They say, "You are lucky, Samnang," because I was alive when the boat left with me in it. They tell me alive is better than dead because the souls who leave their bodies in hell go to a fire that will burn them forever because they are dead. "It's always better to be alive," they tell me. Their fat cheeks are full of sugar. Their hot tea waits in white porcelain cups. "It is always better to be alive," my grandmother said, her cheeks death hollow. Her blood was pale in its chipped china cup. She went with us through Khnas and Chong Kal Wat because, "You are my children, my life's heart." Went to Siem Reap and stayed there because we were her death. Her bones were poured into water: a big lake, big grave for a small woman. Did she go to dead hell from Siem Reap? I did not know. I am not a nun. If she did, she did not have far to walk.

Originally publised in Paragraphs.