Photos preserve us, our history, our legacy, time, &

the moments we lived

[and that’s why I do what I do]

When my parents share about their escape at the end of the Secret War of Laos and crossing the Mekong River with nothing but what they could carry on their person along with my three older siblings, I could imagine that they didn’t have much more than the clothes on their backs. Their home was abandoned and left exactly like they were just leaving for the day and will return later after a long day of farming. Other than a few pieces of jewelry and the money they would use to pay a boat fare later; it is clear that photos are priceless as they held onto old family photos and made sure these memories would make it to the other side.

My mom is quite the story teller; I could almost picture myself in their shoes as they picked the one ripe yellow mango hanging from a tree in front of them in the middle of the forest– that saved their life. She noted that, had the group our family was traveling with not stopped to share that mango, they would’ve been shot dead like another group who continued walking a few miles ahead of them on foot.

They were later saved again after being captured by communist soldiers by the tiniest stroke of fate. The same night they were taken, the soldiers struck gold with stopping a truck filled with liquor and they decided to celebrate. In that instance while the soldiers were distracted, one of my uncles freed them and lead them to safety in the next town.

Of course for me, the saddest part was to learn that we have no photo of my grandfather because he had died long before the war ended. And, the even more heartbreaking part is that they did have one photo, JUST ONE, and as they stopped by a river’s edge to wash up, my aunt begged my mom for the photo because it was the only thing she would have to remember her father by. My mom handed it to her without hesitation but later as they scurried to find safety, my aunt left it in her basket of things she did not have time to grab.

Growing up, I would see sorrow in my father’s eyes as he shared this story. He would always talk about possibly hiring a sketch artist to compile something from his memory using parts of my granduncles’ faces but never did because he knew it would never be the same.

…and he’s right.

I love looking at my parents as they flip through their old albums and come across a photo from the old country that my mom has carried across the river. Some times it feels as though no time has passed when looking at these memories but that in a blink of an eye, they have lived a lifetime in America, raised seven children, and now have grandkids that fill a room.

In 2017, my eldest brother passed away in a tragic car accident when a drunk driver swerved into him while he was out on a nightly jog. I remember when it was time to gather materials for his funeral that we did not have a single good photo of him by himself that wasn’t taken with a camera phone.

Luckily, he had a sister who is a photographer. About 2-3 years before that, I had forced the family to take some photos while we all happen to be in the same state visiting (some miracle). I said ‘forced’ because I remember there was some kind of argument between the siblings over what now seems so little and long ago but we were lucky we decided to over look it to take those photos that day. I happen to capture one good photo where he was standing next to my other brother and they were barely touching that I was able to Photoshop it into a single portrait of him.