; there was a God.

Compassion started to leave me progressively slow, I started to lose myself to my surroundings; I started to lose myself to the newfound riches, newfound life style and newfound friends. I was high on life, just not a night.

I ruled the streets; I owned the girls, absolutely, stunningly looking Khmer girls, way older than me but were young enough for men seeking a rendevouz with a complete stranger for a night, maybe two if he had proven to be a gentleman with the girl he was with the previous night. I didn't think age played a significant role in these men's decisions. They were just looking to spend their money to satisfy their needs for an instant in time, and I happened to be there to accomendate them with a handsome price tag.

To see my girls, men had to go through me and jump many hoops and I charged them heavily for the chance to meet one of the girls; there weren't many of them taking on this profession; they were rare; the demand was high.Pratically everyday was a great party, just not at night after those that had a home went home.

Please read I Survived Mindeyes19 and his NSA Friends III

I love being alive and a dad to my children but death seems to chase me around like a maniac with an ax swinging wildly, angrily in all directions, hoping, wishing, praying it would connect with me, slashing my flesh open in several places and draining me of my blood until my body can't function anymore, until my brain can't process the last thought, but somehow I was/am always able to navigate, maneuver from and avoid it completely with dignity and integrity steadfast.

Dad is the only title I hold seriously -- one of the few creeds I live by.

As many of you know, my latest death threat came from the NSA -- this U.S. government agency wanted my head according to a person known as Mindeyes19 of Brosix IM who also claimed to be working closely with agents from this fine institute. 

It maybe a joke to some of you, to some of you Mindeyes19 reminds you of the character played by Bill Paxton in True Lie, but to me I take any threat on my life as a serious matter -- worthy of a long, long jail sentence.  How dare he used our own NSA agents  to threaten me and other citizens who had challenged and exposed his many bogus, grandiose claims! What a freak!

Quite delusional!

Pathetic!

Shameful!...

...to use the U.S. government to threaten its citizens even when it was well established the threat to be bogus perpetrated by a man living in his own shadows, oblivious to things that are decent and grand, things of reality. 

A complete disgrace to our government!

Mindeyes19 is just another bad karma that I had to overcome in order to better myself, and that is looking from the brighter side of things.  I had overcome many bad karmas before, mindeyes19 should be a breeze, a quick sneeze and he'd be out of my life, hopefully forever.

America was found by my Masonic brothers after risking their lives and the lives of their loved ones during the revolution to ensure the power be granted to and be remained with the people and gave the people the right to bear arms just in case their government overstep their defined boundaries.  They established a government for and by the people, complete with a check and balance system. 

It's not the greatest form of government but it's close enough to being perfect. It gives everyday people the greatest of freedom to enhance their lives by whatever means deemed possible as long as it's within the law, to pursue liberty and happiness, to congregate in a protest, to express their opinions openly and the freedom of the press to report all the new developments in that government.

We Khmers had experienced the worst kind of government -- the type that was adopted, practiced and enforced by the Khmer Rouge.

Now that I am a naturalized U.S. citizen, it's one of my duties to see our government is not to be used against its citizens and immigrants alike.  We do not want a Khmer Rouge-like government in America, abusing and executing its citizens without justification.

I was born during the period of turmoil in Cambodia and later, this kingdom plunged into the hands of the notorious, merciless Khmer Rouge regime -- a Cambodian communist party with a strong support from the North Vietnamese.

My family and I were evacuated from the city to the country side to irrigate the empty fields for the sole purpose of producing rice for export; people were to strictly live off the land and be independence of other nations.

Cambodia was completely isolated from the rest of the world; it became a prison -- in every true sense of the word. The whole population was treated as prisoners by their captors -- actually their captors treated these people far worse than inmates, these individuals were slaves.

Cambodia became a nation of slaves.

People started planning an escape route after witnessing deaths of the individuals they knew under the hands of the Khmer Rouge soldiers during the exodus out of the city.  People were told America was going to bomb the city to smithereens, leave now before the first bomb hit the ground, grab what could be carried or hauled, move, move, move, march, march, march.  People believed them unequivocally because it happened before.

America was carpet bombing Cambodia along the Ho Chi Minh trail, inside the kingdom without U.S. Congressional approval, a neutral country, a clear violation of international law. People died in large number then later, America invaded the country; mistrust in America was beating strongly and loudly in the people's hearts. Some were glad America was defeated while others were just happy the war was over, time to rejoice so they thought.

