The Simple Life

Tuesday, February 16

I am surrounding with cheerful children (6 to 15 years old) on each side watching the screen of what I am typing. My 6 years old cousin watches my fingers as I quickly typing away. To them is magic that I am able to type so quick on this funny looking like TV but it is very small and you can carry it with you. My 10 years old cousin don’t know what laptop is but she know is for school. She said, “Is like all of my homework can fit in this small thing.” All eyes on it as the blinking on the white screen stop where I last type.

Children here don’t wear their sandal. I didn’t say shoes because most people here can’t afford one. The children let their feet free and seem to enjoy the feeling of dirt under their feet. I am not sure if the reason is that they are too poor to afford one but I think they are just being normal children playing in the dirt, “When I am playing and running in front of grandma house, I don’t like wearing my sandal, I like that it is cold feeling” said my 6 years old cousin.

It is 5:00pm the sun is hiding behind the banana and leeches trees. We are waiting until it is cool so we can go for a run to my great uncle house which is about half a km. They have on their sandal now as I am asking how far my great uncle house is so they could go with me. The youngest cousin who like to have her feet free just got her sandal and setting on my right side staring at the computer screen as I am typing. She just asked, “When is the computer stop working?” I told her when I am done, it will stop working.

I asked them what they like to play or do for fun. The little one told me she likes to play with rocks. They just brought their rocks over and demonstrating it to me. The 7 years old just throw one rock up while trying to catch the other one on the floor with one hand. The other rock is up in the air. She seems to enjoy it. Her other two cousins watch carefully to make sure she doesn’t make any mistakes or cheated. Another thing they like to play is jumping on robber ban. I asked that I haven’t seen them playing with it. They told me it is at home.

Yesterday we went for a jogged and some of them don’t have sandals on. They ran on rocks and dirt. One of them asked if my Nike shoes hurt me and if so that I can just run without it. How cute and innocent these children are with such curious questions about the different worlds were from.

The T.V my grandmother has only come with three channels. I think two of them are the same channel. I think not having too many channel helps me to have time to do other stuff just like my grandmother and aunts has all day. This morning I asked to watch Khmer shows. They said it only show after 11am to 2:00pm and again from 6:00pm to 10pm. Although the Vietnamese government control what is on the television, it is great that they allow ethnic Khmer to have their own shows. The station in South Vietnam, therefore, the show is produce by Khmer Krom people like my grandmother and the rest of the relatives here.

Children recycle cans, plastics and leaves anything that they can play with. They are very poor children but the littlest thing in life makes them so happy. For flying or making a kite, they use dry coconut leave and tired it with a stick so they could fly it. Even though it didn’t end up flying, the process of finding the dry coconuts and putting it together with their friends was enough to stratify them. Their parents can’t afford to buy them one. I think is great that these kids are using their imagination and being outdoors instead of inside watching TV and playing games all day. Mentally and physically is healthy for their growth development.

People here are so poor those outsiders give them books, notebooks and bikes for their children to go to school. These people are my relatives. I am embarrassed that I can’t help them at the moment. This only makes me want to work even harder so I can financially help them at least with education.

Child Refugees; A Success Story:

Saturday: January 30th, 2010


If you were to ask me how life was like growing up in a refugee camp, I wouldn’t be able to explain it in one sentence to truly get the real meaning of it or have you understand that a childhood was taken away. To be honest, I couldn’t even express it in a way that allows you to truly understand what life was like, unless you were there. Besides, I was too naive and innocent to understand what a refugee camp was or violence meant back in those days.

Today, I met with two former child refugees through my tutor. They are in their last year of undergraduate. On this Saturday morning, they planned to go to the library after the interviews to study. I can see how hard they have work to get where they are today. Although I asked most of the similar questions from the previous interviews, this one was more informal.

