色界吧

Surviving the Cambodian Genocide: Remembering Ma

By: Evan Kim - December 21, 2024

Navigating through my youth, I was always intrigued by the history surrounding my parents and those who came before them. During the time when my Ma (grandma) was alive, I never had the courage to ask her what occurred prior to migrating to the States from Cambodia. Despite my mother telling me small fragments of Ma鈥檚 past, I have always avoided questioning her, as I felt it was too sensitive of a topic to bring up. When she did, I could not bring myself to believe the stories about my Ma鈥檚 past, nor the horrors she described. She acted 鈥渘ormal鈥� and happy in the presence of our family.

I was told that Ma grew up not knowing her parents or their names. My mom shared that during the Khmer (kuh-MA-ee) Rouge, Ma had watched her three older brothers suffer from food poisoning and pass away. She was given only a few grains of rice each day from Cambodian soldiers, which was hardly enough. To survive, she stole food, risking beatings if she was caught. 

I watched a film several years ago called First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung, which displayed a girl鈥檚 experience that was similar to my Ma鈥檚 story. Watching this film led me to realize that my Ma's story was true because the movie portrayed her challenges under the Khmer Rouge accurately. I still wonder what efforts she had made to escape the Khmer Rouge, knowing the strict surveillance and oppressive system with informants constantly monitoring every aspect of people鈥檚 lives. Despite that, in her day-to-day life, it was as if she never had those experiences.

I remember waking up every morning for school to her cleaning, cooking, and singing along to classical Khmer music. If not, Ma would be out in the backyard tending to her crops. As I got ready, she would compliment me, 鈥淚van [mispronouncing my name], you鈥檙e so smart.鈥� Those small gestures and expressions would always bring a smile to my face. She would always ask if I was hungry鈥攊t was her love language, and she would cook anything I requested, no matter how time-consuming or difficult.

Ma cared for me from elementary through high school, speaking to me only in Khmer, urging me to do well in school so I could have a good job and future. I would reply, 鈥淚鈥檓 trying to do la鈥� naw sa-laa (well in school), Ma,鈥� in English with my broken Khmer, but she always laughed it off and corrected me lovingly. Ma was the reason I understood Khmer, speaking to everyone in the language, even those who did not understand her.

During our time in Alabama, when the pandemic was at its peak, it was about time for me and my family to move back to California. Unfortunately, we could not bring my Ma with us because our new apartment would not have enough space, so my mom arranged for my Oum (pronounced 鈥榦om鈥�, a respectful term to address an aunt) to care for her until we could return. I felt it was a bad idea since my mom knew Ma best, but she dismissed the thought because we had no other options. 

My Ma was under the care and supervision of my Oum, someone whom I was doubtful of鈥� considering the fact that she was not capable of taking care of her own children. This caused me to question why she, out of everyone in my family, was given the immense responsibility of taking care of my Ma. However, my mom stated that no one else in my family was willing to take care of her. This caused me to feel restless every day that she was under my Oum鈥檚 care. 

Suddenly, my world stopped鈥擨 got news that Ma was lying on the sofa, white foam in her mouth. She was rushed to the emergency room, where they determined the cause鈥攁 stroke. Left unsupervised, she had suffered deeply. I was stuck at school, unable to see her one last time. My mom prayed for a miracle to happen, but it was too late. Ma had lost all the oxygen needed to keep her brain alive. After countless days, she made the heartbreaking decision to unplug her as there were no signs of recovery. Just like that, Ma was gone.

It is hard to accept that after all her efforts and sacrifices to survive the Cambodian Genocide, her life ended with a stroke. Thon Nov (Ton-Nohv) is the name of my grandmother. June 6th, 1958 to October 15th, 2021. Rest in peace, Ma.

Reflecting back during the moments my Ma told me to do well in school, I felt as if attending college would not only open more opportunities for myself but make her proud. This motivated me to start a new chapter in my life, leading me to pursue my education at 色界吧 rather than going into the military like I originally planned. My Ma鈥檚 efforts to escape from the Khmer Rouge showed me how valuable and precious life truly is; without her resilience and struggle, I would cease to exist. I found that attending college was the best way to honor my Ma and her struggles, and I want to take advantage of the opportunity that she has given me. 

I am now a Computer Science Major at 色界吧, a part of the Sangam Learning Community, and am taking Asian American Media & Film with Professor Joseph Allen Ruanto-Ramirez.