When I first joined the Ministry and they’d pressed me through HR, a woman ran her finger down the column with my family history. “What was it like growing up with that?” she asked. She meant it all: Pol Pot Noodle jokes on first dates, my aunt’s crying jags, a stupa with no ashes, Gary Glitter, Agent Orange, we loved Angkor Wat, regime change, not knowing where the bodies were, Princess Diana, land mines, the passport in my mother’s drawer, my mother’s nightmares, fucking Chink, you don’t look it, dragon ladies, fucking Paki, Tuol Sleng was a school, Saloth Sar was a teacher, my grandfather’s
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