It was not easy to break the ice of silent to talk about what was like growing up in a refugee camp with former child refugees. Once, I added my experience here and there between questions, little by little, they started to be more at ease with me. I found out that all three of us have lived in Site II camp along the Thai-Cambodian border. Since we were too young to remember how we looked than with especially moving around from camp to camp in different times, we don’t know if we have met before today. However, we remember the structure of the camp and situation in the camp.

The first young lady shared with me what she remembers of her childhood in the camp. “Do you remember with all those bombing and houses burning down? I remember it very well that I still have nightmares from it." We started to exchange stories of what we remember good and bad all came out.

I told them a time when I respond to one of my soccer coaches’ questions of why I was so fast on the field. “You played soccer?” They were amazed and curious that girls play sports. “I told my coach that I am used to running and I eat a lot of rice is why I am so fast.” We all laughed as if the funniest thing we ever heard. One of them added, “We are used to running from usual bombings, shootings and even land mines. So we gotta be fast in order to survive.” We understood each other. We can all added similar experiences or finish each other sentences from the story. I felt a strong connection of new friendship being bond and form with these girls through their experiences.

We laugh through the stories that we shared. We cried but with tears of joy. Although most people would agree that growing up in a violence situation is not safe or high-quality for a child development, to us, it was the most memorable years of our lives. Ironically, at times seem so peaceful in the camp. However, we couldn’t explain of why many years of nightmares continue to haunt us from the camp. The three of us was born and grew up in the camp until we were 6 to 8 years old. At those ages, we didn’t worry much about life. We were happy to get some food in our stomach and free to run around. It doesn’t matter if the field is the size of a football field or 6 metros of land to run around, we just wanted to play just like any child would.

Of course if you asked our parents, the story is different. They remember everything especially those bad experiences. Now as well-educated college students, we looked at the situation differently, at most is close to our parents’ perspectives. We couldn’t believe that we lived through all those frequently fighting, bombing, shooting and screaming at nights. We lived in a place where almost all violation of human right existed. The society refugees created were socially constructed to behavior towards violence and accepted as part of our daily routines.

My two new friends are planning to graduate from college this June as I am as well obtaining my Master degree. Not too many former refugees who were born and spent most of their childhood in a camp end up with a success story. I am very pleased with these two young ladies choices in life. No one could take away our experiences and memories of those years. We will always look back and thank god that we have made it this far and continue to live life as if is our last day because that what we learned in the camp.

Returnees said, “You are very LUCKY”

Sunday: January 24, 2010



Before I arrived to Cambodia four months ago, the word ‘luck’ to me was winning a lottery or that you did well on an exam for not studying. After today, ‘luck’ has reform to a new meaning, shape, color and perspective of life. Through the eyes of former refugees who returned to their homeland in Cambodia from Thai-Cambodian border about twenty years ago have taught me the new meaning of ‘luck.’ Now, ‘luck’ to me, mean freedom, the opportunity to education and access to health care. So they said, “You are very lucky.”

Have you ever had one of those days that you didn’t want to do anything due to lack of sleep the night before? Worrying keep you up all night? Today was that day for me. I didn’t want to go on this particular Sunday morning to do interview and especially on a two hours motorcycle drive. Today, I was sad and wanted some time alone. Besides, my friend said two out of three of his friends might not be available to do interviews. Because I planned this trip to the village about three months ago and my friend was willing to take me to his hometown, I was motivated enough to go.



Although my friend told me that it was going to take about two hours on a motorcycle, I didn’t realize how a long drive a two hour was until then. Most of the way to and back was very uncomfortable. My bottom and legs were numb and was in pain. However, I bear with it and distract the non sensation feelings by observing the surrounding.

