in the way we greet with heart before words.
We have no country, but we carry home in our hands folded in the steam of rice, whispered in a language
that dances when spoken.
My last name is history.
Vang, like mountains.
Lee, like the rivers that flow through memory.
I come from both. We are not always seen, but we are always here in the songs at weddings,
the quiet strength at funerals,
in the laughter of cousins sharing fruits and foods.
Some don't know who we are
but I do. I know the drums, the flutes, I know that even without a country,
I still belong.
I am Hmong.
--Melody V., 9th-12th Grade