First They Killed My Father Part 14

L.P.

Chump reap sour, Bong Srei, Greeting! First and foremost I hope and pray that you're in good health and spirit at the time you're reading this letter. My name is M. and I was born on May 5th, 1977 in Cambodia. I don't know where in Cambodia I was born but that's the year that you, Bong srei left Ro Leap labor camp to be a child soldier, six to eight month after the Khmer Rouge took your father away. And according to your book, "First They Killed My Father", that's two years and some months since the Khmer Rouge took over Phnom Penh and forces our Khmer people out the city. And that's the reason I am corresponding.

I don't have much information about my family's background but the story of your family is so so similar to mine. I am also Khmer/Chinese because my mother K. is half Chinese and my father was pure Khmer. Unlike you, bong, I've never got the chance to get to know my father and other brother whom my family and I lost in the hands of the Khmer Rouge. But with the love and grace of G.o.d, my mother survived with me and my older sister P. And was sponsored to Vermont in 1986 after a year in Thailand refugee camps and a couple of months in the Island of the Philippines. We then moved to Philadelphia after finding out that our relatives and family friends lived here.

All and all, bong srei, I like to say, that your book has taught me a lot of what my mother had to go through. And I think you and my mom the strongest Cambodian women there are. Reading the story of how Bong Keav makes me wonder of how my older brother pa.s.s away because I've never question my mother or sister about his death or my father's death. Well bong, I first found you on the cover of the USA Today 2/3/00 "Haunted by Cambodia". And I purchase your book from a web-site. I've pa.s.sed it on to my friends and family and also read it to my little cousin. I enjoy the book and cried as I read about your trials and tribulation. If there is any way I could support the Landmine Free World, please inform me upon your responds. Us until then, may G.o.d continue to rain down His love and mercy upon you and your family. Aw Koon, Bong Srei Respectfully, M.

Pennsylvania [E-mail forwarded to Loung Ung by Dith Pran. Pran, a subject of the film The Killing Fields, The Killing Fields, is a photojournalist and founder of the Dith Pran Holocaust Awareness Project.] is a photojournalist and founder of the Dith Pran Holocaust Awareness Project.]

July 12, 2002 Hi Dith Pran, I hope you still remember my name (S.P., a Cambodian from Holland).

Today the Dutch TV has shown and made reportage with Ms. Loung Ung story. We had tears and we did recall all our pains from the past of the horrible war and killing.

"'Ms. Ung, she is marvelous to explained her heart and pains, our tears and our joy came out at the same time because there are people like you still who are fighting for the innocents and powerless Cambodians.'"

Ms. Ung, she is marvelous to explained her heart and pains, our tears and our joy came out at the same time because there are people like you still who are fighting for the innocents and powerless Cambodians.

I do know how to express my thanks to you, to Ms. Ung and your team.

My sincere regards.

S.P.

Holland Dear Ms. Loung Ung, I have just finished reading your incredible book "First They Killed my father" and am left both stunned and inspired. As a Cambodian-Canadian I was deeply moved by your will to survive amidst such horror. I was born in 1974 in Phnom Penh and placed in an orphanage called "Canada House" until we were evacuated to Sai Gon due to the approaching domination of the Khmer Rouge. Shortly after I was adopted by a Canadian family in Montreal, Quebec. Having no memories of Cambodia, it is somewhat difficult for me to envision what it was like under the Pol Pot Regime. It is through your imagination and depiction of the truth that I am finally able to comprehend the reality of the Cambodian people's suffering.

I wept when you told of your dear father's death. He looks so similar to my own father-the same moon face, gentle smile and caring eyes. I do not know if my biological parents survived and have tried to make peace with this unanswered question. Though I wish to deny that they were tortured, your book forces me to accept this possibility. What a profound feeling.

Your beautiful and haunting words have sincerely touched me. It was wonderful to read such a current and honest book. Thank you Loung for sharing your story. I hope it will propel other Cambodians to remember their struggle as forgetting the past annihilates hope for the future.

Sincerely, S.B.K.

Canada"'Though I wish to deny that they were tortured, your book forces me to accept this possibility. What a profound feeling.'"

Read on An Excerpt from Loung Ung's Lucky Child Lucky Child "The sky has turned pink and orange and the air blows cool breezes that chase the bugs away. All around us, the ma.s.s of people stroll together, their voices a low hum broken by an occasional shrill call for their kids to slow down."

