My Mother Tongue

 By Anna Samel

Growing up, I was always aware of why my family had come to America in the first place. My parents weren’t born during the time of the Khmer Rouge; the genocide of the ខ្មែរក្រហម; but they still suffered losses; having moved to America to start a new life was hard, and I don’t doubt it. My mother’s side of the family had sold everything they knew to come to the States in hopes of the American Dream. In contrast, my dad’s side stayed in Cambodia, still recovering from the slaying of family and friends after the battle.

My mom’s family had heard stories of other Cambodian families and their successful trips to Cali or Massachusetts, opening new businesses, and even learning English; so, they decided it was time to move as well. Growing up in Lowell, there was a lot of Cambodian representation, and in Elementary school, it was nice to see people with the same background as me. But honestly, it didn’t feel like enough. My parents had put in strong effort for me and my 2 younger brothers to stay connected to our culture, but only I picked it up. At 3 months old I went to live with my grandparents and my dad, who at the time, still lived in Cambodia. I lived there until I was a year old and went back to Lowell to stay with my mom until my dad could be sponsored to come live with us too. When my parents were and weren’t with each other, they spoke Khmer to me regardless, as it was the only way for us to communicate. My parents didn’t know how to speak fluent English yet, so when I told them I had friends; Khmer ones, my parents would try to talk to them, not knowing that my friends didn’t know how to go about responding as they only knew phrases like ឆ្កែ and បាយ. My parents took notice and told me to teach them some phrases, though I never did. I felt like I would never fit in; as I wasn’t “Khmer enough” for my parents who wanted me to be proud of my roots, but I was also not “American enough” for the people around me because I grew up more traditionally. 

When I would go to the doctors, my mom would request to see a Khmer-speaking one, so it would be easier to talk to them. Every time we went for checkups, a translator would be in the room, and I could tell my mom felt bad that they had to be there. It made me sad that she felt inferior, so soon, it became my goal to speak more Khmer so I could make my mom’s life much easier. As I started to speak the language more, I got praised for it-- even being called Janap because of my seemingly young age. It made me feel good, so I wanted to keep it up. I’ve been told its rare for a Cambodian born in America to know how to speak Khmer, so it gave me more motivation to keep going. I like to say that I can speak the language pretty well; being able to maintain a conversation, but I’m nowhere near perfect, and I don’t know if I ever will be. 

When I had to choose my language class for high school, I didn’t hesitate to choose Khmer. When I was younger, my parents always asked me if I wanted to go to CMMA or a temple to learn how to write the language, but I had always thought that speaking it would be enough. Now that I’m older and so many more opportunities have opened up, it feels like Khmer community has expanded much more, it made it harder for me to connect with the culture since I couldn’t read or write.