21
The Lotus Angel
Our mother loved lotus flowers. She loved the smell of them, the way they opened for the day and put themselves to bed for the night. She
loved them for rising out of the mud, pink and pale blue and unashamed.
Before leaving for the war, our father called our mother: Baby. Everyone else in America called her Chris. She had begged and pleaded and finally threatened, until my father put in to have us
transferred to the Philippines. He went to Vietnam, and the rest of our family went home to Baguio for that year. At last we would know our mommy’s country, her family. Finally, we had come
to a place where our mother’s name was always Baby, Baby Lim.
At long last we reached the Philippines. Our house in Baguio was very near a lotus pond. The water was deep, and we were
