Forget Me Not
“Make me beautiful, I’m going clubbing”, I walked into a beauty salon on Soksan rd at 10 PM, and was proposed a full face makeup and a manicure for 10$. I complied. I sat down, eyes closed as one girl applied some concealer to my face and another chipped away the rough edges of my nails. A few customers were staring at themselves at the mirror. One told me about her boyfriend from Paris while others giggled and chatted in Khmer, still observing their transformation.
Walking out a different looking person, I headed out to Pub street, a new tourist strip that turned into a loud, hungry monster at night. Flashing lights, thumping music and cheap booze rendered conversations senseless. On the backdrop of artificial colors, women presented themselves, all dolled up, willing to laugh and yearning to be touched, promising to make the night a bit less forgettable for visitors. But memories and words are often traitorous, images no less disloyal.
Walking out a different looking person, I headed out to Pub street, a new tourist strip that turned into a loud, hungry monster at night. Flashing lights, thumping music and cheap booze rendered conversations senseless. On the backdrop of artificial colors, women presented themselves, all dolled up, willing to laugh and yearning to be touched, promising to make the night a bit less forgettable for visitors. But memories and words are often traitorous, images no less disloyal.