Woks and Windows
A daughter of refugees shares glimpses of her father's past
Smoke rises, tall wisps floating into the sky.
“Ba, how did you know where to run, without a map? Did you have a compass?”
Standing before the grill, with tongs in his right hand, he flipped the chicken, then turned around to look at me.
“អត់ទេកូន No child, the sun rises in the east, and it sets in the west.” He turned back around, focused on the meat.
I squinted towards the sun. “កូនអត់យល់ I don’t understand.”
“Ba knew the roads, but we had to stay off the roads because the Khmer Rouge were chasing us. And the sun sits in a certain position in the sky at a certain time of day.” Ba explained in Khmer.
I had always depended on a clock to tell time. “You used the sun to tell time?”
“In the morning, the sun rises in the east, and by midday, it is in a different position. When you are outside everyday, you begin to know where the sun is in the sky, around what time. At sunset, it sets in the west. To survive, we had to escape to the border. So we ran northwest.” Holding the tongs, Ba dropped a chicken leg onto a plate. “Here, try the chicken. How is it?”
I bit into the chicken leg.
Everyone in the family called Ba ចុងភៅ the chef. Despite chatting while grilling, he had a 6th sense for knowing when the meat was tender and not overcooked.
“It’s good, Ba.”
~ ~ ~
“What did you eat, during the escape?”
Ba held a spatula instead of tongs, standing in front of a stove instead of a grill. My kids’ giggles in the background. Several years had passed since our last conversation, yet it seemed like we continued where he had last left off.
“We ate what we found,” Ba replied, his arm working the magic at the wok.
“Like frogs? Insects? Snakes? I read An American Dream with Sprinkles by Mayly Tao, and her uncle was so hungry he ate a snake… but it was poisonous snake.”
The pan sizzled and crackled.
Ba turned around, his eyebrows furrowed. “Do you know how difficult it is? To run and not know how far it is till you get there? To not know when or where your next meal will be?” His tone was sharp and slightly raised, not in volume, but in irritation.
It seemed like a small window had opened.
To me, Ba always knew all the answers, stood tall and assured, and persisted amidst any challenges. Rarely did he wear emotions on his face, never did he show signs of weakness.
But in his scowl, in his questions… I began to understand.
During his escape, Ba felt fear, too.
~ ~ ~
Suddenly a recent conversation popped into my mind.
En route to a museum, my friend reached behind the passenger seat and handed the snacks to her kids and my kids. “You are always prepared,” she commented.
“I don’t want the kids to get hungry, just in case…”
It was no different from when my mom packed tons of food every time we left the house. So I did the same. When visiting the playground, the library, or the museum, no matter how near or far, without fail, I always carried fruit, snacks, and water for my kids.
Just in case there was an emergency? If we had to flee? If we had to suddenly run? If my kids had no access to food?
My parents’ history of starvation, running, survival…
I hadn’t realized it, but maybe my parents’ fears had passed down to me too.
“Or maybe… it’s a trauma response.”
~ ~ ~
Oil splattered on the wok, bringing me back to attention. Snapping his wrist, holding the wok high in the air, the food flipped and somersaulted back onto the pain.
“Uh… I don’t know, Ba,” I stammered. My mind was flooded. “It must have been really difficult, to not know where your food will come from, or when you will eat again,” I finally answered.
“ពិបាកមែនទែន Extremely difficult,” Ba shook his head. Then he lifted the wok again, but then tipped it to the side, pouring the stir fry beef onto a plate.
“នេះវាហេីយដួសបាយ. Here, it’s done. Scoop the rice.” He slid the plate onto the table. And just like that, the window into Ba’s past, that had briefly opened ajar, it closed again, as if it hadn’t opened at all…
til the next meal.