The Earrings She Carried

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These silver earrings belong to my mother, Txiab Vaj, and have been with her since she was 12 years old. She is officially recorded as 79 years old, though her actual birth date and year are unknown.

She purchased the earrings in Laos with money she earned by gathering wild vegetables and cutting firewood from fallen trees to sell in nearby towns.

Although she grew up in poverty and was never afforded the opportunity to attend school because of war and constant displacement, she learned early that hard work, resourcefulness, and perseverance were essential to survival.

Each year before Hmong New Year, Mien merchants traveled to villages to sell handcrafted jewelry. Earrings were treasured by Hmong girls and women, and after carefully saving, my mother purchased them from an older Mien craftswoman. More than 50 years later, she still has them.

For my mother, these earrings meant more than beauty or tradition. During the Secret War in Laos, families had to be prepared to flee at a moment’s notice.

Every person carried a woven basket “kawm” filled with essentials: a knife for cutting wood, a cooking pot, rice sack, water, a blanket, and an extra set of clothes.

As my mother told me, “Earrings stay on your ears forever. Rings stay on your fingers. Bracelets stay on your hands. If war breaks out and you have to run, your jewelry is already with you.”

They are one of the few possessions my mother has carried with her throughout her life’s journey—from war and displacement in Laos, to refugee camps, and ultimately to a new life in the United States.

They are more than a cherished family heirloom; they bear witness to her story. To me, they represent not only my mother’s resilience, sacrifice, and hope, but also the enduring truth that belonging is something we carry within us. Even when everything else can be left behind, our history, identity, and the stories entrusted to us remain.

Photo caption if needed.

Khou Yang-Vigil

Txiab Vaj, was born in Laos and came to the United States as a refugee in the late 1970s following the Secret War in Laos. She called Santa Rosa home for more than 20 years before relocating to Sacramento, where she lives today. Although war and displacement denied her the opportunity to attend school as a child, she later taught herself English through adult ESL classes while raising eight children with my father in Sonoma County. While my father worked full time to provide for our family, my mother devoted herself to caring for our home and children, and her resilience, sacrifice, and unconditional love have left a lasting legacy across generations.