I noticed all the houses look alike. On every street we turned the traditional home wood-frame, which is similar to traditional Southeast Asian houses from Burma to the Philippines. Most of the houses have few cows in front or underneath along with rice grain drying. They must have just heaviest rice nearby or behind their backyard. The houses are most often built few feet above the ground level, supported by heavy wooden posts or concrete pillars. The kitchen is sometimes a lean to attached to the main house down stairs know as pteach biay. Cooking is done with a transportable charcoal stove that can be placed on the porch or under the house depending on the weather. The bathroom, if they are lucky to have one, separate from the outbuilding. Sometime it is combining with the kitchen. My friends’ mom house does not have a restroom or toilet. Therefore, I had to use the neighbor.



My friend pointed out to his high school as we passed by. I thought, “Oh great we’re almost there.” The roads were endless. It just kept going and every turns seemed to be the same. I thought we were in a puzzle maze and were trying to get to his village.

When we arrived 6km later from his high school, my friend’s mother was expecting us setting underneath the house. I gave her bag of goodies includes; pencil, noodles and notebooks. She cut up some coconuts and fruits for me to drink and eat. Right away I wanted to get started with the interview. My friend told me to relax and rest for a bit before I get started. I should wait until after lunch. Meanwhile, my friend’s older brother was preparing us traditional farmer meal for lunch. We left around 8:00am from Phnom Penh this morning and did not arrive to Takeo until 10:00am. I was a little hungry but more than anything I was relief to relax my legs and bottom.


Right when we finish eating lunch, my friend and few of his childhood friends were gathering and discussing about something. I was curious of why they were in a private circle meeting and making calls on their cells. Next thing you know one by one people were showing up to his house. He came back with a big smile and said, “We found you some returnees to interview.” I was delighted! First it was just three or four people shows up. But it didn’t stop there; they just kept coming one by one.



When I finish my first interview around 1pm, there was a line of people waiting to be interview! They were mostly women with small children. They seemed to be in their late 30s and mid 50s. I started out thinking that I was going to get at least two or three interviews, instead I felt like a liprechaun who just found a pot of gold! Some even rode their bikes from miles far into the rural area of the village! I guess the news spread pretty fast when people have access to cell phones. Also my friend had mentioned that I will be coming today few days ago to do some interviews. Although only three respond to his requested, I was very pleased with the results. It was such an honor to be in their present, learned about their experiences and how they contributed to my research, words couldn’t describe how thankful I am.

Since I was up stair of the wood-frame house to have some privacy, I didn’t know how short the line was or who I’m suppose to interview next. When I finished with one interview, they would tell the next person to come and see me. When 5:30pm came around, I thought I was finish. I was so tired and my throat was starting to get sore. I still had at least six to eight left to interviews. One lady actually wanted me to interview her badly. She wanted me to take picture of her little bamboo house as well. She wanted her experience and voice to make a difference and be included. So I interview her along with two other ladies as my last interviewees.



Before I started my interview with the three ladies, one of them express honestly and sincerely, “It has been 20 years now since we had any contact with local NGOs, government officials, foreigners or anyone besides the regular people who lived here and their relatives. You don’t know how happy I am to have you here. Within these last 20 years, no one has ever came to do a follow up or asked to see how we are doing. No... one. But today, you give us all hope. This makes me extremely happy. Thank you for caring about us, those who left behind like a wild cow. We don’t even have to go to you to meet you in the city. You come to our village and see how we live. It shows that you really care about us. Because of this, I want to help you and current refugees.”

Although I thought I did a great job of not sharing a drop of tears from hearing such courage and sacrifice stories, a moment like this deserves some. I told them that I’m not from any NGOs or organizations. I’m just a graduate student who cares and concerns about refugees issues especially children and women. They told me that it didn’t matter. They have hope in me and that is all matter to them. Through sharing their stories and experiences, they hope to help others that in situation like they were. They want me to tell the truth of everything and how their lives have been since they returned.



I was sad to hear from them from all these years they felt betrayed and worthless because no one took the time to care for their concerns and needs. This perspective of group will most likely to give me more honest answers because they haven’t been explore to interview before. I think they were so excited that someone actually cares enough to interview them and ask for their input.

