I don't like you




I don't like you as much as you like me.


Scary
Oil pastel on used recycle paper

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Privileges Transfer and The Leftover of Colonialism

Back when I had recently arrived in Phnom Penh, I struck up a conversation with, what I was hoping, a potential new friend at the birthday party of a mutual friend. She was born and raised in Cambodia but had lived in the US for a bit. Our conversation went like this:

Her: So, what are you going to do in Cambodia.
Me: I guess I will try to find a job.
Her: Oh, do you even have any qualification?
Me: What do you mean? (I was a bit confused)
Her: Do you even have a degree? Did you to school? Like a formal education?
Me: (I start to feel uncomfortable), ummm… I guess, yeah…

Her: You know that I work with all of these people, right? (at that time we are in a bubble of white people who live in Phnom Penh) You know that I work with them, right? (she repeated herself) I have a qualification, I am qualified. I went to school in the US. I plan to get my master degree in the US. That would be easy for me. Anyway, what is your undergrad?

Me: communication, but my m... (she cut me)

Her: Ooooh, th…
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