They cheered on the Khmer Rouge as they marched into the city along the wide, tree shaded boulevards, not knowing what was going to happen next.  What's  the worst could be done to them? The Khmer Rouge were their brothers and sisters; they were Khmer just like them. They took comfort in that -- that was their security blanket. 

They didn't know, no one knew, that a short  time later that blanket was going to be used to suffocating them and their family members.  The Khmer Rouge didn't care if they looked like them, spoke their language, shared their custom, practiced their religion, came from their parents; they only cared to eliminate those who had been westernized.

These city folks were greatly influenced by the French; in other word, they were westernized; the French had colonized this nation for over a hundred years. Their fate in this new, unconceivable society was sealed.  They were destined to be killed; they would be lucky if they didn't have to dig their own graves or torture beforehand, lucky if they received a bullet behind the head instead of many other cruel and unusual killing methods employed during time when bullets became scarce.

I remember being told to duck because America was coming with their B-52 bombers, eclipsing portion of the sky. I remember seeing jets dog fighting dazzling me like a light show; I was standing on a balcony of a well constructed, modern building. I remember being fearful, fear of losing my life; I guess I loved life even back then, before I became a dad, before the NSA wanted my head, before I met Mindeyes19.

School and monetary systems were abolished, educated individuals were executed; the lucky ones were reduced to peasants; their humanity was ripped out of them and they could be slaughtered at any given moment without any justification and/or warning. The march out of the city was cruel on my feet; I believe I was shouldered most of the time, I was pampered since the day I was born.

I remember wanting to empty my bladders, to relief myself; I was bothered by what my body was doing to me and the sun was beating on me, a film of sweat was scratching my forehead, making me extremely uncomfortable; I grew impatience; I wanted to scream; I wanted to shout so loud that a nearby window would shatter into a billion pieces. 

My mother did everything she could to accomendate me, to keep me silence, to appease the Kmer Rouge manning the throng of people moving in unison towards an unknown destination.The Khmer Rouge loved keeping their victims in the dark, keep them guessing, wondering, pondering, opining.

My mother along with my brothers and sisters built a wall around me with kramas and sarongs in order for me to conduct my business in private. It was a bit unusual, something I wasn't accustomed to but I was able to relief myself anyway and everyone sighed a relief afterward because I could make a nasty scene if things were suitable to my need at that time, if I didn't receive the life style I was used to; I could put everyone in jeopardy. The Khmer Rouge were staring in our direction, anticipating an irrational action from us so they could end us on the spot.

As small as I was, I held a certain amount of power in that instant, in that situation.

What kept these people functioning as human beings while under the control of the Khmer Rouge was their compassion.  They understood no matter what type of cruelty was inflicted upon them or how fearful they were of losing their lives, as long as they kept their compassion insulated within their soul, they knew they would never take on the actions of animals in retalliation against those who were causing them great harm and discomfort.

As human, we thrive, we survive by any means necessary, we adapt, we evolve or become extinct -- extinction is never an option. Evolution is the only solution, we have to become better than who we are today, compassion is the only means in aiding evolution.

Compassion, compassion, compassion -- without it, we're just animals. And we saw that animalistic aspect of human beings in the Khmer Rouge who committed astrocity against their fellow man.  Compassion -- never leave home without it, hold onto it, defend it; it's part of our soul. 

Sell your soul to the devil if you must but don't lose your compassion; if you do, you will lose yourself; you will be beyond help; no one will ever be able to reach you again; you will be forever gone, and the tragic part of it is...you won't be missed; no one will be asking your whereabout.

Compassion is what makes us human.

While older ones were forced to work to death in the labor camps due to malnutrient, diseases, and starvation, I along with many other children were having jolly good times, a ball, living it up, fishing, catching little critters, hunting animals, etc.

We were left to be kids without adults' supervision, no school, no worries, no complains, the world was ours to discover and conquer and we explored as far out as our little feet could take us each day; Cambodia was our Chucky E. Cheese minus all the food, drinks and unrulely crowds. Although we knew the ground around us was replete with land mines, we still used it as our playground.

We didn't know what danger was; we weren't cautious or told to be. We didn't know what land mines were. We would spit in the face of the devil himself if he was standing before us. We were wild, we were crazy, we were testing the boundaries like no one else, we were playing...playing around death, inviting it, asking it to come hither mainly because we were clueless; our carelessness alone could have lead us to our demise; we were tempting death, stuck our tongue out at it but death wasn't interested in playing with us because it was busy dancing with the newly deceaseds; there were so many, it must be hard for death to keep track of all of them, its head probably was spinning like a top or maybe it was celebrating at a fancy place unbeknownst to us, feasting on a sumptuous meal. 