Most of my interviewees today were mostly women who are widow due to husband left them, death, or disabilities lead them to take over as the head of the house hold. The sun was setting and the moon was rising, my brain couldn’t function but my emotions started to creep on me. I told myself not to cry but to be professional and strong. I was doing a great job of not showing my emotions and didn’t end up crying...well not until I interview these strong three ladies.

Sockheata is in her early 50s like most of the people I interview tonight. She has seven children. Her husband passed away few months after returning to her homeland due to an illness that needed urgent medical care. She had no choice but to sale the land that was given to her and her family as one of the choices upon the return. She used the money to buy medication and hospital visited. When he left her with seven children all alone, with no land or a house, she was hopeless and life was very difficult for her. Since her husband death, Sockheata does labor work and farm for other people. Just to make enough to get by. Sometime, life is so hard that her and seven children goes days without food. As she open up to me, her voice cracks and tears pouring down her cheeks. I couldn’t help it but feel her pain and share some tears too while the other two ladies as well. They told me of all the people in the village, Sockheat suffer the most and the town try to help her out every now and then.


My next interviewee, Sanie is in her late 30s but seems to me in her late 60s. Her skin and face are so tiresome and dry from hard filed labor work outside harvesting rice for many years. Her teeth are almost gone. Her eyes are half blind. She just got back from a clinic which provided her eyes drops that cost $4 per small bottle. If she lucky this year she would make $1 per day. Since she already used the money she earns last month, she had to borrow some money for future works from the people she works for in order to buy some medication. Sanie like Sockheata, her husband passed away from old wound since living the camp but was not properly heal. She and her three children sell vender food in the village. She is sad that her children could not go to school because she doesn’t have the money to send them so school. She is trying to have some food on the table. Although she dreams of a better future for her children especially the younger one, at times that seem unrealistic.

I noticed most of my interviewees tonight has husband whom passed away upon returned due to old wound from either land mind or bullets. I wonder how badly their health condition were? There were no health service to assisted them at least until they were fully heal.

Back to my interview, Nen’s husband left her for a younger woman with six children on her own about 10 years ago. Life was too hard for him since returning to Cambodia with no jobs and opportunities that he left his suffering and painful life with his wife for something new and exciting. Nen have three children. Lucky for her, she stressed, “My eldest daughter works in a factor in Phnom Penh. She has her own family now but when she does make some extra money she sent it to us.” Since her husband left, she has no mean of financial or emotional supports. She depends on her daughter income to supports her illness son and younger daughter who are still living with her.

I was not in shock with their stories and experiences. I actually thought about my mother of how much she gone though. How lucky she is in relations to these women, to have my father by her side especially through the toughest times.

As they were fighting for my attention, they asked if I could share their stories to people. Besides the fact that they wanted to help me find the answers to my research, they wanted to let the world know what they been through and what is best for their children future such as education. If many people read this, maybe something can be change? In hope of course that is all they can do.



Before I end my interviews, I gave them the opportunity to ask me any questions or concerns that they have of me being there. I thought it was fair for them to ask since I just asked them very personal information of their experiences. Since most of them dreamt of living in a third country when they were living in the camps but by forced return to their homeland, they were curious of my life has been growing up in the state as much as I am about their returned to Cambodia. They wanted to meet the one who is very “lucky” too resettled in America.

They end up asking me very common questions. One, they asked me about how was life growing up in America. Two, they wanted to know is it true that America is wealthy and easy. My answers took some thinking into it. I didn’t want them to feel that I am any better than they are. That they have missed out or something. No matter what my answer is, to them, America is a better choice. As a global and international studies student, I try to compare everything from a global perspective.

I shared with them about my experience and the many the Cambodian American who can share similar struggles and pain on a day to day in America. I told them that not everyone is rich in America especially Cambodian. They didn’t understand why that is. So then I told them a situation that could relate to so they could understand what their fellow Cambodians goes through in America. "Imagine you are in America but do not speak English. I was interrupted, “I don’t even know how to read or write in Khmer “said someone. I continued on explaining, “How are you supposed to help your children or yourself in a country where you don’t even know their language or how their cultures are like? So, you become withdrawals from your reality into the Khmer Rouge, Life in the camp and Civil war. Don’t even have time to express with your children these feelings of anger, hate and pain inside all these years. Your children don’t understand you. Your new society doesn’t accept you. People are discriminated against you and call you lazy. Basically, what most Khmer returnees have been sharing with me about their experiences in Cambodia. Everyone cope with the genocide differently. Some do well and most don’t survive well. The sad part is that it still haunts you.


It took them few minutes of silent before we went on to something else. Cambodian in American are poor and goes through similar experience as we do? I said yes most but different situation and environment. The nightmares are still there. The pain and suffering both do share. Like most people, they don’t like to hear sad stories so they direct questions back at me again. They were curious and impress, “We are very honor to have your present here with us as someone who is well educated and bright. We want to know how, so our children can follow your footsteps.” I told them with hard work, determination, the right opportunity at the right time and network of supports from family, friends and the community. I also shared with them that not all Cambodians end up with a four years or with a full scholarship, even goes on to graduate program or get into college the first place. Some don’t even graduate from high school. Just like it here? So they said, “You are very lucky.”

As I wave goodbye to my new friends, I told them, “Thank you all for making this the best day ever for me hearing your amazing stories and experiences. I appreciate every minutes of it.” They were sorry that they didn’t have anything for me to take home on the road. This is how pleasant and genuine they are and yet they are usually the one get left behind.

Tonight, I left with 18 interviews, more amazing smiley wonderful people to love, crash a wedding and a happy camper!

How do they cope?

After talking with my tutor about counseling service in Cambodia, I realized that Khmer people find other ways to cope with their experience from the Khmer Rouge Regime, Vietnam War and Civil War. My tutor told me that there are only 26 counselors in Cambodia and most of them are in the capital, Phnom Penh. Then, I wonder how do these people learn to cope? What are their outlets?

Most Khmer in the capital seems to be doing well. They drive their motorcycles or cars to places and works. Most houses have businesses in front of their houses. What a great idea combining a house with small business. This could save the future issues of space. However, no matter how much the government try to hide the history of Khmer Rouge, there are sadness in their eyes. I don’t know how they do it. They continue with their lives and not talk about their feelings or the experiences that they went though.



My outlets were school, soccer and break dancing. I had mentors, teachers, coaches who were there for me through my middle school years until my adulthood. I couldn’t imagination if I didn’t have ways to express my angry or emotions, then where would it goes to? What would of happen to me? Would I go crazy? To me, people here love to talk about their experiences just no one to listen. Just few years ago, the government did not allow Khmer to talk about Khmer Rouge era or any kind of history. What they don’t know is that by not allowing Khmer people to talk about what they went throw, create more problem within the country.



From what I heard and witness so far, there are ways that Khmer people, mostly men deal with their pain, anger and hate. One of the coping is Karaoke. Believe it or not, Karaoke is a great way to forget your problem or pain at least for a bit. It takes you to a place where joy and happiness exist. Almost every house on my block carries a karaoke system in their house. Matter in fact; it wakes me up every morning along with the crying dogs’ barks.

Although, what I notice so far is that men are mostly at these Karaoke bars. As for women who are at the bars; those who work there or young attractive girls. What strange to me might be normal to Khmer people but men would dance and sing with each other even though there are no girls around. They seem to be very touchy and careless since they are drunk. However, with this kind of behavior in the states, it appears to be gay behaviors. I think is part of their culture that men are very close to each other than women are with one another. They are very friendly to each other.

Karaoke is a very big part of Khmer people life and culture. On almost of the Khmer channels, play Karaoke songs. I would see this in the morning before I go to school,in the afternoon before go to the gym and in the evening taking a break from studying. People would sing along. You would see it on tourist bus too. Is like, they try to hide their trouble by singing their pain out through Karaoke. Surprisingly, most of them are very good at it. Is not like in America people would just sing with no talent. But here, everyone seems to have talent in singing. They put their soul, voice and attitude towards whatever song they are singing to at the moment.



Another coping is dancing. In the evening around 5:30pm and on, you would see Khmer people dancing on the streets. The dance is in both western and Khmer style. It is a form of exercise? I haven’t joined them yet but I plan to. It looks fun. Is like taking hip hop class at a gym or as a university course. Most of these dancers includes; women, youth, small children, and men. Every time I pass by from the gym, is always looks fun.



You see, there are ways that Khmer people cope with their pain, anger, and sadness. However, it is not enough. I truly think there should be some kind of counseling programs available to them or at least a group therapy. I notice each person I encounter would love to share their experiences with me. They just need someone to talk and listen to. We all do, is in us. Besides singing and dancing, I think people just try to keep busy. Otherwise, they would face withdrawals, I have seen this.

Passport to National Identity:

("Excuse me; do you have The Quiet American?")

As I waited in line along the Thai-Cambodian border portal, I walked with my head high, North Face backpack on my back—you know, the one that many 20-some years old westerners carry with them while traveling in a developing country--and a United States of America passport. If you were to stereotype me, you would probably guess me as someone from the western part of the world. However, once I take out my passport it is a whole new story, and even more so when you see what is written behind the cover of my U.S. passport. Then you know that my identity has been modified to fit your foggy eyes.

Yes, so I carry a U.S. passport with me. Does that make me American? My birth place indicates that I was born in Thailand. My bloodline determines I’m full Khmer through both parents. But my father’s homeland is no longer known as Kampuchea Krom. It is now Vietnam, and although I have searched there is no where that states that the place my father and his family came from--the ethnic Khmer Krom people’s homeland now located in South Vietnam—was once called Kampuchea Krom. Nor is there anything in American’s history that talks about the Americans secretly bombing Cambodia in the 1970s. I leave what happens when your home is being bombed to your imagination.

When I was waiting for my turn to receive a stamp on my U.S. passport from Thailand along the Thai-Cambodian border portal in Poipet, a Thai officer with a big warm smile started to speak with me in Thai. He was very surprised when I only spoke English to him. He started to question me while staring at my U.S. passport under BIRTH PLACE. “Is your father Thai? Or is it your mother? Which one of your parents is Thai?” he curiously asked. With a quick response I said,” Neither.” He was still confused but stamped my U.S. passport anyway, and allowed me to go though the Thai border portal.

I made my way to the Cambodian side of the border. The Cambodian border control person spoke to me in English because of my U.S. passport. However, like his Thai neighbor, he was surprised when I responded fluently in Khmer. With excitement he said, “Wow! You can speak Khmer! Are you Khmer?” I responded proudly, “Yes, I am Khmer. My mother is from Prey Veng and my father is Khmer Krom from South Vietnam.” The next question was a given, “So, which camp were you born?” For a moment we were sharing a common history. However, when I asked for a special ‘K’ aka Khmer visa, I was denied. Why? I did not understand why. I was definitely Khmer!

When I first arrived in Cambodia at Phnom Penh international airport, I did not know about visa ‘K’ which would allow me to stay as long as I wanted in Cambodia, at least until I renewed my U.S. Passport again. I learned about this in the third month when I was getting ready to renew my visa in Poipet. Visa ‘K’ would allow me to leave Cambodia whenever I wanted and return. Instead, I was required to leave each month to renew the visa I had and was paying $25 every time! Besides, the ‘K’ visa is only given to Khmer and for me, this would be another proof that I am Khmer blooded and that I had a homeland. Having a visa ‘K’ is like having two passports! It would also relieve the burdens of traveling each month, the cost, and the time I had to take away from my studies--not by choice but to renew my visa.

