3pm at Hong Kong’s airport. I met up with my cousins who also had a connecting flight in Hong Kong directly to Phnom Penh. We walked together to our terminal, our nerves getting the best of us. It would be the first time we’ve set foot on our motherland. It was thrilling and nerve wrecking. What were we to expect, we did not know. As we crossed the bridge to our gate number, I heard it. It was all around me. Cambodians speaking Khmer. I took in a short breath, reality setting in. I’m going to the motherland. I’m going to see my grandmother’s burial ground.
After a long delay of boarding and taxi, our plane finally touched down in Phnom Penh. As we’re exiting the bridge, I see a man holding a sign: Phyllina Kouch. I took a moment, unsure if he was looking for me, because that is not how you spell my name. My cousins shout that its me. Even in my own country, my name gets butchered.
The man turned out to be a family friend who worked at the airport and set us up with multi entry visas so that I may return again as much as I like until my passport expires. Down the hall, I see my whole family anxiously waiting, joy and relief spreading across their faces. We all hugged. I knew it was going to be a trip of a lifetime.