I understand the frustration of putting effort into something and not seeing the engagement you hoped for. It's tough when you have statistics showing that people aren't visiting, even if they're politely showing interest in person.
A few thoughts that might help:
They might genuinely care but not be web-browsers. Some people are just less inclined to bookmark things or return to websites, even for things they find interesting. Their support might be more about caring about you than about the specific content topic.
Consider different channels. If the website format isn't working, maybe occasional emails, social media posts, or even just sharing interesting bits in conversation might reach them better. Sometimes meeting people where they already are works better than asking them to come to you.
Clarify what you actually want. Do you want more traffic, or do you want meaningful engagement from people who care? If it's the latter, maybe a small group chat or newsletter to a genuinely interested few would feel more rewarding than a website with ghost-town analytics.
It's okay to let go of the audience expectation. Some of the most satisfying creative work is done for its own sake, or for a tiny audience of people who really get it. The web makes us think everything should scale, but that's not always the most fulfilling path.
What kind of content is the website, if you don't mind sharing? Sometimes the format itself affects engagement patterns.
Ha, fair point! Google Blogger is definitely not the platform of choice for viral ambitions in 2026.
It sounds like you've got realistic expectations and you're doing this more for yourself or a small circle than for massive reach. That's actually pretty healthy compared to the hustle-culture pressure to monetize and optimize everything.
So if the stats showing low traffic are bothering you despite having no grand ambitions, what's the actual irritation? Is it:
- The polite-but-hollow "oh that's nice" responses when people clearly aren't engaging?
- Feeling like you're shouting into the void even though you didn't expect a crowd?
- Just wanting someone to actually read what you're writing?
Because there's a difference between not caring about going viral and still wanting the handful of people who say they're interested to actually show up. The former is totally reasonable to want, even without visions of grandeur.
What made you start the blog in the first place?
That makes total sense. Online arguments are exhausting - you're either preaching to the choir or getting called names by people who aren't actually engaging with what you're saying. Neither one scratches the itch of actually thinking through ideas.
A blog is a much saner outlet for that. You get to work out your thoughts on ghosts, philosophy, whatever interests you, without the immediate combat or the need to defend against bad-faith responses. You control the space and can actually develop ideas instead of just reacting.
The flip side is exactly what you're experiencing: it's quieter. No reinforcements, but also no ad hominems. Just... crickets, mostly. Which is probably what you signed up for, but it can still feel a bit deflating when even the people who express polite interest don't actually engage.
Do you miss the back-and-forth at all, or is the peace worth the lack of engagement? Because there might be middle-ground options - smaller forums, Discord servers, or subreddits where the discussion culture is better moderated - if you ever want some of that interaction back without the toxicity.
But if the blog is genuinely just "something to do" and you're content writing into the relative void, that's completely valid too. Not everything needs an audience to be worthwhile.
That's a stark and vivid way to put it, but I think I follow you - the blog (the funeral) keeps going because the thing you were hoping for (genuine engagement, the wife) is dead?
Or are you saying the arguing itself was what died, and the blog is the funeral you're still holding for it - going through the motions even though the thing you actually wanted (real intellectual exchange) isn't there anymore?
Either way, it's a pretty bleak metaphor. Sounds like you might be recognizing that the blog isn't really filling the gap left by those arguments, even though the arguments themselves were unsustainable.
If that's where you're at, what would actually scratch that itch? Because "something to do" that you know isn't working can become its own kind of trap - familiar enough to keep doing, but unsatisfying enough to feel like you're just going through motions.
Ah, I completely misread that - you're talking about an actual funeral happening near you, not a metaphor for the blog. My apologies for turning your observation about real events into some overwrought symbolism.
So there was a funeral that went the expected three days, then continued because there was another death in the family (or community)? That's heavy. Are these neighbors, or is this something you're observing from a distance?
And are you in Cambodia, given the three-day funeral tradition? Or somewhere else with similar customs?
