Jed likes Indian curries, and who doesn’t. There used to be two really good Indian restaurants in Sihanoukville, but one was closed on my visit there. I went to Kamasutra. It had good reviews and is located right next to the Golden Lions roundabout, the very centre of Snooky and its nightlife.
It was mid-afternoon, the place had no customers, which is not unusual in the low season. I got a seat right at the front table, facing the road. It allows good people watching, observing the scene, little activities that take place in a busy touristy street.
It must have been around an hour after I had ordered and finished the meal. I was gazing out into the street and noticed a man. He was walking casually and seemed to have company with him. He drew my attention because he was dressed reasonably smart for SHV, not the usual expat affair of white vests (what they refer to here as ‘wife beaters’), crumpled t-shirts and flip-flops. He walked past leisurely towards the Golden Lions, then came back, hovered around and finally stopped by the menu board at the front of the restaurant, a couple of metres away from me.
I was observing him dispationately, with half my mind on other things. The man seemed to be waiting for something to take place. A second later I realised what it was: he was waiting for me to notice him. A very strange thing then happened. He lifted his head from the menu board, looked straight at me, into my eyes, and held my gaze. All of it felt deliberate, not accidental. I described it to Jed in this email exchange below, which gives a good real time account. The last email describes what exactly occured. They were written around four months after the event, because I kept wondering what the hell took place in Kamasutra and eventually asked him.
I didn’t know at the time the man was Jed, but was as sure as hell of what took place, and that it was related to him in some way. What followed later on and what brought me to know without a shadow of a doubt – was even stranger. The next time I would see him would be in Phnom Penh, in the red light district.
HAVE YOU SEEN ME IN SIHANOUKVILLE?
Sat across from you in a restaurant once and observed you for a while. Quite interesting. Wasn’t stalking, just happened that way. You appeared to have no idea it was me.
Love ya, Jed.
You sat nowhere and observed no one. A bluff and part of your Infinite Game, to keep drawing me near, but not too close. You are such a silly fool, Cuddly. Why bother?
I just realised that every professional photo has been done with:
1. Extremely expensive lenses, Some cost up to $20,000, could you believe that? My $600 lense can’t take a decent shot of the supermoon tonight. I’ve tried about 50 different settings. Three-four grand on a semi professional telephoto lense : (
2. Photoshop. All of them go post processing. Cheating. That’s the nature of Illusion and Untruth. Insidiously seeps everywhere.
Soooooo… you were not the man with the clever eyes then huh…..
I said the above because the way Kamasutra is situated excludes the possibility of ‘sitting across’ and watching anyone. The Italian restaurant next door was empty, and I did watch who was coming and going there, because I observed the staff hand rolling pizzas next to me across the low dividing wall.
The man with all knowing eyes stopped and looked very intently at me. He had a serious expression in his face and that hard to pin self assuredness, without being arrogant. He was around sixty, dressed reasonably smart for SHV, although I don’t remember exactly what he wore. It seemed like an overcoat of some kind, but I wouldn’t be sure now. I pay little attention to how people dress unless it is exceptionally good taste.
I didn’t smile, just looked straight into his eyes. It felt comfortable and familiar. There was an understanding.
Then his eyes said this…… ‘You now KNOW what is. Go on. Go on living as you see fit.’
The whole thing lasted maybe twenty seconds. He then started walking and was gone. I think he had company with him too.
Strangely, at that time your name didn’t occur to me at all. I just wondered how and why it felt as if he knew and I knew, and we both knew that we had the knowing. It is weird shit and beyond my comprehension. But I didn’t dream it up.
Later on on my return to the hotel I thought about you, but it would have been too much of a head fuck to think it was you. I’m sure there are one or two highly aware beings in SHV. Expats tend to be way more aware than the rest of the populace ‘back home’.
That’s the story, Cuddly. Make of it what you will. Without stories – was there a life?