Since I last wrote, we ventured into the rural areas of Cambodia. Traveling through dusty and bumpy trails, we found two former Khmer Rouge cadre to interview. We returned to the site where my mother and father met -- in the concentration camp. My father and I found the exact spot where I was born in the refugee camp. He shared with me that he never had the opportunity to perform the traditional ceremony for me to welcome newborn babies. I told him that he "did good anyway." At that moment, I realized what a good man my father is. In all of these places, nothing is left to mark the history. This perhaps makes our documentation even more important.

We woke up again at 5:30 am to shoot the peasants bringing their fruits and vegetables off the boats to market. Then we uncovered colonial Indochina among Phnom Penh's ruins. We went to the market to shoot a galley of seamstresses, powering through their fabrics under a stifling roof. I got a quick lesson and tried my best to keep a straight stitch. I always shamed my mother with my sewing. I like to think that today, she would give me credit for sweating it out.

We started shooting at 7 this morning to catch the amazing Cambodian sunrise. We were on a hunt to find the Cambodian Socheata -- a portrait of my life had my parents decided to stay here. We talked to a pretty young woman who lives on a fishing boat with her three siblings. They catch fish every evening, making a fermented fish paste to sell in the market. The catch is good this season and they earn about $3-5/day. This evening, we will take a ride on her family's fishing boat. A young Khmer guy walked up to Charles and struck up a conversation. He has turned out to be a God-send. He's been our translator when my "rough tongue" fails me. Vantha is eager, friendly, knowledgable and like thousands of young educated Khmer, unemployed. So we are overjoyed to give him some work.

Let's talk about food. Charles and I have now visited a number of the recommended Phnom Penh restaurants. Each time we look for a fresh moment of culinary discovery. Yesterday in the market, I even had my first silk worm and roasted beetle. Yet after a week I now know my cousin's homecooking surpasses them all! Yesterday we had fish cakes, a bitter melon soup and and an octupus salad. We finished the meal with sweet tamarinds and milk fruit. Cousin Dany insists they feed us "every day food". Only a generation ago, about one-fifth of the population partly starved to death. It seems unbelievable in the bounty Cambodia enjoys "every day."

Yesterday we drove back from my mother's village in the back of a pick up truck. Peace Corps style as Charles likes to call it. Despite the lack of traffic laws, the speeding motos and overloaded trucks buzzing around us, I felt quite fine. Looking over the miles of rice fields at sunset. We ate roasted sweet rice and bananas with grubby hands on our first Mekong ferry crossing. There is so much beauty in this country. My parents must have been disappointed when they stepped off the plane 23 years ago and landed in the flatlands of Dallas, Texas. But I guess for them, the rice fields hold darker associations too.

Today we went to my father's village. I came to the realization that we are the richest Poeuvs in the world. Charles gave my second cousin $6 for 10 kilos of brown rice and she nearly passed out. We went to the very spot where my father was born. There's nothing left of his old home, just a patch of dirt. He could only make out the location because of an old tree that he used to climb. The family cemetary was raided by KR, the steel stolen from inside the cement monuments. I told my father I would help him rebuild it. It would only be right, being the youngest, richest Poeuv in the world.

Today i found out that i am the reincarnation of a kid called wayne. That is right. when i was born, my mother and my aunt both had the same dream about my dead cousin whose name is pronounced something like wayne. he died when he was 10 years old during the Khmer Rouge regime. He like millions others, he starved to death. He and eight of his siblings all died in one week. It was an especially scarce one. Wayne was evidently an extremely bright and hyperactive kid. In this dream, his ADD gets him in trouble with his father who castrates him -- harsh, no? His father died the same week.

Funny how no one ever mentioned my previous life to me before.

Arrived in Cambodia

After a 6 + 12 +3 hour flight, I'm in Cambodia. Not to waste a moment's time, I decided to prove my non-tourist status by trying my first roasted crickets, the fruit of the season. I couldn't bring myself to stare down and bite off the head as you're meant to. So I started with the legs first. They were suprisingly fleshy. I asked my father why Cambodian crickets are so much bigger than American ones. He said, "Ah, well I don't think they are actually crickets in America." I have no idea what is the basis for this claim. Tomorrow we head off to a place which sounds like "Curry-Room. It is neither a room nor a place to eat curry. Like most sights in Cambodia, I assume it's a Wat or temple atop a mountain. It is sure to require a lot of hiking so as to challenge my father's arthritic bones and short temper. That's my cue to remind him he picked the place.

I hope to find a former Khmer Rouge cadre who worked in the same camp that my father lived in. From what I understand, former KR have easily re-integrated into Cambodian society. They run noodle shops and raise their children, suffering no stigma about being genocidaires in a former life. Some KR have made their way to the U.S. And there's very little outrage about this. Cambodians are too poor to have the luxury of justice.

I am starting to get anxious about the trip -- a little nervous about my father's reaction when an entire documentary crew arrives in Cambodia to follow his every move. He doesn't feel particularly comfortable around strangers, not to mention strangers with three cameras, lights and a boom mic. We shall see how much discomfort he'll endure for his daughter.