That may be true. I am not going to deny that these problems exist. Living here I can say that not only do they exist but are in some ways worse than outsiders could imagine.
Back in America I was making a good living, owned two cars and a nice house in an upper-middle class suburban neighborhood, and enjoyed a network of close friends and relatives who were (and still are) very dear to me.
But something was missing.
Although I spent 75% of life and most of my childhood in the U.S., I remained a perpetual outsider. I remember arriving in at the age of 9 years old in a foreign land speaking very little English. The other kids would taunt and harass me on a daily basis as I struggled to adapt to the new environment.
Here in Cambodia when Westerners speak broken Khmer, they don’t get teased– they become celebrities. The Khmer TV and radio stations would seek them out to interview them on their programs, marveling at their ability and willingness to learn our language.
Personally, I don’t think it’s a big deal for a Westerner’s being able to speak Khmer. We shouldn’t feel it’s some form of special honor just because a handful of Westerners elect to learn our language. In fact, I expect any foreigner who comes here to live or work in srok Khmer to learn Khmer. It’s completely normal; every country has the right to expect as much.
Nor should we taunt the foreigners for speaking Khmer with a bad accent, as Americans have taunted Asian immigrants for speaking broken English.
In fact, the constant torment that I received as a recent immigrant was a major motivation for me to study hard and excel in school. Sure enough, within a couple of years I managed to top my class in all subjects of study, including their native language English. From then on I would be known as the “smartest” student in every school I attended.
While I gained some respect and even admiration from my peers for my academic achievements, I remained an outsider. I often sensed fear, jealousy and resentment from fellow students, their parents, and even some members of the faculty. They felt threatened, but they couldn’t do anything about it. They had to give me my props because I played by the rules and beat them at their own game. Still, some people would say, “Sure, Oudam, you’re book-smart, but how street-smart are you?” I didn’t respond to them because I knew the none of those “street-smart” native-born Americans could have survived the Khmer Rouge as we had.
At any rate, despite my best efforts to fit in, I never felt like I belonged. I remained an outsider. By college and graduate school I began to realize that even with my hard work, determination, and scholastic achievements, I would not achieve the fabled “American dream”.
Beyond school, it would take much more than talent, credentials, and qualifications to succeed in the American society. While my straight A’s and academic accolades in high school eventually earned me admission to one of the nation’s elite universities, they would not give me entrance into the old boy’s network.
It has been my experience that even in America, you can’t realize your full potential if you’re an outsider. While you may overcome racial and ethnic barriers in certain aspects of life, you will be missing out on other areas. Sooner or later you’ll begin to question yourself: Are you better off in America or Cambodia? How much of yourself– your social associations, your ethnic identity, your culture, tradition, and heritage– are you willing to sacrifice to gain acceptance by a foreign country?
While America has always offered our family shelter since we immigrated there 28 years ago, but it never offered us a home.
A shelter is not necessarily a home.
If you live in a modest house that gets flooded by a storm, your rich friend may offer to let you stay at his million-dollar estate for a while. But his mansion is not your home but a temporary shelter. As a guest you don’t enjoy all the privileges that owner does. Even if you’ve earned the legal rights to call the property your own home, e.g. by paying your share of the bills, taxes, and living expenses, there’s always something, perhaps even your friend himself, to make you feel like an outsider.
Why do I love Cambodia?
I feel right at home here.
Our country may be a small house badly damaged by a monster storm, but at least we still have a home. I think if more people here in Cambodia could appreciate that they’re very lucky to still have a home and stop coveting other people’s mansions, then they might make a more serious, concerted effort to rebuild it, rather than wishing to flee it to seek shelter elsewhere.
For me it’s very easy to appreciate Cambodia as my home because I’ve already spent three-fourth of my life somewhere else. Of course, it would be best if Cambodia is both a home and a shelter to her people because a home that is not a shelter is really not a home.
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