Whatever the case was, death left us alone, letting us play to our heart content.  Maybe we were just too young for the picking. Maybe it had a soft spot for little children. I doubted it.

Ignorance was indeed bliss.

Even when death was staring us in the eyes, we wouldn't blink or care to notice it; we were too focused on the tasks at hand; we were the devil to little creatures; we killed them then devoured them; we brought what left to the community to be cooked and consumed in the communal kitchen.

Everything belonged to Angka and was to be shared among the community.  Angka was the state, the government, the master, the leader, the murderer and the judge, jury and executioner. Death was assured to those who had the gall to question any of Angka's motives. Religion was outlawed, but it was okay to worship Angka; in fact, it was encouraged.

Angka executed my father after learning he was working in a Cambodian embassy in Saigon, the city of my birthplace, under the administration of the previous government. He worked closely with the Ambassador, he was a Foreign Affair Minister (some said he was the Ambassador), representing Cambodia to the best of his ability. He was a stateman; he was a father, a husband, a bread winner, soft spoken, the silent type. 

The type that would bare gifts to the people in his hometown every chance he was allowed to visit within the allotted time. He was kind; he was gentle. He doted on his children, possibly spoiled them to the bones; they were showered with the finests the world had to offer along with nannies, butlers and chauffeurs, Mercedes Benz, linousines and villas, swimming pools and movie theaters; we had it all.

He was my father, and I was denied the chance to get to know him.  He was honest and loved to read -- these activities revealed who he was to the Khmer Rouge. To them, he was educated and I believe wholeheartedly he was. He could not lie, he could not tell them he was a taxi driver even to save his life; he died because he was honest. They took his life and others' because they feared them, they feared education.  Education was their one and true enemy, they understood the pen is mightier than the sword so they started killing those that could write right away.

Education is often a life saver but not so in my father's case.

I remember encountering a small catfish in a rice field playing dead, reaching in and grabbing its tail; it swung its head and punctured me with its whiskerlike barbels extending from its upper jaw.  I became gravely ill from the infectious wound.  I was bed ridden for weeks, if not months, I was on the brink of death simply because there was no doctors to seek advice from or medications to intake. Some of those who found themselves in this situation didn't fare too well.  There were so many deaths occuring each day, residents ceased to the count the bodies as they were piling up.

Graves were dug up days in advance. One of them could have been mine.

The livings were just existing, breathing and exhaling slowly, expelling carbon dioxide to the atmosphere, waiting for their day to meet their Maker; some were looking forward to it; others didn't mind it. I, on the other hand, wasn't going to stop fighting for my life. I had refused to die by an injection from a catfish. I wasn't ready to meet death but I was sure it was searching for me. I wasn't hiding; there was no room to hide.

After the catfish ordeal, a dam broke and I was swept away by the incredibly violent force of raging waters, but my grandmother was there to pluck me to safety in a nick of time.  Before that, there was a tug of war between my grandmother and the raging waters. The waters swept me off my feet, drew the first blood, caught me off guard, threw me off balance but I was held in place by my grandmother, I was dangling, submerging now and then; the waters reached up and grabbed my waist then my chest, tugging, yanking, pulling, went for my mouth then my nose, threatening to swallow me whole, drown me right then and there but my grandmother held on to me until help arrived.

With the strength of many muscular men bravely reclaiming me from waters' hold, it finally gave up, gave in and relinquished me into my grandmother's arms.

Many days later, the waters vanished, receded, evaporated after graciously accepting its most humiliating defeat to date.  It wanted me terribly bad, used all its might to cling onto me, gripping me in its grasp like a vise, suffocating me at times, but my grandmother wanted me more; the will was with her; it was her determination that saved my life.

I believe I was four or five years old at that time and that memory of that incident had imprinted on my mind; I don't think I would ever forget such a moment -- a moment of life, a moment of death, death had arrived at my door, banging and demanding to meet me face to face but my grandmother was wise and fearlessly chased it away. So long, sucker.

Life, sometime, we just have to fight for it; it's so precious even Mother Nature now and then wants to snatch it from us and death is always waiting around the corner; it has all the patience in the world and time is on its side; in the end it wins; this what makes living so difficult because the challenges life faces each day is so tremendous that at times we just want to throw in the white towel, telling the referee we want to tap out and our time on earth is waiting to expire on us, usually unexpectedly, untimely, and worthwhile because we get to triumph many times during the course of life; we get to be victorious, we make miracles, miracles happen to us and not knowing it, we become someone's heroes, we're looked upon as the undisputed champions; we sigh a relief, we feel exalted, we feel appreciated, we feel accomplished; we think life is wonderful, great and complete, and to our surprise, life is wonderful, great and complete and refuse to buy into the myth that someone has to complete us; only we can complete ourselves.

