Ying Yang , 53

“I married when I was about 15-years-old. He was from Sam Neua, a rural village where Hmong didn’t practice much of the trading business, unlike the village of Nau Meua where I lived. We saw each other only a few times and decided to marry. He had said, ‘Since we are both poor, let’s start our lives together and help each other prosper.’ I was young and naive and believed in love, so I agreed. My husband soon moved in and brought with him his two younger brothers. He also did not have a father. When his mother remarried into a different clan, he and his brothers were left with no home and no clan to which they could belong.

We soon began our lives together in Long Chieng, Laos. We all helped each other earn the money necessary to buy clothes, shoes, salt and meat. Times were hard, but my philosophy has always been that if you work harder, you’ll always make something of yourself and never depend on anyone else.”
In the United States, late 1980’s. Ying’s husband married a second wife.

“From that point in my life, my body survived, but my heart was forever broken. The promise that we once had made in Muang Noi, Laos – a young couple promising to make a better life for ourselves – seemed like a lifetime ago. This marked the end of our life as husband and wife, for me at least. It didn’t matter; I had my children with me. They were and still are my lifelines. I still had to raise and take care of them.
My relationship with my so-called husband soured through the years. He became very abusive and threatened me with death many times, especially if he didn’t get what he wanted. The biggest issues were money and his desire to keep me under his control. He wanted money for him and his new wife to go to parties, travel and go out on the town. If I didn’t give it to him, I was seen as the unreasonable one, the bad one. Sometimes he would hit and kick me, even in front of my children. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I let you take on another wife and have your freedom. Why am I still being punished? What have I done to deserve this?’ I was a prisoner at his mercy and knew if I didn’t get out of this relationship, I would end up dead. I couldn’t bear the thought of my children without a parent, like me, a ntxhais ntsuag (“girl orphan”).

Domestic violence is wrong. It’s a man’s way of punishing women and putting them in their place. It’s not right at all. That’s why so many women in the Hmong community are emotionally and mentally disturbed. The abuse stays in our hearts forever. Most people never know about it.
When it comes to committing suicide, let’s not even dwell on that. I can’t even think about that. It hurts too much. During an argument one time, my husband put a loaded gun up to my head and cocked it. I thought I was going to die at that moment. Visions of my children flashed before my eyes. He didn’t go through with it, but I still hear the clicking of the bullet moving into the barrel. That incident vividly plays in my head like it was just yesterday. Even today, while I’m driving or doing something, I’m still haunted by those memories and arguments and all the hurtful things he has said to me.

I don’t believe in love anymore. My experiences were enough for me. They preoccupy my heart and soul and have given me enough suffering to last many lifetimes.

I have ten children – five daughters, five sons. I have a close relationship with them.

I love them so much that I am choosing to live alone, not to remarry. For my children, that sacrifice is worth it.”

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Excerpt from Ying story, written and photographed by Kou Vang