Preface
As part of my race recap, I originally posted this in the previous blog post. However, this topic should have its own post. It’s a complex subject to speak about publicly, but it’s important. My opinion and feelings have changed so much as I grew up. And most importantly, after I visited Cambodia for the first time. Many thanks if you have read this previously. If you haven’t or choose not to, that’s perfectly fine too! I write these blogs for myself and for anyone who might share similar experiences.
My National Identity
“How did you get selected for the Cambodian trail running team?”
Great question! Straightforward answer: My biological parents are from Cambodia. I connected with Laurie Phai, a French Cambodian trail runner, coordinating a team for the World Championships in Thailand. The rest fell into place.
The long answer: Both of my biological parents are Cambodian, which makes me Cambodian American (or American-born Cambodian, which I use more often – you’ll see why later). I have connected with several Cambodians, Cambodian Americans, and Cambodians living in other countries (mainly France because Cambodia was a French colony). After I connected with Laurie Phai on Instagram, I saw she was training for the Southeast Asian (“SEA”) Games in Hanoi, Vietnam. I wished her good luck and discussed our respective running backgrounds and history.
She said she was organizing a team for the World Mountain and Trail Running Championships in Chiang Mai, Thailand, in November. I had never done a trail race before, but we agreed that the uphill & downhill race would be a good introduction given my road running background. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to compete in such a significant event.
One of my biggest dreams is to represent Cambodia in an international competition. Cambodia has a special place in my heart. Since my first visit in 2019, my perspective as an American-born Cambodian/Cambodian American has changed.
My parents immigrated from Cambodia around 1980 to escape the Khmer Rouge, a genocide during 1975-1979 which claimed ~2 million people or ~25% of Cambodia’s population. I won’t dive into the details (mostly because I am still learning), but I encourage you to read the Wikipedia page or watch this TED-Ed YouTube video.
As an immigrant, my mother wanted a better life for me. She raised me by herself for most of my upbringing (stepdad, whose last name I share, came into my life during the latter half of high school) and worked long hours at her dry cleaning and tailoring shop. This meant that she had little time to spend with me at home.
One consequence was that I spent little time learning Khmer, the language of Cambodia. I was also not very interested in learning the language, as I wanted to fit in with my classmates and be ānormalā by American standards. Being normal meant speaking English fluently and attending college to have a successful career.
But now, looking back, I realize that my motherās hard work and sacrifice were part of the American dream. She was a self-employed tailor who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. Despite the challenges and sacrifices, she was able to give me opportunities that she didnāt have, and I am grateful for that.
Every decision we make has consequences, both good and bad. In my case, the good result was getting a college degree and a rewarding career. I am happy with my job and the lifestyle it supports, and I donāt regret my choice to get here.
However, there are also negative consequences to my decisions. One consequence is that I am not fluent in Khmer. I can understand and use it in basic situations, but not at a fluent or conversational level.
Another consequence is that I never learned about my motherās experiences during the Khmer Rouge regime. She was always busy working and never brought up the subject. I knew about the widespread atrocities of the regime, but I didnāt know the details of my motherās experiences. I also didnāt learn about the Khmer Rouge in school, which made it even harder to talk about it with my mother.
Overall, I have learned that every action has consequences, and we must be prepared for our decisionsā potential outcomes.
As a person born in America to Cambodian immigrants, I have experienced both the benefits and challenges of my dual identity. When I visited Cambodia for the first time in December 2019, I was often met with confusion and questions. I look Cambodian because of my parents, but I cannot speak Khmer.
People would ask me: āWhy donāt you speak Khmer? Werenāt you raised in the U.S.? Shouldnāt you have learned it at home? Why didnāt your mom teach you?ā Initially these questions felt rude and hurtful, especially the ones directed at my mom. But I can understand where they were coming from. In Cambodia, many people are fluent in multiple languages, such as French, Chinese, or English, to access better job opportunities and higher-paying jobs. So, they might wonder why I, as a Cambodian American, cannot speak Khmer.
This experience reminded me of the insecurities I felt as a child. Growing up in America, most of my neighbors and classmates were white. I didnāt always feel like I belonged. It took me a long time to accept and embrace my dual identity. But when I visited Cambodia, my insecurities resurfaced as I struggled to speak Khmer. This motivated me to learn Khmer and compensate for what I ālostā during my upbringing.
I am proud to be Cambodian. My mother’s strength and resilience to survive the Khmer Rouge and start a new life in a new country inspired me to push myself. My teammates and many other Cambodians I met to share a similar story. We may have lived far from Cambodia, but we will always call Cambodia our home and our people – a special bond we share.
I am proud to be an American. I am grateful for the opportunities that America has given my family and me. My education, career, health, and everything is owed to America. Every American Dream is different, but I’m happy with mine.
I am proud to be Cambodian and American. I represented Cambodia in a World Championship event and proudly carried the Cambodian flag across the finish line. At the same time, I sang the U.S. national anthem in support of the American team.Ā Neither action made me any less Cambodian or American.
I am who I am, and no one can change that. I will always be proud of my dual identity and will continue to embrace and celebrate it.