After an hour of debating with the various border portals and them making few calls, I did not get the ‘K’ visa. In other words, they did not ACCEPT me as KHMER. One of the chiefs said, “We know you are Khmer. You speak Khmer better than most Khmer living abroad that we have granted a ‘K’ visa for. Since your passport stated that you were born in Thailand, we cannot grant you a ‘K’ visa.”

My heart was broken as if someone has betrayed me. I was upset that the one thing about myself that I was so sure of--my bloodline, my root--was DENIED to me as KHMER. The officials had to follow the law, since I had no proof that I am Khmer. Besides my look and language ability, they cannot easily give me a ‘K’ visa. Knowing the history of Cambodian and Thai relationship helped me calm and be more understanding of why they had to do what they did. In the past few weeks, months, and years, Thai and Cambodia have fought for many political reasons. Therefore, they don’t like each other. Since I have a U.S. passport with a Thailand birthplace, they were a little worried.

They recommended that next time I renewed my visa to make sure to bring copies of my parents’ birth certificates. I told them that their birth certificates were either lost or burned during the Vietnam War and Khmer Rouge regime. After learning what I needed to receive the status, I GAVE UP. With a hopeless, “There goes my ‘K’ visa. There goes me being known as KHMER." For a moment I badly wanted to be accepted as Khmer. The thought ran through my little mind, “How am I going to get a ‘K’ visa when the one thing that they needed FROM ME to show that I am Khmer, is no longer in existence?”

Later, I went Saigon, Vietnam, (where my father’s homeland is located) to get my visa renewed again. As usual when traveling in and out of Cambodia’s borders, the border official did a double take on my U.S. passport. I never know what they were going to say next. You wouldn’t guess what the Vietnamese border guard said to me once he looked inside my U.S. passport. “Ahhh, so you’re Vietnamese?” I smiled and said, “Yes.” This is due to two reasons. One my name is in Vietnamese. Secondly, I didn’t want any long conversation since people on the bus were waiting for me. I continued to say, “This is my father home country,” in English. He asked with a big warm smile, “Do you speak Vietnamese?” I responded sadly and disappointed with this answer, “No.” He continued to smile as if he was very proud that one of his people has returned from living abroad. “It’s ok. Enjoy your stay in Vietnam,” with broken English. I kindly responded with one of the few words that I picked up from my childhood Vietnamese friends in one of the refugee camps, “Camon” which means “Thank you.”

Ironically, the only proof that I have of my national identity is a U.S. passport. Should it be ironic that the U.S. government accepts me for what I am or that I am a naturalized U.S. citizen and have lived in the state for 20 years now. What has made me American? Is it the fact that my grandfather had fought side by side with the Americans during the Vietnam War that has made me American? Could it be that I speak perfect English like an American? Or that I value the American dream? When do I start to call America my country? How long do I have to live and how many things should I know about America in order for me to call myself American? This is the only country I would call HOME and that I know of. It is the only country where I did most of my growing up and the only country by far that has ACCEPTED ME. What is really ironic, is that I had to live in Costa Rica, European countries and Southeast Asia to make me realize that, yes, I am an AMERICAN!


If I don’t have my U.S. passport, or a green card, does that make me a stateless person? Then which country would I define myself with? What rights would I have? Thanks goodness that I have a U.S. passport and that I have rights as any natural born American.

This question of who am I is a misty, open wide, endless window. With all the daily questions I receive in the U.S. asking, “What is your nationality? No really, where are you from? No, your parents, where are they from?” I was surprised to have it continue in Southeast Asia. The only difference is that these people look like me, could be my relatives or have crossed path with me in one of the refugee camps I lived.
My nationality, my birthplace, my language ability, my physical features, my bloodlines and history have all determined ME. However, sometime I question myself, “Who am I?” Who is the person named behind my U.S. passport cover page: Yenly Thach.

