I simply love Ros Sereysothea. I love her voice. I love her face. Somewhere out in the heavens, she still sings to all of us, her crystal voice a perfect accompaniment for the wonders of the universe. Whenever I think of my beloved adopted country, or stroll around the Penh in the early morning, I can hear her song in the movement of people and things in the streets. The sound of her music brings the smells of fresh food cooking, cool breezes across the Mekong, the early sun on my face, and the pleasant faces of the young girls walking along that smile at me. All these images and exeriences I feel are gifts directly from her to me every time I hear her song, her perfect, sweet voice.
She died at the hands of the brutal Khmer Rouge, but they could not kill her gift to me. Although they buried her in some unmarked hole as an enemy of Angka, her music in now the mightiest of epitaphs. It is a friend to all, her voice liquid honey to be gulped down as an elixir for the soul. This is her monument to the universe that those bastards could not tear down. I hope they all burn in hell for what they did to her, and to all her people who enjoyed the magic she brought to their lives.
Thank you my sweet angel, oun aeng.
She died at the hands of the brutal Khmer Rouge, but they could not kill her gift to me. Although they buried her in some unmarked hole as an enemy of Angka, her music in now the mightiest of epitaphs. It is a friend to all, her voice liquid honey to be gulped down as an elixir for the soul. This is her monument to the universe that those bastards could not tear down. I hope they all burn in hell for what they did to her, and to all her people who enjoyed the magic she brought to their lives.
Thank you my sweet angel, oun aeng.
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