The Death of Things

My computer died recently. I know that it was old, that it was bound to break down sometime, and that I should not have grieved for it as much as I did. But I did. The VSO volunteer from India who is now working in Angkor Chum briefly asked me if I was going to have a funeral for the thing when I went over to her house for dinner the other night. As tempting as it was to have some sort of ceremony for it, I did not do such a thing. I will miss it. It was like a typewriter that sang to me, and happened to remember all the photos that I took. It will be remembered as an addition to the list of things that have broken down completely or have been ruined since I arrived in this country: at least three pairs of pants, socks, t-shirts (Cambodian t-shirts last much longer than I expected them to) an wind up radio, the ipod, one large mosquito net (eaten by mice), two metal water bottles, some degree of sanity, as well as countless food items eaten by ants. Volunteers often gripe about how nothing lasts in this country, and it is really true. This is especially poignant for clothes. No matter how much you scrub the sweat stains out of your shirts they are still going to be there. Of course, you can then replace shirts with others you find in the market. Pants are a little harder. You have to get them tailored in the market, and there is no telling how long it will be before they start to come apart. Nothing lasts.