By Sambath Ouk, Fairbault
I came to this country at the age of 2. My family escaped the “Killing Fields” of Cambodia and journeyed to the Khao I Dang Refugee Camp in Thailand where I was born to a Cambodian mother and a Chinese father. Because I came to the United States so young, I had no memories of what the Thai camp was like. Furthermore, my mother and father got separated due to disagreements on how a refugee should live. I did not know my father was alive until I was five years old, did not speak to him until I was 17, and did not see him until I was 31.
For many reasons, growing up in Rochester, Minnesota brought me few answers and many questions. Since I was a young child, I have struggled to know who I am. The struggle has not been related to finding out what I like or don’t like or what I want to do in the future like other kids. The struggle is knowing if I belong anywhere. Where is my country? What nationality am I? Do I have a particular culture to relate to? Which history should I be proud of? Am I a child without a nation? Is that what a refugee is? I tried to ask and seek answers. However, no one was able to tell me definitively because they all told me something different.
For a long time, the identity that I wanted to hold on to most was to be Cambodian. However, the suffering and the sorrow my family experienced during the Killing Fields are things they will never believe I can understand. For the past 36 years, my family talked about the events of the ‘Killing Fields’ like they just happened yesterday. And as much as I and people of my generation wanted to tell them we understand, it almost seemed soothing to them to be able to tell us that we didn’t. Furthermore, our struggles in the United States with school, racism, and all other problems seemed small in their eyes and silent to their ears no matter how loud we tried to speak up. Their answer to our explanation was always “You don’t know what struggle is. Have you experienced starvation? No, you can eat even when you’re not hungry. Have you had to trade a life of someone you love to save a life of someone you love more?” No, those are not the kind of tough choices I have had to make. So am I Cambodian? For a long time I feared that I may not be good enough to be Cambodian. Who am I then? For a long time I had to ask myself this question.
The only definition I knew to characterize me properly was that I was a refugee. I was a child growing up without a nation. And this struggle to belong just somewhere played a big part in the lives of myself and the people around me.
Fortunately, I had my ESL teachers in my life. As they looked at my journey to discover my identity, they somehow understood that for many reasons, I was neither American nor Cambodian but a beautiful mixture of both. They helped me learn about Cambodia, its culture prior to the wars and the terrors of the war. They showed me how my Cambodian culture can be part of my everyday life in America. Therefore, they helped me reconnect with my past and helped me understand the transformation of my future. Most importantly, they helped me find peace within the two worlds I lived. It is for this fact that I chose to go into the field of ESL teaching. I want to help future refugee students understand how meaningful their stories are. They don’t just belong somewhere, but instead, they are a beautiful part of everywhere!
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