My story is somewhat something difficult to discover and tell – as I am only able to communicate with my immediate family, and the oldest communicable person in my family is essentially my mother, whom the basis of my backstory starts with.
My mother at the age of 19 made a decision that would change her life forever. It was the late 1970’s and most of Southeast Asia was still a wreck after the Vietnam War. The communist had taken over her home country of Laos and have made life incredibly hard for anyone to live there. There was a trend of many Lao people escaping across the Mekong River to go into refugee camps into Thailand.
My mother was one of 6 siblings, she made the escape across the river with her sister and her brother in law but when the Lao Government asked refugees to come back noting there would be no consequences, my mother still decided to stay as she had met her first husband, my father, in the refugee camp and got married. While they seemed to be escaping a horrible environment in Laos, conditions were far from glamorous in the refugee camps in Thailand. My parents went through intense labor and hardship in their 18 months there as they waited for their approval to leave for a “better life”. It is hard to speak to my mother about her time in the refugee camp, since I was old enough to understand they were war refugees up until now (roughly 15 years) my mother has only shared bits and pieces of her time as I presume the memories bring a lot of pain. The only specifics that have only been revealed to me during her time in the refugee camp was when said she would do some factory work that paid her about 10 cents a day or (week?) and that she suffered from two miscarriages because of all the labor that she had to do.
There is a third anecdote she has shared with me in the last 20 years and it was that when leaving the refugee camp, they only got to America – because they put their names on their list to go to America on a bulletin board that had France, Argentina and more. “Why America?” I asked – she said, “That’s what Dad signed us up for – his family was there already.” My mother’s intentions were not necessarily to come to America but it was always to have a better life- away from a place that took away almost all of her hope. And while it is cheesy to get caught up with the idea of chance, fate, and destiny when telling my story – that’s exactly what the origins of myself begin – a boat ride a cross a river and a sign –up sheet that said “USA” on the other side of it.
Coming to America for my parents wasn’t an automatic fix all and things still are quite “fixed”– but regardless of how their journey of life might have been – they don’t regret anything of their decision to leave their home even if it meant displacement from their big and rooted families or even missing the funerals of their parents. Things in America even got so difficult for them personally that their marriage only lasted about a decade. Leaving my mother to raise my two older brothers and myself on her own. Even after all this time, she still has no regrets, “This is life”, she tells me.
A lot of people would hear my story and categorize it as “not normal” and I guess they are right – but what is a normal life? To me and I guess for many people, your life and your story are yours and only yours and that’s what makes them powerful.
My backstory contributes to the most formidable characteristic I posses, which is compassion. And I live everyday in compassion, in the hopes that I can understand the world around me better.
I am very nervous person and I could not tell you exactly why, I get scared of change even though I tend to appreciate it. My greatest fear is facing fear. I am constantly worried about being worried and it doesn’t make sense. Anytime I have to make a drastic decision, like deciding what to eat for breakfast or whether or not I have I want to go to grad school, I always think that I am not capable of making these decisions. But then I have to remember; my mother was the same age as I was when I graduated high school when she decided to leave chaos and go onto the unknown and this is what keeps me going. This is what makes me adaptable to change; despite that fact that I am scared to death of it- my mother’s story is what keeps me going and its what keeps my story going.
Why the name - "twenty-four karats"?
Well besides the fact that my name is Kara and 24 KARAts is the highest quantity of gold that exist (coincidence? I think not.) …there is more meaning behind the name to this blog.
The naming of twenty-four karats is a tribute to my mother, who by no means is wealthy but refuses to wear gold that is not twenty-four karats. My mother has always expressed the meaning of quality in life – because she sacrificed almost everything she had for quality. She would have in most ways potentially have lost her life at the age of 18 in search for something quality then live to 99 in a desolate in hopeless place. I think hearing my mother’s opinion on value and quality versus quantity constantly growing up when I asked to purchase plastic dress-up necklaces was often frustrating. (Actually its still frustrating because she LOVES criticizing my purchase of statement necklaces, but this is another story) But, her words made sense as I got older and had to make the decisions that matter – am I going to settle for something less that quality or am I going to reach for the best thing I can?
