Feb 12th, 2026
We interviewed author Phuong Lien Palafox about her children’s book, Buoy, and her parents’ powerful story of immigrating to the U.S.
What inspired you to tell this story as a children’s book as opposed to a young adult novel or even a memoir?
I have worked within and alongside public education for more than two decades, and I have learned that teaching begins with connection. Sharing my family’s story has always been one of the most powerful ways to create that connection. From preschoolers to students on the brink of graduation, my family’s refugee story invites children to think and feel more deeply about people’s stories from around the world, the value of different lived experiences, and the central idea of hope.
I also understand the power of representation in books. As a child, I did not see myself reflected in the stories I voraciously consumed. It wasn’t until several years ago — after more than four decades of reading — that I encountered a book that mirrored my family’s experience: A Different Pond by Bao Phi, illustrated by Thi Bui. Seeing that story affirmed what I had always known — that children’s literature can expand what is possible and who belongs within its pages.
Writing this book helps shift that landscape. It offers some children a window into a story they may not know, and others the powerful experience of recognition.
Telling this story as a children’s book also creates a pathway for children to share their own stories. I believe that owning your story — in all of its parts — is deeply empowering.
You chose to write in almost a poem format. What was your decision to write in this style?
It was not a conscious decision. In fact, I usually write in prose. But this story — one I do not remember experiencing directly — has always lived in my imagination as lyrical and almost magical. It existed in images, feelings, and fragments passed down through memory and my má’s love. Writing it in a poetic form felt like the most natural way to honor the way it has always lived in my head and heart.
How did you decide which parts of a very difficult historical event to share in a way that children could understand?
As someone who has spent my career working with children — and raising them — I know that children’s feelings are just as big, vibrant, and worthy as adults’. They understand concepts like hurt, safety, resilience, and hope deeply.
Because of this, it is important to present information in ways that resonate with children’s lived experiences and nervous systems. In the book, I center universal ideas children already know: family routines, storytelling, working hard, and finding safety in a new place. These familiar experiences help children access complex history without being overwhelmed by it.
As a speech-language therapist, language access and children’s agency matter deeply to me. My students and clients are taught to advocate for their own understanding — to ask questions when something feels unclear or sparks curiosity. I approach storytelling in the same communal way: as a shared, back-and-forth experience between people, rather than a one-directional delivery of information.
The illustrations by Laura Jew also play a crucial role in this process. Her hand-painted artwork provides context, emotional grounding, and meaning that words alone cannot carry, allowing children to enter the story at their own pace and depth.
What do you hope young readers will feel or learn about courage, family, and coming to the U.S. to start again after reading this story?
I hope young readers understand why and how one family made a very big journey, and that they see resilience and hope woven throughout the story. I also hope they come to understand that immigrant and refugee stories are not separate from the American story — they are part of it.
Even for children and adults who may not have a direct immigrant or refugee experience in their immediate generations, there are common threads that connect us all: family storytelling, traveling away from home, learning to adapt to new places, and finding belonging. These shared experiences allow readers to locate themselves within the story, regardless of their background.
Most of all, I want children to know that their own family stories are valuable and meaningful. We all come from stories worth sharing, and when we listen to one another’s, we deepen our understanding of who we are — both individually and collectively.
In writing this as a children’s story that also resonates with adults, how did you navigate the dual audience without diminishing the emotional weight of the experience?
This is the power of story. An impactful story does not hold tight boundaries around age. While we often categorize books by audience, stories themselves are timeless.
As someone who has the privilege of working with both children and adults as they process language and meaning, I have come to understand that all stories hold purpose. Stories live everywhere — in books, films, video games, oral storytelling, and even in the quiet, mundane conversations of everyday life. Each form carries relevance, insight, and emotional truth.
Because of this, I don’t hold a hierarchy for stories or books based on age. I have found that some children’s books, through their imagery and carefully chosen words, can convey as much depth and breadth as novels written for adults — sometimes even more so. There is a unique power in restraint, in what is left for the reader to feel, imagine, and carry forward.
Stories have always been my currency — first told to me by my mother. I feel incredibly lucky to know and live a story that can tether children and elders together, reminding us that our shared humanity lives in the telling.
How do your parents feel about revisiting their story through a published children’s book?
My mother passed away more than two decades ago. She was the one who first told me this story, again and again. Writing and publishing this book is a way of honoring her.
My father, on the other hand, worked two full-time jobs my entire life. Hard work was his language. Conversations with him are not typically back-and-forth or linear, and this process required patience. Gathering these details did not come through long discussions, but through moments — observations, brief exchanges, and shared time. Those moments of harvesting his experiences gave me the chance to exist alongside him in a way I did not have growing up. We did not talk deeply in the traditional sense, but we moved together collectively in the writing of Buoy. That, in itself, meant a lot to me.
Initially, the story lived solely through my mother’s lens. The final version brings both of my parents’ perspectives together through words and imagery. While my mother planted the seed of this story, my father helped bind it in a way that allowed it to be fully brought into our world.
Buy the book at Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.