Life is what we make it to be, it's stemmed from our mind, our ways of thinking, our thinking process; in essence, it's us; it's what we created, it's our creation; let's be creative; it's our kingdom, it's our castle, it's villas, paint them blue to compliment the sky and the oceans and invite only trusted positive individuals onto our playground and play well with others, keep our dignity and integrity close at hand to ensure we continue walking on a straight path as intended, and every battle we fight worths every ounce of our fiber and every drop of sweat. We all are fierce warriors inside.

And when we venture outside, we discover life is all that, and we want more of it for as long as we are here walking and speaking our mind but always minding our own business and no else's. It's the cake and we want to eat it, too while thinking of productive, lucrative ways to grab a piece of the American Dream, whatever that means.

After the Khmer Rouge regime was overthrown by the Vietnamese armed forces several years later, we traveled back to Phnom Penh. Phnom Penh was a ghost town. There were no moving vehicles in sight. I would lay down, spine straight, arms rested along my sides, on the asphalt in the middle of a street and the fear of falling asleep didn't even fathom to emerge because I was so confident that there wouldn't be a vehicle coming through and run me over.

I was always playing with my life because  I didn't even know what it was -- I just lived simply to survive like an animal using its instinct. My knowledge of life didn't come unlimited but it was enough to barely kept me alive through many misadventures I had encountered.

There were families who had arrived in the city before we did and were already settled in in their newly found habitats and starting to enjoy a normal life, however it was defined back then.

Vietnamese armed forces occupied and oversaw the state of the kingdom in disarray; some of the populace were quite appreciative of the Vietnamese's presence and for liberating us from the notorious Khmer Rouge regime's deadly grip; lives were saved by the millions; the kingdom's population starts to increase once again despite the lack of basic necessities, of bare essentials.

We moved into an apartment close to my parents' original house that was occuppied by another family.  Since the Khmer Rouges ridded of all documents, there was no way of proving that house belonged to us.  Property ownership boiled down to the using of first come, first serve basis rule, that was the law of the land pertaining to real estate; a wild, wild west at its best.

Cambodia was a land without law. Lawlessness usually means anarchy but I didn't witness any form of its presence anywhere within the borders of this tiny kingdom. People were living as though the law preceding the civil war still played a crucial role in society, governing, keeping them safe and secured. There was freedeom; there was also a curfew as mentioned earlier but most important, there was peace, there was food for some; others still starved.

There was sign people were starting to rebuild their lives, their beloved country; pride started to appear on their faces; their faces started to smile when there was a reason to cause such a reaction; they started to see themselves as human again but forever the victims, the horrendous scars left by the Khmer Rouge had forever stained their hearts, minds and souls. There was a sense of a new llife emerging, a new country was being reborn.

This was year one. Happy birthday, Cambodia, welcome to a whole new world. Hold your head up high when picked on by your neighbors in a humble and respectful fashion but always be resilient as shown by your people through many years of plights.

The Khmer Rouge was successful in returning this country to year zero, reduced it to rubbles, stones and steel. 

Despite its shattered legs and vertebrate, Cambodia was rising from its ashes through the help and assistance of world communities; its glorious days were about to return.  It was great to be Khmer, to be Cambodians, a people of resiliency and smiles, of compassion and Buddhism, of constant search of Nirvana and enlightment.

While residing in the capital, I made friends with other nearby children (some were Vietnamese).  We played war with live bullets found all around us.  Bullets nearly struck me in the head on many occasions but our favorite weapons of choice were slingshots.  With a slingshot, we could hurl anything we thought was deadly at our enemies.  We had good times despite the deadly games we were playing. 

As we moved from building to building in a game of war, we would become surprised and horrified by decomposing corpses left behind in a panic or left in place intentionally for others to find. We often heard of fresh deaths due to electrical shock and other means, and when we heard such news, we would dash to the scene to look at the lifeless bodies -- we were curious; adventure was coursing through our blood; actually, we had nothing better to do than killing time.  We were kids, we were runaway kids.  We befriended the streets, but the streets refused to be kind to us.

