In all religious Cambodian houses there lives a shrine. From that shrine is the smell of incense, a Buddha statue, food and drink offerings, and more. This is not one of those shrines, in this picture you see mine. 

It contains a Buddha statue, my mother, crystals, rocks, and a white candle. Quite ironically, I am more spiritual than most of my family who came from Cambodia; a sacred location of profound spiritual enlightenment in its past. I credit genocide and adversity for their lack of religious practice. Therefore, it is my duty to fix my ancestral karma.

My family arrived from the refugee camps of Cambodia to New York, through church sponsorship and citizen sponsorship; unfortunately those citizens never supported my family and took all the aid money that came with it. 

In a book outlining the history of my hometown, my family is marked as one of the first to settle in Lowell. Upon assimilation to Western society, essential for survival, we have lost our religion but not our culture. We still go to the temple, but the next generation doesn’t know the reason behind the rituals. We still have our traditional shrines but we forget to honor them unless it is holiday. I live for the family lost in the Khmer Rouge and for my family after me. 
 

– V

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant