First They Killed My Father

The soldiers are everywhere. There are so many of them around, yelling into their bullhorns, no longer smiling as I saw them before. Now they shout loud, angry words at us while cradling rifles in their arms. They holler for the people to close their shops, to gather all guns and weapons, to surrender the weapons to them. They scream at families to move faster, to get out of the way, to not talk back. I bury my face into Keav’s chest, my

Waiters and waitresses in black-and-white uniforms swing open shop doors as the aroma of noodle soup greets waiting customers. Street vendors push food carts piled with steamed dumplings, smoked beef teriyaki sticks, and roasted peanuts along the sidewalks and begin to set up for another day of business

It is best if I just stop talking completely so I won’t unintentionally disclose information about our family. To talk is to bring danger to the family. At five years old, I am beginning to know what loneliness feels like, silent and alone and suspecting that everyone wants to hurt me.

As my family talks about the war, I pretend to have no memory of it. They do not ask me about my experiences. In our culture, it is enough that the oldest child relates the family’s story. Children are not asked for opinions, feelings, or what they individually endure.

Someone once told me that if you hit your head hard enough you lose all your memories. I want to hit my head hard. I want to lose my memory.

I want to have our own adult to take care of things, build houses, put up tents, and forage for food.

As my family talks about the war, I pretend to have no memory of it. They do not ask me about my experiences. In our culture, it is enough that the oldest child relates the family’s story. Children are not asked for opinions, feelings, or what they individually endure.

Whatever their history, whatever their past, they are marching now because the Angkar branded them traitors to the government.

Now I no longer have to pretend to be an orphan.

The men say that the Youns have liberated Cambodia and saved us all from the murderous Pol Pot.