Lucky Child takes its t.i.tle from the moniker given to Loung Ung by Bat Dang neighbors who remained after the Khmer Rouge was deposed. A memoir about coming of age and surviving the peace, the book picks up the story of Loung's life where takes its t.i.tle from the moniker given to Loung Ung by Bat Dang neighbors who remained after the Khmer Rouge was deposed. A memoir about coming of age and surviving the peace, the book picks up the story of Loung's life where First They Killed My Father First They Killed My Father left off. Focusing on the 1980s and 1990s in both America and Cambodia, Loung opens the story on her first day in Vermont in June of 1980. She chronicles her a.s.similation as in the United States surmounting dogged memories of genocide and the deep scars of In alternating chapters she gives voice to a genocide survivor left behind: her beloved older sister Chou. left off. Focusing on the 1980s and 1990s in both America and Cambodia, Loung opens the story on her first day in Vermont in June of 1980. She chronicles her a.s.similation as in the United States surmounting dogged memories of genocide and the deep scars of In alternating chapters she gives voice to a genocide survivor left behind: her beloved older sister Chou. Lucky Child, " Lucky Child, "an unforgettable portrait of resilience and largeness of spirit" (Los Angeles Times), (Los Angeles Times), is about grasping for equilibrium and the strength to take on a new life in a place where violence is not the norm. is about grasping for equilibrium and the strength to take on a new life in a place where violence is not the norm. Lucky Child Lucky Child is now available in trade paperback from Harper Perennial. is now available in trade paperback from Harper Perennial.

From "Minnie Mouse and Gunfire"-about Loung's first Fourth of July AFTER A YUMMY BARBEQUE of burgers, hotdogs, and Eang's special Cambodian chicken, we all walk the short path from the McNulty's house to the fairground. The sky has turned pink and orange and the air blows cool breezes that chase the bugs away. All around us, the ma.s.s of people stroll together, their voices a low hum broken by an occasional shrill call for their kids to slow down. As we march along, my skin picks up the excitement, a charge of electricity. of burgers, hotdogs, and Eang's special Cambodian chicken, we all walk the short path from the McNulty's house to the fairground. The sky has turned pink and orange and the air blows cool breezes that chase the bugs away. All around us, the ma.s.s of people stroll together, their voices a low hum broken by an occasional shrill call for their kids to slow down. As we march along, my skin picks up the excitement, a charge of electricity.

The ma.s.s is all heading in the same direction, to a field of gra.s.s and shrubs used to host the fair every summer, and an occasional concert or monster truck show in the fall. Soon the ma.s.s grows too large for the sidewalk and overflows onto the street, slowing down traffic as people stop to greet, talk to, and gossip with their neighbors. Looking around, I'm surprised to see the normally drab white people dressed in festive red, white, and blue colors. A man in front of me adds another foot to his frame with a blue-and-white striped top hat. Next to him, white stars bounce on the back of a woman's s.h.i.+rt as she jogs to grab a child's hand. The young child breaks free of the woman's grasp, her voice raised to its highest pitch, her arms out like the wings of a plane, as she runs to meet another friend her age. Once together, they wrap their arms over one another's shoulders and lean their heads together, whispering secrets into each other's ears.

Watching them, my palm feels empty and cool until Ahn sprints to my side and takes my hand. With her black hair and Asian features, Ahn is the only other girl who looks similar to me in the crowd, and she makes me feel accepted. Her acceptance warms me. Hand in hand, we edge along with the crowd toward the fairground. Ahn drags me along and talks excitedly about the exploding lights that cover the sky like shooting stars. Behind us, Joe and Lisa explain to Meng the importance of the Fourth of July.

After a few moments of searching, Joe finds a bench in the first row with room enough for all of us. All around, children scream with joy; their arms shoot out sparklers and flap around like dragonflies. Somewhere in the distance, a band plays songs I've never heard. The drums and symbols roll and clash thunderously, lifting me into the air before the tuba drags me back down to the ground. Above us, the stars twinkle like the eyes of the G.o.ds, blinking in and out, as if they're spying on our festivities.

"Ahn drags me along and talks excitedly about the exploding lights that cover the sky like shooting stars."

"The smell of burnt powder, the brightness of the bombs, and the haze of smoke are so terrifying that even the stars leave us and disappear into their black holes."

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"It's almost time, it's almost time," the crowd whispers.

The crowd huddles in the dark, forming b.u.mps on the field resembling burial mounds.

"It's almost time," the ma.s.s exhales.

My skin moistens from the sound of crackling gunshots from afar.

"Any moment now," the swarm murmurs as the excitement grows. Perspiration forms above my lip. I wrap my arms around myself, my hands rubbing my skin to warm my arms.

