By: SAMANTHA SENG
Every Sunday when I was younger, my dad would take my
brother and me to the temple for Khmer school. Being around 9 years old at the
time, I hated every second of it. There were too many letters to memorize, and
putting them together didn’t make any sense. I only memorized how the letters
sounded but not what they looked like. Throughout the 4 years of weekly Khmer
school, I watched as kids who were younger than me advanced to higher classes
while I stayed in the beginner class. I begged my dad to never take me there
again, and soon enough I forgot everything I had learned from the temple.
A couple years after abandoning Sunday school, when
deciding my high school classes as an eighth-grader, I found myself
contemplating whether to take Spanish or Khmer. Since I did terribly in Khmer
the first time, I was afraid that I would be bad at it again and this time it
would affect my GPA. Putting my fears aside, I thought about my dad. The only
thing he ever asked me to do was to learn the language he spoke before coming
to America. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel guilty quitting Khmer years
ago. I disappointed him and I wanted to prove to him and to myself that I could
do it a second time without giving up. So when my guidance counselor asked what
language I wanted to take my freshman year, I looked at her and reluctantly
chose Khmer.
The first week of high school was stressful, and at the top
of my stress was my language class. The teacher made us write our names in
Khmer. We were expected to remember how to spell it for all our papers, and I
was panicking at the thought that this was only a Khmer 1, and I had 2 more
years of this class to go. Two weeks later, we switched to another teacher. He
taught us the basic light sounds and heavy sounds, and I quickly caught onto it
because of my previous experience. My classmates often asked me for help which
gave me confidence in my learning ability. By the end of freshman year, I
passed Khmer 1 with a high A.
My second year of Khmer felt a lot like my first year. We
learned the exact same thing we learned the year before, and it didn’t seem
like we were doing anything new. For the first time in my life, I wanted this
class to be challenging. I started to get frustrated doing the same repetitive
lessons, which caused me to lose my confidence and slack in that class again.
My dad would often text me in Khmer, expecting me to be able to read it. Since
there were letters that I didn’t know and certain rules about heavy and
light sounds, I had to ask what he wrote, adding to my frustration. When the sophomore year ended I felt like I got worse in the language instead of getting
better at it.
Finding out I would have the same teacher who made us
memorize our names again in my last year of Khmer petrified me. He looked scary
and mainly spoke Khmer, and I knew he would be strict. My fears came true when
our first lesson was to write words that I’ve never heard before, using sub
consonants that I never learned. I quickly became overwhelmed, similar to the
feeling I had years ago at the temple. I dreaded each class but still did the
work even though I had no idea what I was writing. Every quiz required us to
read the words we learned aloud, and sometimes we had to spell them out. I
would often stutter while reading and would make simple mistakes in my
sentences. This made my confidence drop completely, and I hated how difficult
the language was.
Around November, I started to get the hang of things again.
The words became easier to read, and writing was a breeze. I realized that my
teacher pushed me to read because it would help me understand how the sub
consonants affect the sound of the consonants and vowels, and if he didn’t
challenge me, I would still be clueless to this day. I still struggled here and
there, but he understood that Khmer is a complex language and not something
that you can quickly pick up on. His patience and confidence in me made me
realize that if I really tried and worked hard, I could do anything.
Once I got the hang of it, I excelled in his class and
even took my understanding of Khmer to the world outside of school. I would
look at jars and read what they say, and my dad would look at me wide-eyed
because he was shocked that I could actually read it. My non-Cambodian friends
would ask what some words mean, and I always tell them what they mean and
sometimes show them how to spell it. When my dad texts me in Khmer, I can
understand every word he says, and I can even respond back in Khmer. I know
he’s ecstatic that his language is being passed down to his daughter, and I
will use it in every opportunity I get.
Learning to write in Khmer again also taught me discipline.
You have to be hard-working and dedicated to learning an entirely new language,
especially when the language is as difficult as this. Paying attention is
crucial, as well as practicing on your own. Sometimes when I have free time, I
read random articles from Cambodia to see if I can understand what it's saying.
It still takes a while for me to read quickly and speak fluently, but I am
getting better every day. Being able to read and write in Khmer feels like a
superpower. It makes me feel proud to be Cambodian, and I hope I can visit the
country as soon as possible to create a deeper connection with the language
that I’ve learned.
A few years ago I felt ashamed that I couldn’t pick up the
language my family spoke. Today, I am proud to read and write in my native
language to the best of my ability and learn from my mistakes instead of
quitting and finding an easy way out. This one-semester alone taught me more
Khmer than I’ve ever learned in my entire 3 years at the temple, and I have
nobody else to thank but my current teacher, who taught me lessons about the
language and about life. My favorite Khmer word is “ខំប្រឹង”. It
means to try hard, and I heard it all my life whether through my parents or
relatives. No matter who said it to me, it meant the most coming from my first
high school Khmer teacher, who reminded us every day to ខំប្រឹង in
everything we do.