There was a day when Vientnamese soldiers were having a gun fight with some alleged bad guys hiding in a dilapidated building,  because I was young and curious, I ran into the middle of the action. A grenade was tossed at the soldiers then rolled to my feet.  The soldiers shouted for me to sprint from it in Vietnamese, but I couldn't understand a word exiting their mouth.  The grenade didn't explode due to reason no one could explain.  I walked away with my life and limbs intact and the grenade in my hand.  It was a great day to be alive. 

The alleged bad guys lost their lives moments later after the Vietnamese soldiers unleashed their aggression with deadly force.

I was an adventurous and curious young man, the black sheep of the family.  School was never a niche with me. When I got to school, I would get whipped by both the teacher and then the principal so I never went back.  Because of my refusal to attend school again, I couldn't go back home fearing I would get whipped severely as well.

So I ended up on the streets. To survive the streets, the cold and the hunger, I had to steal necessities. Every time I got caught, I would be beatened to the verge of death and that was I how lived for several more years. Life was rough especially a night and the cold was put in place to ensure I wouldn't be able to sleep.  I needed to be awake anyway because death was hiding in every dark spot, and the hunger never left me alone, it was always there constantly reminding to me consume something or anything edible, bugging me, poking me, chastising me, ridiculing me; my stomach was constantly growling, begging, pleading, imploring to be filled with nutrious meals.

I understood its demand and insistence and I did all I could to satisfy its need; given, I failed at certain times, and I have forgiven myself for it after recognizing that I was not perfect then or now; I was young and famish.

Surviving was the only option; thievery was a natural reaction to combat a constant hunger, not by choice; I wasn't taking part in any hunger strike or protest. Food was just hard to come by; it wasn't readily available in every market. This was Cambodia after the fall of the Khmer Rouge.

Read part II in the next blog...

What is Search Engine Optimization

Author: Sojean Peou

Search Engine Optimization is a process of choosing the most appropriate targeted keyword phrases related to your site and ensuring that this ranks your site highly in search engines so that when someone searches for specific phrases it returns your site on tops. It basically involves fine tuning the content of your site along with the HTML and Meta tags and also involves appropriate link building process. The most popular search engines are Google, Yahoo, MSN Search, AOL and Ask Jeeves. Search engines keep their methods and ranking algorithms secret, to get credit for finding the most valuable search-results and to deter spam pages from clogging those results. A search engine may use hundreds of factors while ranking the listings where the factors themselves and the weight each carries may change continually. Algorithms can differ so widely that a webpage that ranks #1 in a particular search engine could rank #200 in another search engine. New sites need not be "submitted" to search engines to be listed. A simple link from a well established site will get the search engines to visit the new site and begin to spider its contents. It can take a few days to even weeks from the referring of a link from such an established site for all the main search engine spiders to commence visiting and indexing the new site.

If you are unable to research and choose keywords and work on your own search engine ranking, you may want to hire someone to work with you on these issues.

Search engine marketing and promotion companies, will look at the plan for your site and make recommendations to increase your search engine ranking and website traffic. If you wish, they will also provide ongoing consultation and reporting to monitor your website and make recommendations for editing and improvements to keep your site traffic flow and your search engine ranking high. Normally your search engine optimization experts work with your web designer to build an integrated plan right away so that all aspects of design are considered at the same time.

Article Source: http://www.articlesbase.com/seo-articles/what-is-search-engine-optimization-366332.html

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Feb 7 (Reuters) - Thai and Cambodian troops battled for a fourth successive day on Monday over a disputed border area as Cambodia urged the U.N. Security Council to intervene to prevent the conflict from escalating.

Shelling and machine gunfire rang out in the 4.6-sq-km (two-sq-mile) contested area around the 11th-century Preah Vihear temple, land that is claimed by both Southeast Asian neighbours. (For a Q+A about the history of Thai-Cambodia tensions click on )

WHY ARE THEY FIGHTING?

There is no clear answer at this stage. Both sides blame each other for starting the clashes four days ago and for breaching a tenuous ceasefire agreed between the two armies on Friday night. It is not certain whether the shooting and shelling are offensive or defensive measures.

Security analysts say this is precisely why the fighting has continued for four days: both armies say they are reacting to the other side's aggression.

The clashes could have occurred as a result of a misunderstanding or a breakdown in communication channels. This has certainly been the case in previous years.

There has been increased military activity on both sides of the border in recent weeks and some troops are operating in an unfamiliar situation. Something as simple as a few warning shots or border patrols straying too far could have set things off.

