ភាគទី០២ ការបង្កើតគ្រួសារ



គ្រួសារថ្មីនេះពិតជាអភ័ព្វក្រៃលែង ម្តាយខ្ញុំជាកូនកំព្រា រស់នៅជាមួយបងប្អូន បង្កើត ផង បងប្អូនជីដូនមួយផង ធ្វើការ គ្រប់បែបយ៉ាងដើម្បីរស់។ រីឪពុកខ្ញុំ គាត់ជាកូនប្រុសទីពីរបន្ទាប់អ៊ំស្រីខ្ញុំ គាត់មានអាយុត្រឹមតែ២០ ឆ្នាំ ត្រូវបាន ជីតា

និងយាយខ្ញុំដណ្តឹង ម្តាយខ្ញុំជាកូនកំព្រាឪពុកម្តាយតាំងតែពីក្មេងអោយជាភរិយា។ បងប្អូនអើយដឹងទេ? ជីវិតគាត់ទាំង មិនស្រួលដូចការគិតទេ ក្រោយរៀបការរួចគាត់បាន ទៅរស់នៅជាមួយ បងខាងម្តាយខ្ញុំ មិនយូប៉ុន្មានកបានបែកផ្ទះ ហើយរកអ្នកជិតខាង កាប់ឈេីធ្វើផ្ទះ ប្រក់ស្បូវ ជញ្ជាំស្លឹកត្នោត។ គ្មានស្រូវអង្ករ ធ្វើការមួយថ្ងៃ រស់មួយថ្ងៃ ដោយលំបាកបំផុត ដោយសារក្នុងភូមិគេធ្វើស្រែផង នេសាទត្រីផង។ ចំពោះឪពុកខ្ញុំគាត់ចេះតែចញ្ចឹមក្របី សល់ពីម្តាយខ្ញុំ មិនសូវចេះរកត្រីសាច់នឹងគេ។ ចឹងហើយអ្នកជិតខាងដៀលគាត់ថា «ពៀចប៉ច» ពាក្យនេះគឺចង់សំដៅលើទន់ជ្រាយ មិនរកអ្វីហ្នឹងហើយ។ តែក្រោយមក គ្រួសារថ្មីនេះបានធ្វើស្រែផង ចឹញ្ចឹមសត្វផង ហើយកមានអាហារហូបចុកគ្រប់គ្រាន់ រហូតសន្សំលុយ និងទិញមាស ទុកផងដែរ។

Episode 2: Family Struggles
Three years have passed since the hopeful morning of Borey's birth. The joy of that day now feels like a distant memory, replaced by the harsh, baked-earth reality of a relentless drought.
In this image, the sun beats down from a pale, hazy sky onto a parched landscape. Dara, now 20, is leaner, his youthful features sharpened by worry. His strong jaw is set in a mask of grim determination as he lifts a simple hoe, its blade striking the cracked, unforgiving soil with a dull thud. His simple cotton shirt is faded and patched, and a krama is wrapped around his head to shield him from the relentless heat. His expressive eyes, once filled with vulnerability, now burn with a fierce need to provide.

Beside him, Chantha, 21, kneels on the dry ground. Her long black hair is pulled back tightly, revealing a face etched with a profound, quiet sorrow. The grace is still there in her posture, but it is a weary grace. Her traditional sampot is worn and its earthy tones have faded under the sun. With hands that are no longer just gentle but chapped and stained, she carefully pulls a weed from beside a single, struggling vegetable plant—a tiny speck of green in a sea of brown. Her soulful eyes are fixed on their small son nearby.

Borey, a small and delicate 3-year-old, sits on a worn mat in the sliver of shade cast by their stilt house. The house itself looks fragile, its wooden stilts stark against the barren ground. Recovering from a recent fever that drained their meager savings, Borey is thin, his large, curious eyes watching his parents with a seriousness that doesn't belong on a child's face.

The scene is one of stark poverty. There are no signs of abundance—only the family, their simple home, a few clay pots near the stairs, and the vast, barren field that promises little. Their expressions are somber, yet in the tireless rhythm of their work is a powerful, unspoken resilience. They fight not for prosperity, but for survival, their silent struggle a testament to their deep love for each other and the small boy who is their world.


អត្ថបទបន្ទាប់ អត្ថបទមុន
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