The story of my lifeThe story of my life
The story of my life
By Samnang Tho
I don’t even know how to begin this story because it is too confusing for me. Sometimes, it feels like an illusion. Other times it brightens my day. No one wants to live a sad life. But, so far my parents and I have.
My parents’ marriage
was forced
during the Khmer Rouge regime. There was no traditional wedding.
The parents of the bride and groom
were not present because it
was not necessary. Angkar,
the supreme
organization of
the Khmer Rouge, took
care of everything.
In spite of the
bitterness of a forced marriage, they
learned how to love each other as husband and wife. They
were “happy” because Angkar
did not send them to work far away from
their village. A few years had passed
and political situation in
Cambodia was constantly changing.
My parents, after they had me, escaped to Thailand where we stayed
for the next few years in the refugee camp. Through good and bad times,
they held on to one another.
We came to America in 1986. Everything was new to us. My parents
did not speak English. They had severe
culture shock. As a matter of fact, they still do. I did not speak a word of
English either. Kids at school always made fun of me because I looked
different and I did not understand their language.
At fifteen, I entered high school. My grades were always below
average because of the
language problem. At home, my parents began to fight. My father gambled
and my mother wore too much make-up. At times, my little brothers and
sisters were neglected. Often, I played “parent” at home and teenager
outside. While my parents went on fighting, I tried to find a way out. I
would come home late until my parents realized my frequent absences then
they blamed one another. The problems became worse and worse. One day...so
strange it was...they got together and decided to arrange a wedding for
me. Sad but true!
I ran away from home. I joined a gang and they became my new
family. Ah, what a relief. I had fun, literally, all the time. I had
freedom but also responsibilities as a new
member of the “family.” As the rules and responsibilities
became more unbearable, I began to reminisce. I missed my family and my
home like my parents missed Cambodia.
Then, I wanted to get out of this “prison,” this “family”
which I thought was ideal for me. Leaving my family wasn’t difficult but
leaving this gang could cost me my life.
One day I decided to risk my life, like my parents risked their
lives leaving their homeland. I ran away to live with my aunt in
Minnesota. She called my parents as soon as I got there. My father was
angry. He wanted to kill me, but something changed his mind. My parents
were separated by now. My mother and my siblings decided to move in with
my aunt in Minneapolis. I hadn’t seen my mother in
six months. She looked
the same, heavy
make-up and flashy clothes. I
hadn’t heard about my
father until recently. He’s married to another woman.
In Minnesota, I was a new girl.
I started my life all over again. However, I did not have a job. I
lived off my aunt and my family. I
decided to go back to school with the help of my aunt but I couldn’t
make it. I dropped out again. Now my mother and aunt arranged the marriage
for me as if it was the only way I could succeed. This time I did not
refuse. This time I went along with the idea even though I hadn’t
seriously thought
about it. I married the man with a college degree, a job, a nice car, and
above all good looks. Yes,
a man of my family’s dreams, not my dream. Sad but true!
There was a big
traditional wedding. My father wasn’t there. While the a-char
(priest) chanted something which I did not even
understand, my mother
started to cry, as if to tell me
that I was lucky to have such formal wedding. Was it the wedding music
that made her cry? Was it what she had been through? Was it my father?
Cambodia? Maybe it was me who ruined
everything. I was sad too, then
I cried. My aunt cried. Everybody
in my family cried as if we were at the funeral. In a way, I thought that
was funny.
*
* *
“You whore!” my husband yelled at me. I froze. I stood in
shock. I almost fainted. Three months after we were
married, my husband found
out that I used to be in a gang. No heated argument,
no fight. All he said were those two words which took away all my
hope. How he found out I don’t know. I blamed myself for
hiding that from him, I
should have told him. But how could I
if we didn’t even know each other. Our wedding was arranged, remember?
My husband was so upset that
he had to tell his family. His family felt humiliated, cheap, and cheated.
Now they hated my family. We were nothing
but poor, uneducated
peasants. That’s how they
looked at us now. Furthermore, I
was a “whore.” They did everything to separate us. Sad but true!
But by then I was already pregnant.
To be continued in the next issue...