Rice Field By Anola Boutah Back in Laos, I lived across a rice field. It was a small rice field. Ever since I could remember, my family owned this rice field and made a comfortable living from it. My mom told me that my great grandfather was the one who first set foot on this rice field. It used to be a jungle during his time and it wasn't owned by anyone. There wasn't any laws back then so the government allowed anyone who wished to own a land to mark and claim it. Although my great grandfather did not have any formal education, he was a very smart and diligent person. He figured out with this land he could have and make something. You see my great grandfather was thinking ahead of this time and into the future. His thinking was that if he work hard enough, he would be able to earn a living from this land and save enough wealth to pass on to the next generation. With that dream and ambition, my great grandfather would cut down the bush and grass little by little and day by day. He would spend about an hour or so each day in this land cutting down the mai pai near by and crisscrossed them to build fence. Then he would put up the fence around the land so that nobody can come and steal it. It took him a couple of years before he finally saw the land that he had work so hard for. My great grandfather didn't rest long before he started planting rice with the help of the buffalo and few of his friends. It's too bad he only got to see this land he loved so much for much a short period of time. Before he died, my great grandfather gave this land to his only child, my grandfather, and told him to take care of it with love and never sell this land. This land was supposed to be our family heirloom. My grandfather did exactly that. And so this rice field had been passed down from generation to generation. My friends and I would hang out at this rice field after school hours. I don't exactly remembered what we did but it was fun. It was our daily activity to walk around the field and watch the rice grow. Once the rice started to bloom, its smell was very intoxicating. I could not help but picked out some grains to eat as snack. Moreover, I could hear the sound of the frogs and other creatures at nighttime during rainy season. Those tunes certainly rocked me to sleep. It was especially fun during the harvest season when the rice is fully grown. All the hard work had paid off and it was time to celebrate as we made profit from selling them. Unfortunately, my family fled our motherland soon after the new government took over. We left all belongings behind because we didn't want anyone to find out we were leaving the country or else we would be arrested. The night before we escaped, I made a wish to the Buddha statue above my bed that one day I wish to be back here again. That was the last time I saw my home and my rice field. Two decades later, I am comfortably living in the foreign soil. I didn't know what possessed me but I've decided that it was time to go back and visit my native land. Many of my friends and relatives have already gone back and they all told me the same story, that they love it. I could tell how happy they were to return home because they couldn't stop talking about it for months. Seeing pictures and videos from their trips convinced me more that I have to make this trip on top of my to do this year list. I particularly wanted to visit my rice field. Little did I know how much impact this trip would have on me. To my surprise, I didn't see the rice field. At first I thought I must have come to the wrong place. So I wandered around and checked out the village to make sure it was the right place. After a while, I saw an old man walking toward my direction. He looked very familiar. Once he was closer to me, I could distinctively remember his name and I know he was one of our neighbors. I grew up playing with his kids. He, on the other hand, didn't remember me. I guess it was because I was still a little kid when I left Laos. Once I mentioned my parent's name, he instantly remembered me. So he invited me to his house so we could sit down and catch up. When I asked him about the rice field, he got all choked up. I could tell his voice was shaking and his eyes were turning red as he tried to form the words. Slowly, he told me that the government had destroyed the rice field to make roads. He continued to tell me that it wasn't only my rice field that was gone but his and many others as well. Apparently, this once a small village had become rapidly populated and they needed more roads for transportation. Sadly, the rice field was in the way. My heart was crushed the moment I heard it. I was numbed. I couldn't describe my exact feelings. Needless to say, silence took over our conversation. After I said good-bye to the old men, I went back to that rice field again and wandered along the dirt road hoping to find some answers. Until this day, many questions remained unanswered. I wondered what else they plan to destroy to get a paved road. Two decades later, the only thing left is a dirt road. Two decades from now, will there be anything left at all? ---END---