Dave had told me a few times in the preceding weeks that he couldn’t find the flight I had booked, and so he’d bought a ticket with the same airline leaving a few hours earlier.  I put it down to one of the great mysteries of travel arrangements and used the extra few hours to visit the gents at Justees – a social enterprise that provides employment and mentoring for at-risk youth and folks in recovery from addiction in one of the slum areas of Phnom Penh.  Great guys, great program.

Turns out my airline had cancelled the flight and shifted me to an earlier time – the flight Dave was on. They had told me a month or so earlier, but I had forgotten to print the updated ticket.  With no more flights available that night, I re-booked for the morning, and arranged a six-hour taxi ride for the next day – the change of flights meant I would miss my connecting flight to the north of Thailand.  It was a beautiful drive, particularly the last hour or so as we climbed into the mountainous areas.  I arrived five hours later than planned and had a quick chat with my friend before walking a short way up the hill to the Bible College for a Christmas service. They had held off starting for a few hours until I arrived. I’m not sure we’d be that hospitable back home in Freo.

We didn’t stay in that place for long – a whole 72 hours or so, and 72 hours is too short a time to draw any firm conclusions.  But we heard a lot of stories about the challenges and difficult decisions Karen people fleeing conflict in Myanmar have to make.  They have the choice of living in the refugee camps in Thailand and hope for resettlement (5, 10 years? never?) or live a risky but freer existence outside the refugee camp with no rights and an ever-present threat of arrest or trumped up fines.  The contrast between the choices available to me and my friend couldn’t be more stark.  He shared stories about the tenuous existence his people have wedged between the ever-present danger in Myanmar and living as undocumented migrants in Thailand.  I found myself angry, unsettled and ashamed that Australia has largely forgotten and passed over a terrible injustice so close to home.  The folks I met nodded quietly when I apologised for this – they’re keenly aware of this reality and feel that the world has forgotten their plight.

Yet the hard stories I heard were peppered with profoundly beautiful moments.  A sunset over the Myanmar mountain range just across the border.  The singing – I am on the spectrum of Christmas grinchs, but the voices of the Bible College students transformed those Christmas carols from something I detest to wanting more.  We enjoyed a delicious Thai barbeque picnic under the stars while the students sang and danced – hilarious moves by one of the more serious faculty will remain etched in all our minds.  We were serenaded the following night at the front door by a dozen young people armed with a guitar and beautiful harmonies.  I may have even worn a Christmas hat at one point.

As we boarded the flight home I got thinking about the contrast between hard stories and profound beauty we’d experienced.  I have trouble reconciling them in my mind, but my sense wasn’t that the singing and fun were some sort of glossing over the difficult.  It didn’t feel like they were trying to shout down the difficulties or escape for a while – at least it didn’t seem that way.  I’ve heard somewhere that 72 hours is never enough time to draw hard conclusions. But it felt different.  Like they could somehow weep and dance at the same time, feel oppressed or overwhelmed and sing up-lifting songs at the top of their lungs. They could look their situation in the eye while telling jokes and belly-laughing.

I tend to gravitate towards one or the other. I drown in cynicism or seek out chocolate and pop music in hopes of being bouyed by sugar rushes and uplifting chord progressions.  These folks seemed able to stand a middle ground and hold beauty and the beast at the same time. 

I’d like to develop that ability.

p.s. I’ve not shared my friend’s name or the specific location we visited for his safety.