I was born the youngest of seven brothers. I was born at a time when the world of Laos was falling apart. Bombs fell from the sky. Earth shattered beneath our feet. The cries of battle resounded from the lowest valleys to the highest mountain tops. We survived only because of each other.
On the other side of the Mekong River, hungry now for a home buried in ashes, we nursed our families back to life bit by bit with our memories of togetherness, our shared visions of a united future on the other side of the world.
We dreamt of a time when our sons and our daughters might rise from the craters of our despair. We had learned that homes built of sticks and stones would fall in an unsteady world. We each endeavoured to raise our children in houses made instead of hope.
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