Cambodia is a heart breaker. It has always pretty much terrified me to ask about the stories of the children at the orphanage. One is more tear inducing than the next, and the only silver lining comes in knowing they are no longer prisoners in unimaginable situations. The stories are all different but the hurt behind those big beautiful eyes remains the same. We have been working at the CPO orphanage for the last two weeks. This orphanage is just outside the city of Phnom Penh about an hour from where our guest house is. Some of the children come from the trash dumps/slums which are only a two minute walk from the orphanage. We are able to see where their families live, amongst garbage, in a one room shack with old clothing and scrap metal used for walls. This is typically shared with their mother and an average of nine other siblings. A lot of the Mother's are HIV positive and simply cannot feed, clothe and take care of their children.  It is hell on earth, and reminds you of a scene from a movie where the world is ending. Today when we walked the garbage out on a massive cart, I saw four boys about four and five years old standing barefoot in and around a huge dumpster. Yes, a dumpster in the middle of a trash dump, it smells exactly how you think it would. They immediately jumped down and were eating our garbage and picking through the plastic to sell and recycle. That is an image that stays with you.

I decided to further torture myself and ask about the stories of two girls at the orphanage that captured my attention from the first day. They are very different girls, but as hard as they try they both have those eyes that don't go along with their smiles. The orphanage does not have enough money to sustain itself every month by donations alone. They are able to make some of the money they need each month by putting on performances that involve traditional Khmer music and dance. They perform at Weddings and Birthdays and are able to pay for their electricity bill and food with the extra money. They are incredibly talented. I watched in awe as they showed us their performance on the first day and had tears in my eyes while my attention was glued to one little girl. She was so poised, graceful, and with so much emotion behind her subdued smile. Her name is Srey Neath and she is 9 year's old. I talked to her today with the help of our translator, because I had to know. We sat outside in the tuk-tuk as she told me about the last time she saw her mother, almost one year ago. Her mother lives 40 minutes away and works at a garment factory. I don't know what would be worse, losing your parents completely or knowing one is that close and never comes to see you. As the story unfolds the mystery surrounding her begins to unravel. Her mother was a violent alcoholic who drove her father away. Srey Neath would get beaten when her mother came home from work and the rice wasn't cooked correctly, at the time, she was six years old. Her Mother would also cut herself in front of Srey Neath when she was drunk and couldn't handle her own pain anymore. Srey Neath would have to walk to the pharmacy to get a nurse and always feared her mother would bleed to death. This was her daily life up until two years ago when she came to the orphanage. Her mother told Srey Neath that she doesn't want her back until she is old enough to work and contribute to the household expenses. When I see her sitting next to me and hear her say that she used to miss her mom but does not anymore, I want to drive to the garment factory and, well.....

As the student volunteers were inside the orphanage cleaning every crevice from the kid's butt's to the kitchen, I sat down with the another girl, Raksmey. She holds on a little tighter than the rest, with a smile that could stop traffic. Something didn't seem right with her and so I finally got my chance and we began to talk. Children are raised in Cambodia to not cry, emotion is rarely shown and parents never tell their children they love them. As I watched the tears roll down her face and felt my own fall just as hard, that was all out the window. She is 13 years old, is in the 3rd grade and has only been at the orphanage since January. My translator tells me that Raksmey will probably drop out of school soon because when they are so far behind in the class with much younger students, they get picked on to the point where they quit school. She has made it through worse, which gives me a little hope that she will stick with it. She shares her story of watching her mother being abused every day, in front of her, by her own father and how he would then often come after her. Her mother would do her best to protect her by throwing herself on top of her, but it didn't always work. She was always just trying to survive every day by trying to become invisible to her father. Her parents finally divorced when she was 9 and she sobs harder when she says she can't even remember her father's face. Her mother took a job in Malaysia in January and had to leave Raksmey behind because they had no money. She left no phone number or way to be contacted, this is what hurts her the most. She misses her mother and knows that the likelihood of her ever coming back for her is slim. We held on to each other until the moment I got into the tuk-tuk to leave, I didn't want to leave her. When I think about what I was dealing with at 13 year's old and the problems I thought I had way back then.....

These are just two of the 40 kids that live at this orphanage, but all I could handle for one day. No matter how hard these stories are to hear and then write about, I feel they are important to tell. The circumstances we were born into are never our choice but how these children are still able to trust, love and even simply just smile, inspires me every moment that I am here.