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Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
"I just want you to be your own. Because you’re like a bird, you know? I put you in here. You need to fly. But how do you fly? "
This is the story of Daravy, her daughter, and her granddaughter Dany.
Dany's mom remembers the war like it was yesterday. She was just a young girl when her family was forced to flee their home in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge regime. She was separated from her parents and placed in a labor camp, where she worked in the rice fields and searched for food to survive. “I would try to find anything—whatever I could—to bring to my mom. I’d put it in my pocket, even if it was something from the swamp.”
Daravy also describes the intense experience in detail: “I remember running behind trees at night, bullets flying, people dying left and right.” She talked about giving up a gold necklace in exchange for farmer’s clothes to disguise herself—“to look more like a real farmer so they don’t pay attention.”
Despite these beginnings, Daravy fought hard to build a different future. She had been adopted as a young girl by her aunt and uncle, who raised her in Phnom Penh so she could get an education. “I had to go,” she said. “If I stayed, I would have had no school. The culture was strict. The village had nothing.”
She worked hard, even when it meant feeling invisible in her adoptive family. “No one hugged me,” she remembered. “I used incense to read in the dark because my sisters wouldn’t let me keep the light on.” But she was relentless—copying full books by hand, studying math, and earning recognition at school despite the emotional weight she carried. After escaping Cambodia, she eventually made it to the U.S. with her three children. She was the backbone of the family, working for Shell in Cambodia before resettling and restarting her life.
Her daughter, reflecting on her own journey, said, “My mom is amazing. She’s the breadwinner, the matriarch, the strongest woman I know. Because of her, I had strength.” She shared how her mother always emphasized education. “I always tell my children and grandchildren, don’t worry about being hungry in America. Here, they help you. But you have to go to school. Education is everything.”
For Dany, the granddaughter, hearing her mother’s and grandmother’s stories has taken on new meaning since becoming a mother herself. “I didn’t know how much of a blessing just being here was until I had my own children,” she said. “To see them with my grandparents, to watch them speak Khmer, eat Khmer food, go to temple… that’s powerful.” What she hopes to pass on is not just cultural memory, but a way of being in the world: “We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams. I want my children to create with their hands, their hearts, and their heads. To tap into our lineage and know that they can bring anything to life with intention.” Her son Apollo, now eight, learns how to make bamboo swords with his great-grandmother. He builds fairy houses and makes his own “Nintendo” from poster boards. “He craves this natural way of building life,” Dany says. “And that’s what we want—for them to carry the wisdom and grounding of our family’s past into whatever future they create.”
For all three women, storytelling has become a bridge between trauma and healing, and between generations. This is the story of a loving and resilient family, and it's their history. They are shaped by this experience, and they are proud to carry all that comes along with it.
WE ARE GENERATIONS.
WE ARE GENERATIONS.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
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"I just want you to be your own. Because I look like a bird, you know? I put you in here. You need to fly. But how do you fly? You have to have education."
This is the story of Daravy, her daughter, and her granddaughter Dany.
Dany's mom remembers the war like it was yesterday. She was just a young girl when her family was forced to flee their home in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge regime. She was separated from her parents and placed in a labor camp, where she worked in the rice fields and searched for food to survive. “I would try to find anything—whatever I could—to bring to my mom. I’d put it in my pocket, even if it was something from the swamp.”
Daravy also describes the intense experience in detail: “I remember running behind trees at night, bullets flying, people dying left and right.” She talked about giving up a gold necklace in exchange for farmer’s clothes to disguise herself—“to look more like a real farmer so they don’t pay attention.”
Despite these beginnings, Daravy fought hard to build a different future. She had been adopted as a young girl by her aunt and uncle, who raised her in Phnom Penh so she could get an education. “I had to go,” she said. “If I stayed, I would have had no school. The culture was strict. The village had nothing.”
She worked hard, even when it meant feeling invisible in her adoptive family. “No one hugged me,” she remembered. “I used incense to read in the dark because my sisters wouldn’t let me keep the light on.” But she was relentless—copying full books by hand, studying math, and earning recognition at school despite the emotional weight she carried. After escaping Cambodia, she eventually made it to the U.S. with her three children. She was the backbone of the family, working for Shell in Cambodia before resettling and restarting her life.
Her daughter, reflecting on her own journey, said, “My mom is amazing. She’s the breadwinner, the matriarch, the strongest woman I know. Because of her, I had strength.” She shared how her mother always emphasized education. “I always tell my children and grandchildren, don’t worry about being hungry in America. Here, they help you. But you have to go to school. Education is everything.”
For Dany, the granddaughter, hearing her mother’s and grandmother’s stories has taken on new meaning since becoming a mother herself. “I didn’t know how much of a blessing just being here was until I had my own children,” she said. “To see them with my grandparents, to watch them speak Khmer, eat Khmer food, go to temple… that’s powerful.” What she hopes to pass on is not just cultural memory, but a way of being in the world: “We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams. I want my children to create with their hands, their hearts, and their heads. To tap into our lineage and know that they can bring anything to life with intention.” Her son Apollo, now eight, learns how to make bamboo swords with his great-grandmother. He builds fairy houses and makes his own “Nintendo” from poster boards. “He craves this natural way of building life,” Dany says. “And that’s what we want—for them to carry the wisdom and grounding of our family’s past into whatever future they create.”
For all three women, storytelling has become a bridge between trauma and healing, and between generations. This is the story of a loving and resilient family, and it's their history. They are shaped by this experience, and they are proud to carry all that comes along with it.
