Our grandparents used to tell us stories—stories that brought comfort to both mind and body. In many ways, they shaped how we grew up. These tales influenced my upbringing and how I viewed the world, at least until I reached an age where I could make my own decisions. Even now, I carry many of these stories close to my heart. Whether joyful or sorrowful, they are stories unique to the Karenni Kayah people. Just two or three generations ago, the Kayah had no written language. Knowledge and history were passed down entirely through oral tradition. The calendar—so common today—was unfamiliar to previous generations who couldn’t read or write. Our parents and grandparents didn’t grow up with dates or official records, which is why we often don’t know exactly how old they are. Instead of birthdates, they would say, "He was born during the monsoon season," or "She was born after the harvest." They didn’t know the exact year, let alone the day or month. This is one reason many Kayah people have January 1 listed as their date of birth. It’s not because they were actually born on that day—it’s simply what international organizations recorded for official documentation. They were certainly born. They just didn’t know when. Some of the stories they shared really happened, but the exact timing has been lost. Some places hold deep historical significance, but without written records, those histories were preserved only through spoken words. I feel deeply privileged to have the opportunity to write down some of these stories—stories that are deeply personal and unique to my heritage. My hope is that you find them enjoyable to read and meaningful to share with audiences of all ages, especially with our children who want to learn more about the Kayah people—people who have long been oppressed simply for holding on to their culture and beliefs.