Waiting for my ice coffee at a market somewhere in Cambodia… two men on a motorbike pass by, in between them a crocodile, head in a rice bag, tail waving in the wind… a soldier with his AK47 on his bag spoting my ink, nearly drives into a food stall, everyone laughing, not because of the AK47… and finally I forget my change – who hinks about change when it comes to crocodiles and soldiers – and the seller is chasing after me to hand over. This is my Cambodia. I hope it will survive me.

On same days, at night, when roads turn into blades, crossing at junctions into a Cambodian version of Russian roulette, when I shouldn´t steer any vehicle anymore, when I ride home on my loyal not scarless motorbike, only in my head visions of accidents taking place, real time, or just what will happen turning around the handlebars now, hearing the plastic cracking, metal clawing into the tarseal, my flesh skinned down to battered bones – and I drive faster to feel more comfortable.

We are all humans.
And neither we are.
We are less than who we are but more than who we created to be.
We will never be.
Always stay behind.
Behind of us.
Waiting for the big man.
The big breakthrough justifying anything we shed.
We are our only concern.
We are our only concern.