A long weekend

After going through the lawyer’s long list of demands, and receiving very little help afterward, Kiki and I realized we would have to handle almost everything ourselves. What followed was a rollercoaster that, looking back, stretched on for months. But at the time, there was a constant sense of urgency. Everything seemed to carry the same message: this has to be finished this weekend… today… tonight.

That constant pressure kept us on edge, always hovering somewhere near burnout.

The Saturday after the lawyer’s visit, we arrived at school early in the morning. We had already worked through most of the night before, trying to understand the legal requirements and how to turn them into something practical. My brain still felt foggy from too little sleep.

School life, however, continues regardless of exhaustion. We met with the caregivers first, sitting together in the staff room while the fans slowly pushed warm air around the space. We reviewed the graduation ceremony that will take place tonight. Lunch was ordered at school, the smell of fried rice drifting through the building as students passed outside.

Right after lunch, we had another important meeting with several teachers we wanted to invite onto the board. Looking back now, I feel incredibly proud of that moment. All of them said yes. What we created that day was something special, an all-female, all-Cambodian board made up entirely of alumni students. Women who grew up with the organization and who truly understand it. They live and breathe Kulen Outreach.

Later that afternoon, the lawyer’s assistant arrived. We were relieved to see him walk through the gate. Finally, we thought, someone who can guide us through all this. We were ready: documents prepared, people gathered, the future board members present and ready to sign.

That hope disappeared almost immediately when he stepped into the staff room.

It quickly became clear he hadn’t prepared anything. First, he started explaining the legal structure we had supposedly discussed with his boss. Except… it wasn’t the same structure at all. The explanation was completely different, leaving everyone in the room confused. Then came the second surprise: he hadn’t brought the documents we needed to sign.

Not a single one.

The meeting dragged on for more than three hours. The air in the room grew thick and heavy, the ceiling fans doing little to cool anyone down. Most of the time, he talked about himself. His experience, his knowledge, his life in the capital, while giving explanations that seemed to contradict themselves every few minutes.

Inside, I was fuming. It took everything to keep a neutral expression on my face.

When the meeting finally ended, we had absolutely nothing to show for it. No signed documents. No clarity. Just more confusion.

We called our boss right after to give an update. Then, almost without pause, we had to shift gears completely.

The graduation ceremony was about to begin.

Students gathered together, dressed neatly, and the graduates sat proudly in the central area. One by one, people stepped forward to speak. Kiki and I gave our speeches, the caregivers spoke, and then several alumni students stood up to share their stories.

That’s when the emotions hit.

They spoke about growing up in rural Cambodia, on Kulen Mountain. About poverty, about long walks to school, about the moments when continuing their education seemed impossible, shared trauma. As they talked, their voices started to shake. Tears rolled down their faces.

And then the students listening began to cry too.

Because they recognized themselves in those stories.

It was one of those moments where emotions ripple through a room. Sad tears, proud tears, hopeful tears. Some students wiping their faces while smiling at the same time.

After the speeches, we handed out certificates, t-shirts, and tote bags. Soon, the mood shifted again. Students grabbed markers and began signing each other’s shirts, laughing and posing for pictures. At the end of the ceremony, someone turned up the speakers and blasted Khmer pop songs. Within seconds, the courtyard turned into a dance floor.

Kiki and I watched for a moment, smiling at the chaos, before quietly slipping away. Unfortunately, we had to leave the celebration behind. Our landlord had invited us for dinner, and we couldn’t be late. We had an important question to ask her related to the registration of the school as a local NGO. Sad to miss this milestone, but incredibly proud of our students.

At home, we quickly grabbed a gift we had prepared: Tomatoes and Tomorrow, a book we hoped might inspire our landlady to support the new structure of the school. The idea was to talk to her privately about possibly becoming part of the organization.

When we arrived, we were surprised to see another guest sitting at the table. So much for a quiet conversation.

Still, the dinner turned out lovely. The table was full, the smell of home-cooked food filling the room. We talked about our recent trip to Nepal, about flights, travel stories, and small things. Then, unexpectedly, our landlady brought up the subject herself.

She mentioned hearing good news about the school.

It was the opening we needed.

Carefully, we shifted the conversation toward the organization and explained the new structure we were building to register the school as a local NGO. We asked if she would consider being part of it.

Namh listened thoughtfully but didn’t give an immediate answer. She said she needed time to think about it and would get back to us.

By the time we got home that night, exhaustion had completely taken over. The house was quiet, the air still warm from the day. We barely had the energy to say goodnight before collapsing into bed.

The next day, after a good night's sleep, we woke up with a message from Namh. She has too much on her plate already to take on the responsibility. We understood, but this meant we were back at square one.

We updated our boss and scheduled a meeting with Sreimom, a close friend of ours, to ask her if she wants to take on the responsibility. Continued on some paperwork and took the evening for ourselves.

We went to the movie theater and watched Wicked.