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After the Nepal trip, it felt deeply comforting to come home to Siem Reap, Cambodia. The moment we stepped back into the warm, humid air, it was as if our bodies finally exhaled after weeks of tension at altitude. We returned with new friendships and a new tattoo. A permanent reminder of the life-changing Himalaya experience.

At home, a new mountain was waiting for us to conquer, in a far less adventurous or fun form: piles of stinky, dust-soaked laundry. The smell of the trek clung stubbornly to every piece of clothing, a strange but tangible proof of everything we've been through. It's almost comical how quickly we traded glaciers and prayer flags for humid heat and temples.

We had lunch at one of our go-to restaurants, sitting in the familiar shade, letting the past weeks slowly sink in. Between bites and sips of Cambodian beer, there were long pauses where memories replayed in silence.

Siem Reap always feels unique when we return, but this time it felt even more so. The homey atmosphere, the soft rhythm of daily life, the smiling and friendly people, the colorful markets buzzing with life and chatter. I appreciated it all more. It felt warmer, brighter, more alive after the stark contrast with Nepal. Siem Reap, and by extension Cambodia, has a way of grounding you. After the Himalayas, the Cambodian streets here felt full of life, sound, and color.

The next morning, caffeinated and still slightly jet-lagged in spirit rather than time zone, we went straight back to school. Students were lounging in the garden, chatting, laughing, and greeting us with smiles and nods. That simple normalcy made a wave of relief wash over me. I hadn’t realized how much tension I had been carrying, wondering how everyone would feel and behave after the drastic dropout only a few weeks earlier. Seeing them relaxed and present made the stress slowly fall off my shoulders.

We caught up with the staff and sat down with the caregivers for a meeting. We went over everything that had happened during the holidays: the start of public high school, the first week away from home for the new students, the adjustments, the routines. As the updates unfolded, a quiet sense of reassurance grew in the room. No big surprises. No crises. Everything had unfolded according to plan.

After the meeting, the sun was beginning to set, and the campus felt alive again. Students were having dinner together, while others played football on the field, their laughter echoing across the grounds. The atmosphere was calm, steady, and filled with good energy, the complete opposite of the chaos we had just come from.

During my birthday weekend, there was no real celebration, only the kind of work that cannot wait. We stayed in close contact with international partner organizations, shared updates with our bosses, finalized paperwork, refined curriculum goals for the coming academic year, and reviewed the budget at the start of the school cycle. It was intense, necessary work, and by the end of the day our minds felt completely and utterly fried.

That evening, when our brains could no longer process another email or spreadsheet, we finally allowed ourselves a small reward: dinner at my favorite pizza place in Siem Reap, Lost City Pizza Society. The smell of stone-oven baked pizza, the clinking of cold beers, and the relaxed chatter around us felt almost luxurious after weeks of teahouses and survival mode. It was simple, grounding, and exactly what my heart needed after a long Saturday of work.

Back home, we sank into the couch and played on the Nintendo Switch, laughing our way through a few rounds of Super Mario Bros. No altitude, no deadlines for flights, no landslides. Just familiar sounds, soft lights, and the quiet comfort of routine.

And for the first time since leaving for the mountains, we went to bed not out of exhaustion, but out of peace.