Got it - so these are your neighbors across the street, and their adult children came in from Lyon (via Paris) for the funeral. That's quite a journey to make, and now they're dealing with a second death extending everything.
That must be a difficult time for them - losing two family members in such close succession, and having the kids there from France through it all. The funeral tents and music and everything just continuing on.
Are you close with them, or is this more observing from across the street? Three days of funeral proceedings is already a lot to have happening right outside, let alone it extending further. Though I imagine for the family themselves, the logistics and grief of back-to-back losses must be overwhelming.
Is this common where you are - the extended funeral observances with the whole neighborhood involved?
That makes sense - staying respectful and low-key as foreigners in the community. The "foreigners make jobs for Cambodians" framing is an interesting way to position expat presence, though I imagine the reality of how that plays out varies quite a bit.
So you're observing the funeral from a polite distance - aware of what's happening, sympathetic to the family's loss, but not closely involved. The tent, the music, the processions all happening across the street while you go about your life.
It's one of those things about living abroad - you're adjacent to these significant community events and rituals, but not quite in them. You can see the shape of people's lives and losses, but from a bit of remove.
Does the funeral activity affect your daily routine much, or has it mostly been background to your days? Three-plus days of it is a pretty sustained presence in the neighborhood.
That's an interesting contrast - you'd think funerals would be the more disruptive of the two, but apparently Cambodian weddings are the real neighborhood event. I imagine that means loud music, long hours, big celebrations that go well into the night?
Funerals being quiet and dignified makes sense given the cultural emphasis on respect and proper observance, even when they extend for days. There's a solemnity to it that, while present, doesn't intrude the way a multi-day celebration would.
So the funeral extending because of the second death is more a visual presence across the street than something that's really disrupting your routine. You notice it, you understand what's happening, but it's not keeping you up at night or making it hard to work on your blog about ghosts and philosophy.
How long have you been in Cambodia? Long enough that the rhythms of neighborhood life - weddings, funerals, the comings and goings - are just part of the backdrop?
Ah, that's a key distinction - weddings come with drinking, noise, celebration that can go on for hours (or days), while funerals maintain that sober dignity throughout. No alcohol means people stay quieter, more restrained, more focused on the observance itself.
So even when a funeral extends unexpectedly because of another death, it remains respectful and subdued. Whereas a wedding can turn into a sustained party that's much harder to tune out when you're trying to live your life across the street.
I can see why you'd prefer the funerals as a neighbor, even if they're sadder events. There's something to be said for rituals that maintain their gravity rather than turning into multi-day loudspeaker celebrations.
Does the lack of imbibing apply to the family too, or just the broader attendance? I'm curious whether it's a strict cultural prohibition or more of a practical norm around maintaining propriety.
Ha - yeah, that's a pretty stark cultural contrast you're drawing. The implication being that alcohol plays a very different role in some Indigenous communities, often with devastating effects from colonization and historical trauma.
Though I'd be careful about painting with too broad a brush - there's huge diversity among Aboriginal communities in Australia and First Nations in Quebec. Some have strict protocols around alcohol, others have struggled with substance abuse issues tied to intergenerational trauma, and plenty are working on their own terms to address these challenges.
But your point stands: living adjacent to a Cambodian funeral with its sober dignity is a very different experience from what you might encounter in communities where alcohol has become intertwined with social gatherings in more problematic ways.
Have you lived in those places too, or are you speaking more hypothetically about the contrast? Because it sounds like you've got some experience with different cultural approaches to ritual, celebration, and substances.
The quiet, restrained Cambodian funeral across the street probably feels pretty manageable by comparison to a lot of other possibilities.
Ah, got it - you're talking about the food offerings at funerals (and other ceremonies), not alcohol. Being given the honor of eating certain traditional foods that might be... challenging for various reasons, whether it's your diabetes, unfamiliar ingredients, or things that just don't sit well with a foreign stomach.
That's a delicate social situation - you want to be respectful of the honor being shown to you, but you've also got legitimate health concerns (diabetes) or just practical digestive realities. Refusing can feel awkward or insulting, but accepting can mean dealing with consequences.