The struggle that it took my parents to come here and become successful in a foreign place is something that is always on my mind.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
"I just want you to be your own. Because I look like a bird, you know? I put you in here. You need to fly. But how do you fly? You have to have education."
This is the story of Daravy, her daughter, and her granddaughter Dany.
Dany's mom remembers the war like it was yesterday. She was just a young girl when her family was forced to flee their home in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge regime. She was separated from her parents and placed in a labor camp, where she worked in the rice fields and searched for food to survive. “I would try to find anything—whatever I could—to bring to my mom. I’d put it in my pocket, even if it was something from the swamp.”
Daravy also describes the intense experience in detail: “I remember running behind trees at night, bullets flying, people dying left and right.” She talked about giving up a gold necklace in exchange for farmer’s clothes to disguise herself—“to look more like a real farmer so they don’t pay attention.”
Despite these beginnings, Daravy fought hard to build a different future. She had been adopted as a young girl by her aunt and uncle, who raised her in Phnom Penh so she could get an education. “I had to go,” she said. “If I stayed, I would have had no school. The culture was strict. The village had nothing.”
She worked hard, even when it meant feeling invisible in her adoptive family. “No one hugged me,” she remembered. “I used incense to read in the dark because my sisters wouldn’t let me keep the light on.” But she was relentless—copying full books by hand, studying math, and earning recognition at school despite the emotional weight she carried. After escaping Cambodia, she eventually made it to the U.S. with her three children. She was the backbone of the family, working for Shell in Cambodia before resettling and restarting her life.
Her daughter, reflecting on her own journey, said, “My mom is amazing. She’s the breadwinner, the matriarch, the strongest woman I know. Because of her, I had strength.” She shared how her mother always emphasized education. “I always tell my children and grandchildren, don’t worry about being hungry in America. Here, they help you. But you have to go to school. Education is everything.”
For Dany, the granddaughter, hearing her mother’s and grandmother’s stories has taken on new meaning since becoming a mother herself. “I didn’t know how much of a blessing just being here was until I had my own children,” she said. “To see them with my grandparents, to watch them speak Khmer, eat Khmer food, go to temple… that’s powerful.” What she hopes to pass on is not just cultural memory, but a way of being in the world: “We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams. I want my children to create with their hands, their hearts, and their heads. To tap into our lineage and know that they can bring anything to life with intention.” Her son Apollo, now eight, learns how to make bamboo swords with his great-grandmother. He builds fairy houses and makes his own “Nintendo” from poster boards. “He craves this natural way of building life,” Dany says. “And that’s what we want—for them to carry the wisdom and grounding of our family’s past into whatever future they create.”
For all three women, storytelling has become a bridge between trauma and healing, and between generations. This is the story of a loving and resilient family, and it's their history. They are shaped by this experience, and they are proud to carry all that comes along with it.
Scroll to read more
"I just want you to be your own. Because I look like a bird, you know? I put you in here. You need to fly. But how do you fly? You have to have education."
This is the story of Daravy, her daughter, and her granddaughter Dany.
Dany's mom remembers the war like it was yesterday. She was just a young girl when her family was forced to flee their home in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge regime. She was separated from her parents and placed in a labor camp, where she worked in the rice fields and searched for food to survive. “I would try to find anything—whatever I could—to bring to my mom. I’d put it in my pocket, even if it was something from the swamp.”
Daravy also describes the intense experience in detail: “I remember running behind trees at night, bullets flying, people dying left and right.” She talked about giving up a gold necklace in exchange for farmer’s clothes to disguise herself—“to look more like a real farmer so they don’t pay attention.”
Despite these beginnings, Daravy fought hard to build a different future. She had been adopted as a young girl by her aunt and uncle, who raised her in Phnom Penh so she could get an education. “I had to go,” she said. “If I stayed, I would have had no school. The culture was strict. The village had nothing.”
She worked hard, even when it meant feeling invisible in her adoptive family. “No one hugged me,” she remembered. “I used incense to read in the dark because my sisters wouldn’t let me keep the light on.” But she was relentless—copying full books by hand, studying math, and earning recognition at school despite the emotional weight she carried. After escaping Cambodia, she eventually made it to the U.S. with her three children. She was the backbone of the family, working for Shell in Cambodia before resettling and restarting her life.
Her daughter, reflecting on her own journey, said, “My mom is amazing. She’s the breadwinner, the matriarch, the strongest woman I know. Because of her, I had strength.” She shared how her mother always emphasized education. “I always tell my children and grandchildren, don’t worry about being hungry in America. Here, they help you. But you have to go to school. Education is everything.”
For Dany, the granddaughter, hearing her mother’s and grandmother’s stories has taken on new meaning since becoming a mother herself. “I didn’t know how much of a blessing just being here was until I had my own children,” she said. “To see them with my grandparents, to watch them speak Khmer, eat Khmer food, go to temple… that’s powerful.” What she hopes to pass on is not just cultural memory, but a way of being in the world: “We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams. I want my children to create with their hands, their hearts, and their heads. To tap into our lineage and know that they can bring anything to life with intention.” Her son Apollo, now eight, learns how to make bamboo swords with his great-grandmother. He builds fairy houses and makes his own “Nintendo” from poster boards. “He craves this natural way of building life,” Dany says. “And that’s what we want—for them to carry the wisdom and grounding of our family’s past into whatever future they create.”
For all three women, storytelling has become a bridge between trauma and healing, and between generations. This is the story of a loving and resilient family, and it's their history. They are shaped by this experience, and they are proud to carry all that comes along with it.