Something I was missing within me

 By Isabelle Lach

            During middle school, the only language you could learn was Spanish. I spent 3 years learning Spanish, but I only knew a few words. As I continued learning Spanish, I always wondered what it felt like learning a different language, like Khmer. I never had the thought of learning my own language, but everyone around me spoke Khmer. I felt weird not understanding the words they said, it was awkward. When people ask why I do not speak Khmer, I tend to say, “My parents never taught me.” 

            Although my answer was not completely wrong, the main reason was that I never tried to learn. I know I had the ability to learn it, I mean, I did try. In the summer of 2025, I watched videos and searched for easy lessons, but my focus would always wander off. I wish my parents had forced me to learn it, but I guess not. My grandma was a big help, though. She spoke Khmer to me, so I guess I can understand a few words.

             Growing up, my grandma would always come take care of me and my sister while my parents went to work. After a while, she decided to live with us so she does not have to drive back and forth. My memory is quite foggy of my childhood, but I remember that she would always talk Khmer to me and my sister. She still does to this day, and I understand to a certain extent. 

            For most of my childhood, I told myself it did not matter if I did not speak Khmer. I mean, I spoke English perfectly. I got good grades. I blended in with everyone else at my school, plus my parents said that I did not need to learn Khmer because I would pick it up someday. But as I grew older, that day never came. I felt like I was missing something, a part of me. 

            Whenever I went to family gatherings, the sound of people speaking Khmer would float around me, and I always wished I could understand so I could hear other people's conversations. Or whenever I went to the temple with my grandma, the sound of the monk praying would always catch my attention. I always wondered what he was saying. I would just kneel and pray to the sound of his voice. Even though the language surrounded me in many ways, it never really belonged to me.  And as I grow older, I begin to realize the regret of not learning it sooner.

            When my grandpa came back from Cambodia, I greeted him with a big hug as I had not seen him for a year. He would come back to have check-ups for his illness and back problems, staying for about a year in my grandma's apartment. He has a new family now, but he always made time for me and my siblings. I always felt a sense of comfort around him, so seeing him made me happy. But there was a problem, he did not speak English well. So, talking to him was hard, as my mom had to translate everything we said. Not only that, I was only allowed to visit him a few times a month. I barely saw him, and he rarely saw anybody. Thinking about him being lonely for weeks made me emotional. He was so old, and I did not want to think about the isolation he felt during those times. 

            Speaking to him was harder too, as I wanted to talk to him without my mom translating it. I wanted to talk to him about everything going on during school, or about his life when he went back to Cambodia. I would leave the apartment feeling defeated, knowing that I might never speak to him in Khmer fluently. He left for Cambodia a few weeks ago. I regret not learning Khmer soon enough. All I wanted was a conversation between us with no struggles, but the day never came. I do not know if he will ever come back. All I know is that I will most likely never have the opportunity to speak with him when I am fluent in Khmer. If I ever get fluent.

             When I entered high school, I decided to take Khmer as an elective because of the story of my grandpa. It felt strange at first. Most of the students were like me, Cambodian-American kids who understood bits and pieces when their parents yelled at them, but could not really respond. On my first day in Khmer, I got lost easily, but I overheard a girl talking about where the Khmer class was, so I went up to her. I asked if she was going to Khmer class, and she said she was, so we went together. I was happy not to be alone on my first day. (We are close now.)

            We eventually started learning after two weeks, and the work was already too hard to comprehend. We were learning the alphabet, and I was shocked by how it was spelled. I mean, it was not like English words. It was curvy and more complex, almost like art. There were more letters than the English alphabet, so I would just sit there and rethink my life choices. There were 33 letters, and we would learn only 5 for a few days, then on to another 5. For homework, we would have to write it down on a piece of paper and try pronouncing it on Remind, sending a voice message to our teacher. Writing it was easy, but saying it… that was a different story.

            I would fumble up my words and use google translate to help, but it just never seems to work. I never gave up; I continued to have determination and find new ways and pronunciation. Eventually, I caught up with YouTube videos. Those helped me a lot during the beginning of Khmer class.

