Quiet.

My grandfather died this morning.

This nightmare started on Sunday when my mom told me that they were going to stop the life-support soon. I was in shock for the first day, trying to figure out how I could visit China for a week and then return to Cam. The attempt of the details became too complicated, too expensive. In the second of many more Skpe phone calls that followed, the reality of there being a funeral became so painful, hardly bearable at all. I cried all morning. Then it became certain that I was to leave Cam early, go to China and fly back to LA with my mom after the funeral. Sorrow consumed me. I mourned the sacrifice of my last month in Cambodia, I mourned the imminent death of my beautiful, beloved grandfather.

I am only three hours from China, how could I not go? There was no way I was going to miss this. I made arrangements for photos to be taken for my visa application, I got on another 4-hour bus back to Phnom Penh for the second time in two weeks. I cycled all the way across the city to the Chinese Embassy, presented myself in the strongest, clearest Mandarin I have ever spoken and I was rejected.

It is now only becoming publicized that in light of the Olympics, recent protesting and standard international practice to increase all security measures, China has become much more selective about how anyone is to be granted permission to enter into the country. There is no way you can be issued a visa outside of your home country. Of course, you won't find an actual notice anywhere in their embassy - at least not for little Kampuchea. You have to find a random article online to confirm the stories of every foreigner in this country. I even called earlier in the week, asking in English and Chinese, if I would be able to get a visa and all they said was for me to come apply. The only chance that I could have had was if I have residency here but my Cam visa is only good for a few more weeks.

I stood in the embassy, growing red in frustration and defeat. After a long, death-defying bike ride back to my side of the city, I found the closest internet place and called my parents. Before I could even share with them my difficult morning, I was told my grandfather passed away.

It is hard to communicate the mound of emotions I have been feeling all day since then. After a few hours of initial rage and disappointment, I was offered with the suggestion of going to the US Embassy. So back on the bike I went, up and down the city, relying on an outdated map only to be told after circling around the same streets that the embassy had moved back to the other side of Phnom Penh. Great. When I finally found it, I had to go through tight security and a 30 minute wait to be seen by an American Consular. Not only was she cold and unsympathetic toward my situation, she sent me away with no hope. I suppose it was naive of me to think that my country would want to help me. Naive to think that the US Embassy in Cambodia would actually be working for me, fighting for me. Naive to think the American government could pull diplomacy ranking for little me. But, I had to exhaust every last option. I want to go China more than anything, more than ever, and I can't.

There's a slight chance I might be approved in Hong Kong if I do an in-land application. But it's slight and the process is extensive - lots of documentation, interviews, possibly extended over a period of days. To attempt this with what flights are available in the next week, I would have to either fly out on Monday (leaving Cam even more abruptly than I originally thought) or on Thursday, a mere two days before the funeral is scheduled. The morgue can only hold the body for a week. Even in death, there are still rules, guidelines.

I'm exhausted. I remain in Phnom Penh for the night, anxious to return in the morning to the home I've built for the past four months. I wait to find out if my dad will be approved for his visa tomorrow. If both of my parents go, they will want me to go home early and take care of my dad's father and my two brothers. The stress of traveling, the devastation of death - enough to overwhelm you without having to worry about the safety of your children at home. And parents, you know they worry.

For now, in this moment, I have no answers, no decisions. I've retreated for the night. Surrendered. Night is upon Phnom Penh now, clouds gathered, thunder roaring and sporadic lightening giving warning to its imminent storm. But the humidity remains ever present, reminding me of the fact that I am in still in Asia, reminding me of my distance.

Though I am around Khmer people and local expatriates that I have built a repoire with, I am here alone. Eyes tired, the weight of a somber face hang down on me. I am sad and quiet.