I try to follow the latter everyday but it’s not easy. Worth it? Totally.
My mother at the age of 19 made a decision that would change her life forever. It was the late 1970’s and most of Southeast Asia was still a wreck after the Vietnam War. The communist had taken over her home country of Laos and have made life incredibly hard for anyone to live there. There was a trend of many Lao people escaping across the Mekong River to go into refugee camps into Thailand.
My mother was one of 6 siblings, she made the escape across the river with her sister and her brother in law but when the Lao Government asked refugees to come back noting there would be no consequences, my mother still decided to stay as she had met her first husband, my father, in the refugee camp and got married. While they seemed to be escaping a horrible environment in Laos, conditions were far from glamorous in the refugee camps in Thailand. My parents went through intense labor and hardship in their 18 months there as they waited for their approval to leave for a “better life”. It is hard to speak to my mother about her time in the refugee camp, since I was old enough to understand they were war refugees up until now (roughly 15 years) my mother has only shared bits and pieces of her time as I presume the memories bring a lot of pain. The only specifics that have only been revealed to me during her time in the refugee camp was when said she would do some factory work that paid her about 10 cents a day or (week?) and that she suffered from two miscarriages because of all the labor that she had to do.
There is a third anecdote she has shared with me in the last 20 years and it was that when leaving the refugee camp, they only got to America – because they put their names on their list to go to America on a bulletin board that had France, Argentina and more. “Why America?” I asked – she said, “That’s what Dad signed us up for – his family was there already.” My mother’s intentions were not necessarily to come to America but it was always to have a better life- away from a place that took away almost all of her hope. And while it is cheesy to get caught up with the idea of chance, fate, and destiny when telling my story – that’s exactly what the origins of myself begin – a boat ride a cross a river and a sign –up sheet that said “USA” on the other side of it.
Coming to America for my parents wasn’t an automatic fix all and things still are quite “fixed”– but regardless of how their journey of life might have been – they don’t regret anything of their decision to leave their home even if it meant displacement from their big and rooted families or even missing the funerals of their parents. Things in America even got so difficult for them personally that their marriage only lasted about a decade. Leaving my mother to raise my two older brothers and myself on her own. Even after all this time, she still has no regrets, “This is life”, she tells me.
A lot of people would hear my story and categorize it as “not normal” and I guess they are right – but what is a normal life? To me and I guess for many people, your life and your story are yours and only yours and that’s what makes them powerful.
My backstory contributes to the most formidable characteristic I posses, which is compassion. And I live everyday in compassion, in the hopes that I can understand the world around me better.
I am very nervous person and I could not tell you exactly why, I get scared of change even though I tend to appreciate it. My greatest fear is facing fear. I am constantly worried about being worried and it doesn’t make sense. Anytime I have to make a drastic decision, like deciding what to eat for breakfast or whether or not I have I want to go to grad school, I always think that I am not capable of making these decisions. But then I have to remember; my mother was the same age as I was when I graduated high school when she decided to leave chaos and go onto the unknown and this is what keeps me going. This is what makes me adaptable to change; despite that fact that I am scared to death of it- my mother’s story is what keeps me going and its what keeps my story going.
Why the name - "twenty-four karats"?
Well besides the fact that my name is Kara and 24 KARAts is the highest quantity of gold that exist (coincidence? I think not.) …there is more meaning behind the name to this blog.
The naming of twenty-four karats is a tribute to my mother, who by no means is wealthy but refuses to wear gold that is not twenty-four karats. My mother has always expressed the meaning of quality in life – because she sacrificed almost everything she had for quality. She would have in most ways potentially have lost her life at the age of 18 in search for something quality then live to 99 in a desolate in hopeless place. I think hearing my mother’s opinion on value and quality versus quantity constantly growing up when I asked to purchase plastic dress-up necklaces was often frustrating. (Actually its still frustrating because she LOVES criticizing my purchase of statement necklaces, but this is another story) But, her words made sense as I got older and had to make the decisions that matter – am I going to settle for something less that quality or am I going to reach for the best thing I can?
I try to follow the latter everyday but it’s not easy. Worth it? Totally.