hello! my name is DARA HUOT AND I AM A STORY TELLER

I tell stories that matter!

A Legacy of Storytelling

I come from a long lineage of storytellers, as do many Cambodians. The revered master artist pictured here is a powerful embodiment of this tradition. His entire life unfolded during the era some call French protection, others colonization—a time of profound complexity for Cambodia.

With his chapey dong veng slung across his shoulder, he roamed from village to village, weaving oral epics of wit and wisdom through pure improvisation. His voice carried the spirit of the land, the laughter of resilience, and the quiet dignity of ancestral truths.

Many of his compositions endure in poetic form, studied and cherished to this day. They remain timeless reflections of Cambodian values—humility, humor, reverence, and resistance.

My mother’s memories were my bedtime stories…

She spoke of the night she fled, warned by child soldiers that her entire camp would be sent for “reeducation.” That night, barefoot and alone, she ran beneath the stars and, later, the unforgiving sun. She prayed to Mother Earth for protection, placing soil on her head as a sacred shield. She ran without rest. Khmer Rouge Soldiers saw her, but did not fire.

She had left behind her husband and two children in separate labor camps, faces she would never see again.

This profound history of survival and resilience shaped my childhood and became my life philosophy.

entrepreneurial upbringing

My mother, SUON Saren, was an entrepreneur and a practitioner of the Five Precepts (Sīla). She chose only businesses that did not involve killing, hurting, or harming. Her main and longest-running business, the one that fed the six of us, was flowers. She fed all six of us! My father is a kind man with many great qualities, but he was not a provider. My mother had to struggle and be creative. I know her well: when one door closed, she opened another, and when a business wasn’t working, she already had others lined up to start.

As a boy, I carried cakes on my head, walking to school campuses to sell them. At one point, we were doing really well. My father and his brother had the idea of producing Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and similar drinks before imports or local production were available. Everyone in our remote village of Battambang bought from us. In a remote village like ours, from time to time, Khmer Rouge soldiers came into the village for rice and other supplies. When they arrived, they fired a few shots, and we ran to our tranché (French), an underground shelter. Then they wandered the village and took what they could.

My job was to help produce and sell, of course, but the biggest job was counting the cash in the evening. I was too lazy to do it, so I sneaked some into my pockets!

My father later suffered from a heart illness for nearly ten years. We sold everything we had, but my experience of poverty didn’t come from those years. It came earlier, when I was a small child. My father was a village chief in Siem Reap, and my mother went to the market every day, doing everything she could to feed us. This is what I remember as poverty: sometimes the food wasn’t ready yet, or we had none, I can’t fully remember, and my mother told me to eat leftover rice. She said, “My son, chew on it! It will give you a sweet taste if you pay attention to it!”

She is a very smart woman. She never had the opportunity to go to school, so she asked her children to teach her to read and write, because she wanted to learn the Dharma. And she succeeded.

She never made us feel that we did not share the same birth mother, a concept that is very strong in Asian culture, where bloodlines matter. The first three Chinese-Chinese children and the three Chinese-Cambodian children were all named by her:

1. My big sister: Sophy
2. My bigger brother: Rady
3) My most amazing sister Samnang (fortunate or lucky to survive as she was given away to a doctor family because her mother passed-away after giving birth to her, my father with his great people finding skills found her living with an old grand-mother in when she was already a teenager).
4) My sister: Sopheap
5) And me: Dara, and
6) My yougest brother, Mony (as in the epic story of Monimekhala, below).

FROM SURVIVAL TO BE TRAVELING AROUND THE WORLD…

Daraism & artists — a healing response

A Personal Invitation

my current and future aspirations: Cambodianess — on world stages!