Red History Page #2

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I have a family. If Sister died, no one would notice. She would only be an empty space in the bean and rice field that needs to be filled. If I died, I have a daughter, seven siblings who would be lost. I have people to come back to. My husband, however, follows the pattern Sister’s family followed. He went out one moon, promising us water, but never came back.  
With or without family, though, this is not a proper life, and if we stay, it won’t be a long one.  
I, the eldest of seven siblings, plus a daughter, must lead the way for my family. We must be so careful.  


I hear rumours circulating about people who flee to Thailand and find the refugee camp get to leave and go to places like America and Canada. We must go out during the nighttime, navigate our way through the forest, walking carefully, watching every step, as there are landmines everywhere. There is talk of families being sponsored to live in countries. When the next moon shows itself, we will begin our journey. I loved my country, but living here now is a death sentence.  






1978 escaping - Chanty grandmother
We ration food and water and keep it safe and hidden in our hut. I hide the green beans we are picking, in my krama, but being very careful. I look to my right, but Sister is not there. On my left is Vicheka. I ask her where Sister Srey is. “Did you not hear?” she continues. “I saw 4 Khmer rouge go to her hut last night and take her somewhere.” She continues on with her work.
What a shame; but Sister was never going to make it out alive. She was alone, weak and had barely the capacity to endure any more. She capitulated long ago; it was only whether she was going to get taken, or do it herself. 
I wrap the beans in my krama: to be rationed by my family. Hopefully, the men managed to sneak some rice without anything bad happening. 
We return to our huts, and I am so happy and relieved to see that all of my family has survived the last day in this place. I lay my krama on the ground, flaunting the vast amount of green beans that I managed to sneak. It was enough to fill 3 bowls. My sister, Thorng, looks at me like I’m a maniac, and almost gets angry for ridiculously risking my life like this. She then looks at the amount of food and changes her expression to hope and the corner of her eyes wrinkle. 
Sophea is very proud. He lays the raw fish next to my beans. Thorng slaps him over the head, because he is crazy. She is still smiling, though. 
Kom lays down one beautiful, fat, orange mango. My daughter, Sochea’s eyes brighten. She loves mangos. “When Sochea was born she looked like this mango.” Sophea says with a smile and pinches her cheek. 
I see the moon rising from a distance, over the mountain. We must gather our things and never look back.





2023 - Chanthy moving to the UK alone
“You alright?” they like to say.
“Yes, I’m ok”
 I always reply.
“Lovely weather today”
“It is, isn’t it.”
New social rules, something I have to comply.
Small talk is the norm here.
But life is a jigsaw that I can’t seem to fit. 
A boat that’s difficult to steer. 
I feel reassured when people say they feel the same.
Blend in; to not be weird
But stand out enough, to not bore.
Life’s been tough since I came. 
I have to worry about many things.
What I said; what I wore.
Sometimes I feel alone,
Even with many people asking me how I am
I always say
“I’m ok”
“Hope it doesn’t rain”
I never say
“I’m lonely”
“I’m drained”
I think everybody feels this way.
But nobody ever says they do. 

Still,
I think to myself. 
My mother must have had it harder, when she first moved.
But she never tells me, so I have no clue.


1978 arriving in Canada - Chanty
The girl’s mother was a pioneer for her family.
The girl’s father sacrificed himself for their future.
Out new life will be tough, for a while,
But at least we have a life.
It will be lonely,
Draining. 
But still, a life. 
There will be new social rules,
To comply.
She must not shout or cry.
She may need to change who she is,
Forget the pain of the past,
Yet celebrate its beauty.
Beauty that she has never experienced.
Beauty that we need to teach her. 
It’s the job of our family.
The past she knows where
We did our job, followed orders,
Yet received no money, 
No food, no humanity.
So we ventured far, across many borders.
Here we will have food, don't you worry, my daughter. 
My hard work is as eternal as can be. 






1978 arriving in Canada - Danielle 
I sit in the car. I find it funny how we can sit down and still get somewhere. It was daunting at first. I was told to go into a small, claustrophobic room and trust the person sitting at the front with my life. I thought we weren’t supposed to trust anyone. 

The headlights cast a light over the black, skinny shape of the bald trees and the white road and grey everything else. When I first came here, I was shocked. Everything was white - the floor, the trees were wearing white coats of snow; and the people were even white too. 
It’s very grey here, unlike my previous world. It’s like looking through an overly saturated lens and then watching a show on a black and white telly. One thing catches my eye, though. The moon is following me. I wonder why the moon chose to follow me out of everybody else in the world. The moon must be tired, for it has to constantly chase the car which is moving very quickly. I hope we can stop soon so the moon can relax. 
When we drive by the trees, they sway and haunt me like the black stick silhouettes I saw before. If I were to tell my mum to protect me from the trees, she would dismiss me. So, I cling to her arm but she pushes me away. 
“We must go by Phang; your name is Danielle; not Sochea.” she says to me, but doesn’t make eye contact, but rather stays staring forward into the endless abyss of greyness outside the windshield. I look where she is looking and there are two black branches swiping the white specs, falling from the sky, away. Back and forth. It works relentlessly. “Do you understand.” she says in a stern voice, and it pulls me away from my curiosity. I don’t understand but comply nevertheless. I have learnt that complying is the way to survive, even if it pains you. 
My eyelids become heavy, and I don’t remember much afterwards. All I remember is dreaming about the black, skinny trees squatting and picking rice, wearing kramas and the black branch- window sweepers, the hands. 

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