A morbid beginning, but I think from a young age, I learned what death meant; I learned how much our lives were structured around this moment; I learned that you needed people, I learned the importance of family, I learned the feeling of loving and giving, hurting and not receiving, but also the power of being the example you wanted. I know life gets busy, I know showing up at family events and helping out feels like you give more than you get in return, and I know being there feels useless at times...

How do I say this in a way that you will hear me? Hear me pleading for the Hmong women who didn’t know better and could only do the best they could to love you. How can I say it in a way that doesn’t coddle and cushion what you did and have no interest to care for? Because I want to speak for her, who binned by society's dead ends, cannot say so herself.

To heal through my breakup, I did a variety of research; to dismantle my experience and understand a world outside mine. One of them, was to learn of heartbreaks other than mine, to see amazing people survive out of these dark times. Dark times that were even darker than mine; because someone will always have it worse. I found my way to befriending Hmong women of all ages, of all stories. Stories that were always sad and pitiful, until after my heartbreak, were now heart-shattering, gut-wrenching, and real. So painfully real. Although my words won't do them justice, may I please write this one for them.