Suddenly, a cannonball shoots into the air; the whiz of its flight and brilliant explosion hovers above me. My hands clasp over my ears, my eyes shut, and my jaw clenches so tightly I feel the muscles of my cheeks cramp up. In the sky, the rocket explodes, and its deafening sound vibrates in my heart. Then another cannon hurls another weapon above the crowd and is followed by many more as I brace myself for the oncoming war. The smell of burnt powder, the brightness of the bombs, and the haze of smoke are so terrifying that even the stars leave us and disappear into their black holes. Somewhere in the crowd, a baby screams; its cries jump into my head and are trapped in my skull, flooding my senses. Another explosion sends me trying to scurry under the bench but Meng grabs my arms and holds me in my seat. I want to be a good, strong girl so I press my body against the back wall as more flares shoot into the night and burst into fire showers. I flatten my body into the bench and try to disappear into the wood.

In my seat, my throat closes as I gasp for air. Suddenly, I am outside of time and s.p.a.ce and in a world where Cambodia and America collide, with me stuck somewhere in the middle. ...

PRAISE FOR.

First They Killed My Father "This book left me gasping for air. Loung Ung plunges her readers into a Kafkaesque world-her childhood robbed by Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge-and forces them to experience the ma.s.s murder, starvation, and disease that claimed half her beloved family. In the end, the horror of the Cambodian genocide is matched only by the author's indomitable spirit."

-IRIS C CHANG, author of author of The Rape of Nanking The Rape of Nanking "This is a story of the triumph of a child's indomitable spirit over the tyranny of the Khmer Rouge; over a culture where children are trained to become killing machines. Loung's subsequent campaign against land mines is a result of witnessing firsthand how her famished neighbors, after dodging soldiers' bullets, risked their lives to traverse unmapped minefields in search of food. Despite the heartache, I could not put the book down until I reached the end. Meeting Loung in person merely reaffirmed my admiration for her."

-QUEEN N NOOR "Despite the tragedy all around her, this sc.r.a.ppy kid struggles for life and beats the odds. I thought young Ung's story would make me sad. But this s.p.u.n.ky child warrior carried me with her in her courageous quest for life. Reading these pages has strengthened me in my own struggle to disarm the powers of violence in this world."

-SISTER H HELEN P PREJEAN, CSJ, author of Dead Man Walking Dead Man Walking "In this gripping narrative Loung Ung describes the unfathomable evil that engulfed Cambodia during her childhood, the courage that enabled her family to survive, and the determination that has made her an eloquent voice for peace and justice in Cambodia. It is a tour de force that strengthens our resolve to prevent and punish crimes against humanity."

-U.S. Senator PATRICK L LEAHY, congressional leader on human rights and a global ban on land mines "Loung has written an eloquent and powerful narrative as a young witness to the Khmer Rouge atrocities. This is an important story that will have a dramatic impact on today's readers and inform generations to come."

-DITH PRAN, whose wartime life was portrayed in the award-winning film The Killing Fields The Killing Fields "This is a harrowing, compelling story. Evoking a child's voice and viewpoint, Ung has written a book filled with vivid and unforgettable details. I lost a night's sleep to this book because I literally could not put it down, and even when I finally did, I lost another night's sleep just from the sheer, echoing power of it."

-LUCY G GREALY, author of Autobiography of a Face of Autobiography of a Face "[Ung] tells her stories straightforwardly, vividly, and without any strenuous effort to explicate their importance, allowing the stories themselves to create their own impact."

-New York Times "A harrowing true story of the nightmare world that was Cambodia."

-Kirkus Reviews "Ung's memoir should serve as a reminder that some history is best not left just to historians, but to those left standing when the terror ends."

-Booklist "An important book ... a harrowing book, a book you will read through tears."

-Denver Post "Ung touchingly recounts her survival, courage, and triumph."

-Daily News "Skillfully constructed, this account also stands as an eyewitness history of the period, because as a child Ung was so aware of her surroundings, and because as an adult writer she adds details to clarify the family's moves and separations. ...This powerful account is a triumph."

-Publishers Weekly "Chillingly evocative ... a straightforward, unblinking account."

-Dallas Morning News "The details ... burn like a brand."

-Sonoma County Independent "Heart-wrenching. ... [Ung's] memoir will find a valued place in the literature of genocide."

-Houston Chronicle "Few books take us through the h.e.l.lish journey as seen by children-and as deep inside their confused and angry hearts."

-San Jose Mercury News "Many memoirs are half hearsay ... Loung Ung's is all firsthand; she remembers a horrific time with the pitiless precision of childhood."

-Riverside Press-Enterprise

Also by Loung Ung

Lucky Child:

A Daughter of Cambodia Reunites with the Sister She Left Behind

first they killed my father