Kiri Nyan

The jasmine vines tangled above the café’s patio, offering shade from Phnom Penh’s relentless sun. As I flipped through the menu, two waitresses approached with shy but eager smiles. “We know your videos,” one said. “We all watch them.”

This happens often now, but it still surprises me. At 27, I’ve grown used to being recognized as the woman who speaks openly about sex, consent, and equality. What I didn’t expect, when I started uploading videos to my YouTube channel seven years ago, was just how much it would change my life—and how much backlash would come with it.

Phnom Penh is my home, yet it doesn’t always feel safe. A journalist I once trusted published my address after an interview, turning my apartment into a target. Now, I avoid meeting anyone there. I keep my guard up, even in public.

Still, the work keeps me going. Cambodia is a place where silence surrounds anything related to sex. Parents don’t talk about it. Schools skim over it. Even among friends, it’s often taboo. That silence leaves gaps, and those gaps hurt people. Girls grow up believing their worth is tied to their virginity, that they can’t say no. Boys grow up uncertain and entitled, not knowing how to hear no when it’s said.

I create my videos to change that. In Khmer, I talk about things many people here don’t dare to discuss: contraception, consent, and pleasure. “Sex should feel good for everyone involved,” I say in one video. The response is mixed. For every girl who writes to say she never thought about her rights before, there’s someone else sending a rape threat or calling me a disgrace.

Yet, there’s hope. More young women are speaking out now. When I started, I felt alone. Today, I see others blogging, posting, and sharing their stories, challenging the same toxic ideas. It’s not enough yet, but it’s a beginning.

Phnom Penh, for all its noise and movement, still has its silences. But bit by bit, I see cracks forming. One day, I hope those cracks will let something new grow.