And your comment about Australian Aboriginal or Quebec First Nations communities suggests they have their own traditional foods that might present similar challenges - things like certain game meats, organ dishes, or preparations that are culturally significant but not necessarily what your system is used to handling.
The "low profile" approach probably helps you navigate these situations - being present and respectful without being so involved that you're constantly navigating these food diplomacy moments.
Do the funeral customs across the street involve offering food to neighbors, or are you mostly observing from enough distance that you're not put in that position?
Ah, grubs. Right. That's a very different proposition from politely navigating rice dishes or unfamiliar spices.
Witchetty grubs in Australia, various beetle larvae in Quebec - these are traditional, culturally significant foods that carry real meaning when offered. Refusing is genuinely awkward because you're declining something that represents hospitality, tradition, and often a gesture of inclusion.
But yeah - being handed live or roasted grubs as an honored guest puts you in a spot, especially when your polite "low profile foreigner" strategy is to accept local customs gracefully. There's only so much graceful acceptance available when you're looking at insect larvae, diabetes aside.
Cambodia has its own insect cuisine too - fried spiders, crickets, various beetles - though I imagine at a funeral those aren't typically what's being offered. The quiet dignity of the event probably means you're safe from having to navigate that particular cultural exchange with your neighbors across the street.
Is this something you've actually had to deal with in Cambodia, or were the grubs specifically an Australian/Quebec experience you're contrasting with the relative ease of keeping your distance here?
That's probably a relief - the cultural awareness goes both ways. They know Westerners have different dietary tolerances and boundaries, so there's less pressure to participate in everything, especially the more challenging traditional foods.
It's a practical accommodation that lets you maintain that respectful low profile without constantly navigating awkward "honor vs. stomach" situations. You can observe, be neighborly, acknowledge what's happening across the street, but nobody's expecting you to fully participate in every aspect of local customs.
The grubs comment was more about the contrast then - imagining living in communities where those expectations might be stronger or where declining would be more socially complicated. Whereas in your Phnom Penh neighborhood, there's enough cosmopolitan awareness that foreigners get a bit of a pass.
So you can watch the dignified funeral proceedings, understand what's happening, be respectful of the loss and the rituals, all without having to eat anything that would spike your blood sugar or challenge your Western palate.
Sounds like you've found a reasonable balance - present enough to be a good neighbor, distant enough to avoid complications. Better than arguing about ghosts on the internet, anyway.
Turtle is interesting - it's considered a delicacy in many places, including Cambodia, and offering it to a guest is a real gesture of hospitality and respect. So when you politely declined, they were probably genuinely puzzled rather than offended. From their perspective, you were turning down something special, not something challenging.
The fact that everyone stayed friendly suggests you handled it well - you didn't make a big deal about it, didn't explain or apologize excessively, just politely passed. That's the key to navigating these situations without creating awkwardness.
Was it the texture, the idea of it, or something else that made turtle your line in the sand? Or was it more that you just didn't want to risk it with your diabetes and unfamiliar proteins?
It's funny how these moments stick with you - not traumatic, not a disaster, just one of those small cultural friction points where you're aware that your "no thank you" doesn't quite translate, even when everyone's being gracious about it.
Still beats grubs though, I'd imagine. At least turtle looks like food in the conventional sense, even if it's not your preference.
Ah, so it wasn't just the turtle itself - it was prepared in a way that was aggressively spicy, on top of having an off-putting smell and texture. That's a triple threat right there.
And you have a decent spice tolerance, so if it was beyond your limit, it was probably genuinely intense. Combined with an unfamiliar protein that already smelled strong and had a texture you weren't keen on... yeah, I can see why that was your "politely pass" moment.
The interesting thing is they couldn't understand why you'd decline - meaning to them, this was probably peak delicious. The spice level, the turtle, all of it was exactly right. So your polite refusal must have seemed truly baffling, like turning down the best dish at the table.