            After school, I would sit with my grandma and ask her to help me with pronunciation. At first, she was happy that I was learning, but after a few tries, she would get impatient. “What?” she would say in a confused voice. “It is not ‘NYO,’ it is ‘NGO’ “. The more she corrected me, the more embarrassed I felt. I would just say I understand it now when I really did not. I just wanted to not feel embarrassed anymore. 

            I eventually stopped asking for help, forcing myself to figure it out on my own, searching up YouTube videos. Eventually, we learned another 5 and another. I was so confused, and some days I just wanted to quit. Sometimes I would sit in class and think, “Why am I doing this?” None of my friends outside of school spoke Khmer, but then I realized the whole reason why I am doing this, for my grandparents, so I continued learning. 

            As time went by, we had to go up to the board and say it. I was so scared because I would be in front of everybody, messing up my words. They would hear me stumbling over every word. I knew I was bound to be embarrassed. As my teacher called the first person to come up, I could tell they were nervous too. As they spoke, they fumbled on some words, but eventually they did it. Then the next person came up, and they also had a few mistakes. 

            As more people came to the board, I realized I was not the only one in this class who was struggling. There were more kids like me, and I felt a sense of belonging in that moment, like I was not the only one. As my turn came up, I took a deep breath and started speaking. I did have a few mistakes, but I did it. I realized that these mistakes were a part of my learning and that I should not be ashamed since I am not the only one facing these problems. 

            Learning Khmer was a new start for me; it made me realize that I did not have to choose between being Cambodian and being American. I could be both. 

            Still, it is not easy. Getting back quizzes, I would feel defeated because I would get low grades, even after studying all night. But I keep reminding myself that these mistakes will help me grow and learn. A quote I remember by George Bernard Shaw is, "A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing." And the more I practice, the more I realize he is right. 

            Now I am learning vowels, it is way harder than the Khmer alphabet because we are also learning words. I struggle a lot with this, but I tend to make methods to learn it. I am also learning Khmer words, I do not know if they would help me learn Khmer better but let us leave it to assumptions. The words we are learning sound so hard to pronounce and we also must write them. Writing them is one of my biggest challenges as I just can never seem to get the vowel right. I struggle a lot with speaking it too as I have such an Americanized accent, but I try.

            I feel like what I struggle with is my quiz and test. I am always so confident in myself as I study nights before, but then the moment the teacher says the word. My mind goes blank. The only thing written on my paper are numbers. I feel like I want to dig a hole and stay there for years and just cry. I feel like I did not study enough and next time I will try harder but then I really do not and fail repeatedly. Or whenever it is time to go to the board. All eyes on you, it is embarrassing getting things wrong as many people are advancing faster than you. I get emotional fast and I hate it. I wish I would just shrug it off but I cannot. 

            Tears run down my face as I tell my friends the embarrassment I feel. But they tell me everything happens for a reason and I will learn from this. Also, my teacher would explain that getting things wrong is not the end of the world, he tells me many students failed but they did not stop trying. So, I get back up and continue my learning. 

            Whenever I talk to my parents in Khmer, they tease me about my accent, but I know deep down they are proud of me. I know I am not fluent, and only 5% there. But that is okay. What matters is that I am trying. Every mistake, every stutter, every awkward moment is just a step closer to my endpoint. I learned that language is not just words, but about identity and feeling a sense of belonging. 

            When my people ask me why I am learning Khmer, even though I always struggle with it. I tell the truth: because it is my home, even if I was born far away from it. Because learning it makes me feel like I am getting closer to myself. Because I want my future kids to know about who they are, and not just through simple stories. Because I want to finally speak to my grandparents fluently, with no interruptions. And know what I was missing out on in their lives before it is too late.

            So, I will keep studying, keep practicing, keep fumbling over words, and laugh, and try again. Because I know one day, these endless nights of studying will connect me to my family, my culture, and the part of myself I almost neglected.