Earlier this week, I attempted to write some prose in a GPs office. That morning I had been ferrying Mama between her hospital appointment and GP across town. Painfully aware of my blogging hiatus (brought about by my self-imposed exile thanks to my university study), I thought I’d compose some pithy lines. I couldn’t understand the conversation between Mama and the GP, as he is also Burmese.
But I didn’t need to understand the conversation. The empathetic grunts from the doctor and the inflection of Mama’s voice was enough to tell me that things were getting heavy. At that point, I put the pen down and discarded my composition.
Then she cried.
Like I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, I don’t know the Karen family’s full story – how they came to be in Thailand, why they stayed there for so long. Doctor relayed to me a little of what she had just told him. It was rough and a few pieces fell into place. It was a reminder that behind the giggles, extreme courtesy and slightly bossy exterior lies pain and trauma, that I will never be able to fathom.
Mama you are so strong. You and your family have overcome such massive odds; with more challenges to come. I can’t save you, but I can walk beside you even if it is for a brief moment.
We made a detour to the pharmacy before heading home. There we discussed appointments for the month with much smiles, giggles, broken English and extreme courtesy.