Tensions have undoubtedly increased in tandem with the beefing up of troops on either side. Issues like Cambodia's flying of a national flag in the disputed area and laying of a stone tablet inscribed with "This is Cambodia" have angered the Thai military, as have accusations by Thai nationalists that the soldiers have failed to protect Thai sovereignty.

HOW HAVE THE GOVERNMENTS RESPONDED?

They enjoyed cordial relations in recent months and had shown unprecedented restraint in dealing with sensitive diplomatic issues related to the border.

That has changed. Cambodian's Prime Minister Hun Sen on Sunday said counterpart Abhisit Vejjajiva was "hungry for war" and the Thai Foreign Ministry accused Cambodia of "an act of aggression" in "violation of Thai sovereignty and territorial integrity".

Cambodia seems to be doing all it can to internationalise the issue and has urged the U.N. Security Council to intervene, with or without Thailand's cooperation. Abhisit has given his full support to the military to protect Thai sovereignty.

The robust rhetoric from both sides makes conditions for dialogue tricky. The Association of South East Asian Nations has urged a speedy resolution and is seeking to mediate.

WILL THIS HAVE ANY ECONOMIC IMPACT?

Bilateral trade will certainly be affected in the short term, but the figures are too small to make a dent on either country's economies. Thailand's central bank said exports to Cambodia were worth less than 1 percent of total annual exports, and were unlikely to cause any damage to the wider economy.

Thailand's stock market has been subdued since fighting broke out. News of the unrest knocked the benchmark down by 1 percent after a day of gains on Friday, and greater political risk took its toll on Monday as shares in Thai firms which have telecoms, sugar and industrial businesses in Cambodia fell.

There are fears of potential instability in Bangkok, related to a prolonged but so far small protest against the government by the yellow-shirted People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) over the government's handling of the border dispute, and failure to prevent the jailing of two Thai nationalists found guilty by a Cambodian court of trespassing and espionage last week.

There are some concerns, but so far no concrete signs, that the issue could give some momentum to the rally. The PAD, a powerful extra-parliamentary force that helped undermine two elected governments led or backed by ousted former premier Thaksin Shinawatra, has struggled to get people on the streets to challenge Abhisit. This could be a boon for its campaign.

Police are taking no chances and will seek cabinet approval to impose a strict security law to prevent a repeat of 2008, when the PAD occupied the government's offices. The PAD activists plan a rally on Friday, seeking to oust the Democrats-led government.

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Thai and Cambodian forces have exchanged artillery fire in a disputed border area, with a Cambodian soldier and a Thai civilian reported killed.

The Cambodian government has called it an "invasion", while the Thai military said it was a misunderstanding.

Tension has been rising in recent days, with both sides moving in more troops.

Shells landed in the grounds of the ancient Preah Vihear temple on the Cambodian side of the border and in a Thai village.

It is the most serious incident on the border for some time.

A Cambodian government spokesman blamed the encroachment of Thai soldiers for the fighting and said a complaint would be sent to the UN Security Council.

Long-running dispute

A Thai military official insisted that artillery fire from Cambodia was the trigger. But he said it might have been unintentional.

The fighting ended after about two hours, with both sides confirming a ceasefire.

The two countries' foreign ministers had been meeting in Cambodia to discuss the long-running border dispute when the fighting started.

The Thai nationalist "yellow-shirt" movement has called on its government to take a harder line on the issue with its smaller neighbour.

It is planning a demonstration in front of Cambodia's embassy in Bangkok on Saturday.

There has been tension in the region ever since Cambodia secured the World Heritage listing of the Preah Vihear temple in 2008.

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Happy Chinese New Year to everyone. Live long and prosper.

Congratulations because of your complete hospitality. Congratulations because of your development in tourism in a short period of time. Congratulations because of your perfect ATF organization.

I went to Cambodia last time in 2007 for their AITEX tourism exhibition. Beside its glorious Angkor Wat in Siem Reap city that is also listed by UNESCO, I noticed only some hotels in capital Phnom Penh, lack of road and transportation, almost no dining and touristic attractions.

Cambodia made big progress in the last 4 years. International hotel chains opened properties in these two cities. Transportation grew with new roads and vehicles. Number of touristic facilities increased and Las Vegas style hotels & resorts already opened. This development in tourism also reflected number of tourist arrivals that reached 1,5 million in 2010 with an increase of almost 100%.

For a weeklong event, ATF welcomed 1600 delegates, 442 international buyers, 148 media from 32 countries and 500 exhibitors coming from 10 ASEAN countries in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. They have been hosted by Cambodian tourism professionals and volunteers.

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