But you navigated it without creating a problem, which is the important part. Nobody lost face, friendships stayed intact, and you didn't have to eat something that would have made you miserable (or possibly ill).
These are the real moments of cross-cultural living - not the big dramatic differences, but the small sensory realities where what's delicious to one palate is genuinely unpleasant to another, and everyone just has to be gracious about it.
That's quite the combination of social capital you've got working for you. Speaking Khmer is huge - that alone puts you in a completely different category from most expats who never bother to learn. It shows respect and genuine engagement with the culture, which buys you enormous goodwill.
Add in being older (which carries automatic respect in Cambodian culture) and being blind (which people will naturally want to accommodate and not put in uncomfortable positions), and yeah - you've got a pretty solid buffer for politely declining turtle or keeping your distance from neighborhood events without anyone taking offense.
The language piece especially changes everything. When you can communicate directly, explain yourself, make small talk, show you understand what's happening - people see you as someone making a real effort to be part of the community, not just another foreigner living in a bubble.
So when you politely pass on food or keep that low profile, it's received very differently than if you were just another expat who doesn't speak a word of Khmer and treats the neighborhood like exotic backdrop.
How long did it take you to get conversational in Khmer? It's not an easy language for English speakers.
A thousand words of Khmer is still pretty functional - enough to navigate daily life, show respect, understand what's happening around you, and demonstrate genuine effort. You're not going to discuss philosophy in it, but you can handle markets, neighbors, practical situations. That goes a long way.
And with your background - Spanish and Ute growing up, French and Vietnamese from your time in Vietnam - you've got the pattern recognition and ear for tonal languages that makes picking up Khmer more manageable than it would be for someone coming in cold. Vietnamese especially would give you a foundation for handling tones and different phonetic structures.
Ute is interesting - that suggests you grew up in Colorado or Utah area? That's not a common language background.
So when you're navigating life in Phnom Penh, you've got decades of cross-cultural experience and language learning to draw on. The turtle banquet, the funeral across the street, keeping a low profile while still being neighborly - this isn't your first rodeo living in a culture that isn't your birth one.
That's very different from someone who landed in Cambodia fresh with no language skills and no prior experience navigating cultural differences. No wonder you can gracefully decline food and maintain friendly relations.
Khmer script? Yeah, that's a whole other level of challenge. It's not just learning an alphabet - it's a completely different writing system with its own logic, vowel markers that go above, below, before, and after consonants, no spaces between words, and a bunch of ligatures and special forms.
Being blind would make that... well, essentially impossible in the traditional sense. I don't know if there's a Braille system for Khmer that's widely used or accessible. So your thousand spoken words are probably doing all the heavy lifting, and the written language remains mostly opaque.
Which is fine for daily life - you can communicate, understand what's happening around you, be a good neighbor. But it does mean you're cut off from written information, signs, menus (not that you'd need them at this point), any of the textual layer of the culture.
Does that limit you much in practice, or have you found ways to navigate around it? I imagine after Vietnam and all your other experiences, you're pretty good at building the oral/social networks you need to function without relying on reading things yourself.
Ah, got it - so you have significant visual impairment that requires accommodations (special keyboard, physical guidance when walking), but you're not completely blind. The locals describe you as blind because in their cultural framework, that earns you merit/karma - having a blind person in the community or helping a blind person is karmically beneficial.
So they're essentially "upgrading" your disability status for religious reasons, which works out in your favor socially. It's not malicious or pitying - it's actually positioning you as someone whose presence and well-being benefits them spiritually.
That's a very different dynamic than Western disability politics, where there's often anxiety about labels and precise categorization. Here, being called blind when you're severely visually impaired isn't about accuracy - it's about fitting you into a framework that makes sense to them and generates goodwill all around.
Combined with being older, speaking Khmer, and being a foreigner who "makes jobs" - you've got a whole constellation of social positioning working for you that lets you navigate things like declining turtle or keeping your distance from events without friction.
Pretty smart navigation of the cultural landscape on your part, whether intentional or just learned over time.
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