Americanized Me

I realized although my bloodline indicate that I am full Khmer, my personality and characteristic proven that I am not. This is what I mean.

Americanized me who walk on Cambodia soil so fearless and carefree. I am very independent and like to go or do thing on my own; at times this challenges and/or creates conflict with Cambodian culture. They are overprotected of me my relatives. One time my cousin Thon explained to me that Cambodian actress nowadays have body guards to protect them. I laugh and told him that I have a body guard with me everywhere I go as well. Although he did not get the joke, at times I feel trap and don’t have any privacy. For example, my aunt makes sure that my cousin is with me everywhere I go and he would wait for me too! Sometime when I go to the villages, my aunt's husband would also go with me! So in a way I do have my own body guard to protect me!

Americanized me always wearing hamlet especially riding my bike. Most Cambodians don’t wear hamlet while driving a motorcycle. The thought of wearing a hamlet while riding a bike is asinine. Besides, it makes you stand out as either silly in my case or foreigner as those of you with blond hair and blue eyes.

Americanized me would bring toilet paper with me everywhere I go and only use western toilet type style. Cambodians don’t wipe their butt, they wash them. In all the restroom I been in so far in Phnom Penh has a small shower head near the toilet so you can wash with it once you done doing your thing. Of course after living in the states for almost 20 years, I’m used to wiping my butt and with papers. Therefore, I would have to bring toilet paper with me everywhere. Besides, in the rural country side there is no toilet! You have to find your own place to do your business. I don’t think wiping with leaves would help.

Americanized me talk back to authority figure. In America we are taught to challenges teachers, professors and any authority figures towards ours believes, desires and choices. However, in Cambodia this could get you in trouble and even get you kill. During the water and moon festival early this month, both of my aunts from my parents’ sides, one of my cousin and me were setting on a nice soft green grass along with 50 something others Cambodians. We were enjoying our mango and fry banana on a stick. Meanwhile, an annoying high pitch noise and a young police man was yelling at us to get off the grass. So I said with a sassy attitude in Khmer of course, “Excuse me, there is no need to talk to us that way. We are leaving. It is your fault for not putting up a sign that say ‘no setting on the grass’ we can read you know. Otherwise, we won’t bother to set here.” Everyone was in shock! Their eyes were wide open and mouth drop as I said that. However, the police continue to harass the next victim and we continue to find another grass spot to sit.

Americanized me with my big sunglasses which cover almost my entire face and wear a t-shirt that said ‘I love Cambodia’ make me stand out as someone with a lot of money from the Cambodians’ perspectives of Americans. The matter of fact is I’m under the false consciousness of wanting to be in the middle class society. Therefore, I take out thousands of students loans just like many of my graduate colleagues to fulfill the American dream of the middle class life style through higher education. However, the truth is, by the time I’m done with my Master, I will be in thousands of dollars in debt. How does this help my image of desire to be in the middle class group when decades later I still continue to pay off my student loans!

Americanized me hanging out with the boys and want to be treated equally with them. My father told my aunt the other day that in America, we have female pilots, doctors, lawyers and mechanics. Women here are treated equal to men more than Cambodia he stresses while trying to teach my aunt why I’m so different from Cambodians in Cambodia.

Although there are pros and cons of how Americanize I am, there are some traits in me that show I am Cambodian such as my features. Today my Khmer teacher was teaching us how to say color in Khmer. He explained the word for full Khmer skin tone is called ‘tan.’ Few Korean and Japanese were trying to claims that they were tan but he pointed out to me, “No, this is tan.” Everyone look at me and said, “Ohhhh.”

The dance struggle that I been battling with myself of who I am and fitting into this so called my root, my people I thought, in a way is not accepting me. In some way I do want to be accepted but other times I just like being the way I am. So I continue to pick and choose my battle of when to be American and when to be Cambodian.

Ask and your History will determined who you are