And that day came. Once in Phnom Penh, Lucille and I decided to rent an apartment for the month. It was more relaxing than switching bed & breakfasts or hostels all the time. It was near a market. On windy days, the locals joked that you could smell the freshly grilled grasshoppers. All joking aside, our apartment had a view of the Mekong River, which made Lucille happy. The Mekong Delta can look like marshlands sometimes, but just knowing it was right before my eyes completed that exotic vision I had of Cambodia and reminded me I was making a dream come true.
When Lucille and I strolled along the riverside or sat at our favourite café, the wind from this edge of the world caressed my face and made me feel like another reality was swallowing me. Something foreign, fragile and strangely kind hugged me. I watched people, faces, colours and scents passing by and imagined I was entering another dimension. At times, I couldn’t grasp I was part of the scene and let myself melt in the background. No matter how much air I could breathe, there was no organic connection between me and this place. I could see Lucille working hard every day on her social presence on her laptop or phone, almost obsessively. However, I was relaxed, detached, and still unsure of what the future held for me.
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We used the Phnom Penh apartment as a home base to visit every corner of Cambodia. We saw everything we wanted to see. I experienced everything I wanted to experience. We saw the killing fields, spent a few days on the south coast and its beaches, and of course, went to Siem Reap for a while to explore and admire the temples of Angkor. We were seeing it all with glee. I filled my mind with views of the Mekong River, tried to imprint in my brain the sights, sounds and smells of the markets and knew I would remember forever the Khmer people, constantly smiling, always willing to please even if communicating in English was sometimes challenging for them. The heat, a beer at the end of the day with other foreign tourists or expats, and I fell in love with my idea of Cambodia.
Lucille looked happy at first. We started to settle in our Phnom Penh apartment and felt at home. Quickly, we got into the routine of going to The Elephant Bar every morning to have our coffee, check news and messages on our phones and relax while time stood still, and the Mekong River ran peacefully. Lucille smiled a lot and took beautiful pictures. Her social media following started to grow, and some of her photographs generated some income. Her dream began to take shape.
But eventually, she spent too much time comparing herself with other photographers and was her own harshest critic. Her obsession began to look like an addiction to me. Constantly staring at her phone, liking, hating, and commenting, she was slowly becoming someone else. I wouldn’t say I liked that side of her. We even got into an argument when I confronted her about it.
“You don’t support me!” she yelled. “And look at your online business! You barely made any money! At least I’m doing something!”
