Srey Leak lives on water.
Not near it. Not beside it. On it. Her home, like hundreds of others, floats gently on the rippling expanse of Tonle Sap Lake—a painted box of wood and tin, tied to the shifting will of seasons and storms. At eleven years old, she knows the language of waves better than many adults know land. She can steer a boat before tying her shoes properly, paddle with her feet, and balance with perfect ease on planks no wider than a ruler.
She is poor, achingly so. Her family fishes and sells gas by the bottle to passing boats. The walls of their home are patched with old tarps, the floor creaks with every step, and the night air brings mosquitoes in thick, whining clouds. School is far and inconsistent—when the lake rises, the route disappears. When the money runs out, so do the books.
But Srey Leak is joyful.
Not in a way that denies her hardship—but in a way that dances with it. Her laugh carries across the water like a bell. She turns chores into games, rows her siblings across the floating village as if she’s piloting a grand ship. Her dress, faded yellow with a cartoon bear almost rubbed off, whips in the wind as she runs barefoot across the edge of boats, shouting greetings to vendors and friends.
She plays with empty soda bottles and broken flip-flops, creates make-believe kitchens with rusted pots, and swears that the old turtle under the dock understands Khmer. Tourists sometimes photograph her without asking. She doesn’t mind. She poses with a wink, sometimes charging a dollar if she’s feeling bold.
Her dreams are simple and vast all at once. She wants to go to school every day. She wants a red bicycle, even if there’s no road. She wants to be a teacher—“but also a singer, and maybe a boat racer,” she adds, grinning.
To many, Tonle Sap is a place of poverty, a floating map of struggle. But through Srey Leak’s eyes, it is also a place of color, courage, and laughter. A place where joy is not given, but built—scrap by scrap, smile by smile.
She is a child of water,
light-footed and loud-hearted,
and though the lake may rise and fall,
Srey Leak keeps floating—
bright as the morning sun,
free as the wind,
unafraid.