Hung proudly in her front living room was a photo of Botum, a photo of her as a child taken at the camp where she was born, before she had migrated to the United States.
She had her first breaths in a Thai work camp, a kind of transition point between Cambodia and America.
Upstairs, her youngest daughter, Arunnyi making various noises, readying herself for school.
“We’re leaving in a few minutes,” she called out to Arunnyi.
Today was a big day for Botum. A presentation at the county about homelessness. She was a little nervous but kept the faith.
She always felt a need to make it, a need to impress and to influence. She carried a kind of insecurity with her, a need to be known and important in a new place, although she did it beautifully. It was baggage she carried that she didn’t even know she had.
“I’m off to work and taking Arunnyi to school,” she told her father, “and I’ve prepared a curry and some rice”
“Did you make extra rice?” her father asked in a worried tone.
“Yes, always, pa.”
She knew this was something special to him. Upon leaving Cambodia, one of his main worries was whether there would be enough rice in America.
At some point, though, he and the family resolved that “even if there wasn’t, we would find something else to eat.”
Botum’s mother had passed some time ago, and her father relied on Botum. She accepted the role but sometimes resented the feeling of obligation. And yet, mothering her father always felt so natural.
She placed all of the items on a plate for him, kissed him on the forehead and gathered her bags.
“It’s time to go, dear,” she gently called upstairs.
“Coming,” her daughter said.
In rapid fashion, Arunnyi flew down the stairs, barely keeping holding of her things and the red bow on her head as she went down.
As quickly as it had been opened, the door closed, and the day began.
Bearer of Pity 