Bedtime stories my dad would recite to us at night painted imagery of his home country, his loving mother and the large family and friends in his small home town by the river. Cambodia was where the river carried my dad, skipping school to swim across the banks. Sketches of his two-story corner home and the palm trees that adorned the water bank would take place with colored pencils on our dining table if we begged dad to draw it out. There were crickets caught and beta fish snatched from shallow rice paddies. I tried to envision the mountains and clouds in the distance. This is how my dad would keep the memory of his childhood alive and also his parents and 5 sisters. As a child, I never understood the sadness in dad's voice, wanting to make it ok. I never realized how detached from loss, his loss, as a kid as I do now as an adult.
I imagined it would be both beautiful and tragic visiting
Kampot, Cambodia. It's been a trip that we as a family would take "one day." I sort of decided the one day was now and I would take the flight and 9 hour bus ride myself. As the bus neared Kampot, I could already smell the durian and my eyes watered, the sleep river town looked just like the stories and sketches. It was rainy and the dimples of the river centered the entire town. Emerald green mountains embraced by fluffy white clouds stood in the distance. I felt immediately at peace in Kampot. Everyone moved slowly and there was a relaxing ambience afloat amongst tourists and locals.
With my dad's help, I wove up and down the streets and found the exact house he grew up in. His talented sketches were accurate and the home is now a market and an up and coming French wine bar. I looked up at the windows and imagine what my dad as a child would peer out to. As the monsoon rains poured, it soaked and cleansed me. As I sat inside my local Cambodian stay and watched the rain pour some more, I began to write creatively and to write poetry, something I've seldom done in the past few years. I realize the connection I had to this town and my dad's joy and sorrow, it was the tapestry of connection with my dad's family. It is their love that lives on in my dad that lives on in me and here I was seeing the actual atmosphere of it all a generation before I was born.
The river so often talked about by my dad where he would throw off his school uniform and swim across the bank.
Dad's childhood home that housed him, his parents, 5 sisters and their children.
Traversing a little rainy alley way leading to my AirBnB stay.
French influence is seen and felt like the terrace of this cafe.
My lovely AirBnB place which is nestled among local houses. So I awoke to roosters, clanging, breakfast making at 6am - loved it!
