Thailand 2019-7 Long Years

A Different Kind of Post: My Journey Back to Thailand.

(Above Image: Sunset behind a lotus pond in my village in Surin, Thailand)

After seven years away, I returned to Thailand—not just to visit, but to heal, reconnect, and rewrite the story I left behind. What unfolded was part grief, part joy, and wholly transformative. This is the journey back to my roots—and to myself.

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Coming Back to the Place That Never Left Me

Now, as I prepare for another trip in just a few weeks, the meaning runs even deeper. This time, I’ll be bringing my children to see Thailand for the first time. I’ll be documenting the food, the culture, and the quiet everyday moments that make this place so special.

But more than anything, I want them to feel it. To stand where I once stood. To know where they come from. Because this isn’t just a vacation.
It’s a return to the heart of who we are.

The last time I was “home” was for my mother’s funeral.
But before I go on, I should tell you something important.
I have three mothers.

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The Three Women Who Shaped My Life

My first mother was a young Thai woman who gave birth to me in Bangkok. I was born out of wedlock to a Thai mother and an American soldier she never saw again. She gave me to her sister when I was an infant, believing I’d have a better life in someone else’s care. She was my birth mother.

My second mother—the one who raised me—is my aunt, Bunsee. She took me in as a baby and raised me in a leprosy village in rural northeast Thailand, in the province of Surin. She and my uncle both had leprosy. They lived in a government-run colony and raised me with love, dignity, and resilience—despite the stigma, isolation, and hardship they faced daily.

My third mother is an American woman who brought me to the U.S. when I was 13. We met when she visited my village with a leprosy doctor named Dr. K. She saw something in me—this shy, half-Thai, half-white girl who never quite fit in—and decided to take action. With courage and compassion, she fought to bring me to America so I could have a safer, more stable future. That journey was spurred by more than kindness—Dr. K had warned her that a corrupt local official was trying to groom me at just 9 years old.

My birth mother and my aunt gave their blessing. They knew I’d have better chances elsewhere. And so, I left everything I’d known to begin a new life in America.

Each of these women shaped me in different ways. Each of them played a part in the story I carry today.

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A Long Absence, A Heavy Return

It had been seven years since I last stepped foot in Thailand—a stretch of time that felt like forever. Before that, I had returned often—sometimes three or four times a year. But this time, motherhood, military moves, grief, and life’s heaviness kept me away.

The last time I was there, it was to say goodbye to my second mother, Bunsee. She had battled leprosy for most of her life, and in her final years, her health declined slowly and painfully. She was the woman who raised me, who loved me like her own. Losing her was losing a piece of my foundation.

But that trip didn’t just bring the loss of one mother. It was a season of profound heartbreak.

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Three Losses, One Unforgettable Season

In December 2012, my adopted brother Scotty—from Vietnam—passed away in a tragic car accident at just 24 years old. Just weeks later, in January 2013, I found out I was pregnant with my first child. Amid so much loss, that little heartbeat brought a spark of hope.

Then came February.

We received word that Bunsee, my second mom, was declining quickly. My husband and I flew to Thailand within days. I was able to hold her hand, say my goodbyes, and honor her life during a beautiful village funeral.

The day after we laid her to rest, I had an ultrasound in a nearby city hospital. It was there I learned I had miscarried.

In the span of three months, I said goodbye to a mother, a brother, and a child. It was one of the heaviest seasons of my life—and one that deepened my compassion, faith, and understanding of how intertwined grief and love really are.

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Survival Mode & Motherhood

Over the next seven years, I carried that grief in silence while navigating military life, long deployments, and becoming a mother. I was eventually blessed with two beautiful children—a son and a daughter—but postpartum depression hit me hard. With no family nearby, constant moves, and the exhaustion of survival mode, I lost touch with many parts of myself—including the one that always longed for home.

Thailand never left my heart. Even through the fog, the pull to return was strong. I wanted my children to experience this part of their story. I wanted to reclaim something I had lost.

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A New Reason to Return

Then, last year, my youngest niece called with news that felt like divine timing—she was getting married and wanted me to be there.

Of course we would go.

After years of leaving Thailand with heartbreak, we were finally going back for something joyful. I would return with my children, to the village that raised me, and rewrite the memory of my last visit.

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Rewriting the Ending

This trip felt different from the start.

We planned to stay for six weeks in November and December 2019. I would see my family again. My children would walk the same dirt paths I once ran barefoot as a little girl. But this time, I wasn’t just coming home—I was returning to heal.

In the past, each trip back followed the same rhythm: visit the village, see the same faces, eat the same meals, sit in familiar places. And while those routines brought comfort, they also reminded me of all the losses, especially Bunsee.

But this time, I wanted something more.

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Seeing Thailand Through New Eyes

I planned to explore more of Thailand than I ever had before. Even though I grew up there, I realized how little of the country I had truly seen. I wanted to experience the beauty of the culture not just as a returning daughter, but as a mother—through the eyes of my children.

They are part of this story, too. This land is a part of them, and I wanted them to feel that connection in their bones.

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Why I’m Finally Sharing This

I’ve been nervous to share this story for a long time. Years, really. But healing has a way of nudging you forward—especially when you know someone out there might need to hear it.

Maybe that someone is you.

If you’re reading this, and you're carrying grief, identity struggles, or a complicated past—please know this:

You are not your trauma.
You are not your depression.
You are not the labels others have given you.

You are not what happened to you.
You are a story in motion.
You are GOLD.

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You Have Leprosy, but You are Not Leprosy

The people I grew up with still carry the scars of a disease most of the world has forgotten—but leprosy is not who they are. It never was. They are parents, caretakers, farmers, cooks, storytellers, survivors. And you? You’re not your pain either.

You are not your diagnosis.

You’re human. Beautiful. Whole. Becoming.

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A Final Word

If you’ve read this far, thank you—for walking with me through this journey. I’m grateful you’re here.

Whether you're here for Thai recipes or stories like this, I hope you’ll stay for both. Because food isn’t just food—it’s memory. It’s healing. It’s home.

With love,
Suwanee

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Looking for More Thailand Stories?

• Read about Feed My Village – Year One →
• Read about Year Two: The Kids' Edition →
• Read about Thailand 2019 Highlights here →
• Explore My Thai Recipes →