It is hard to read these stories. What trips us up is not the occasional misspelling or grammatical mistake. English, after all, is not the native tongue of most of these young authors. It is horror, visited upon these children that makes us stumble. “Every part of my family was torn up as a tiger squeezes a little animal,” writes a Cambodian girl, who lost her mother, grandmother, two brothers and a sister when the Khmer Rouge ruled her country and more than one million people died.

Since 1975, when communist governments seized control in the three Southeast Asian countries of Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, more than two million people have fled these countries, seeking a new life free of persecution, fear, and hunger. Nearly one million Southeast Asian refugees have been resettled in the United States.

George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “There are no enemies below the age of seven.” Childhood should be a time of innocence, and it is singularly appaling to read of malice towards those who mean none. These stories by and about refugee children recount the many enemies they have faced. They tell of the terrors of escape: crossing a mine field or wide river in the dark of night, suffering attack by pirates at sea or bandits on land, witnessing the violent death of family and friends. We read too of life in a new land: the panic and excitement of catching a bus by oneself for the first time, and the lonely struggle to start over, at the mercy of manipulative landlords and big city bureaucracies.

“I'm not unusual at all,” one of the children writes, but we know that they are. To lose so much–everything really–in headlong flight and not only survive but grow strong, speakes to their extraordinary courage and resilience. With 14 million refugees in the world today, there are countless stories like these. Most will go untold. All the more reason then to be grateful to these authors for sharing their lives and to Kyle Farmbry for giving us this book.

My mother has been missing since 1975. Up to now I still can't find her. She has been away from me and the family since I was nine years old. Today I almost forget what she looks like. I'm sure that she wouldn't remember me, either, if we met each other by coincidence.

I remember a little bit about her. She's about five inches taller than I am. She had beautiful long hair, it was straight. The last time I saw her, it was cut short above the neck. She wore a purple shirt with long sleeves and flowers were marked down on that shirt. She also wore a dark green long skirt. I loved her more than my father.

She spent four years in college in Phnom Penh. After she finished college, she decided to be a trader. She traded tobacco and medicine from one place to another. Working in an office was not enough money to her. She could make three or four times more in a month as a trader. She had experience with this business because she had helped my grandparents with their jobs. That's why she knew what she was doing. After my grandparents retired, she took their place and ran their business on her own.

At the last time I saw her, she was spending less days with the family, because of her work. She had to travel a lot. I know that she never spent a week with the children, but every time she came back, she brought us a toy, books, pens clothing for us. I believe that my mother worked twice as hard as my father to support the whole family.

Before she left the family, she gave me a kiss and hugged me tightly. “Take care. I'll be back as soon as possible. And I'm going to miss you so much, just because you're the apple of my eye,” she said.” Good luck and take care, I'll miss you, too,” I said. My mother loved me a lot more than my brothers and sisters. I worked hard at home and I did go to school at the same time. I took care of two brothers and two sisters and prepared food for them and my father every day when she left.

In 1975 Cambodia turned Communist. People were brought from the city to live in the villages, or on a farm. People were separated from their families.

At first, all my family was taken to the same farm, except my mother. She was trading in another city which is a thousand miles away from my city. She went before the Khmer Rouge came and took us to the farm.

After my family got to the farm, my father and grandmother had to live alone. Any people younger than 15 had to live in one group. So my brothers and sisters and I went there. My grandmother and father were very nervous.

By 1976, my grandmother died, and four months later my sister died too. These two people dying drove my father crazy almost for a year. They had a disease which is caused by hunger. Before they died, they told me to tell my mother to stop being a trader, just to stay home and take care of the children whenever she came back.

In 1979, Cambodia was released by the Vietnamese soldiers. Lives were much better than in the past. But it was still Communist.

I wouldn't trust the Communists a second time. My two brothers disappeared during the Pol Pot regime. They were sent away without anyone knowing where they were. Every part of my family was torn up as a tiger squeezes a little animal. My grandmother died, my sister died, my two brothers are missing, my mother was separated by accident. Only my father and I are alive.

I am Cambodian. I come from Cambodia. I left my country because of war. I love my country. I always dream, and when I put my head on the soft pillow tears come down over my cheek. I miss my country, I miss my people, I miss my place where I used to live. I can't forget what happened to my life during the war. I miss my brother very, very much because he saved my life one day. I have been separated from him for ten years now.

In 1975 during the communist regime, my life was very bad. One day the Khmer Rouge separated me and my brother from my parents to live in the young team far away from the city. They wanted my brother, me, and the others to work for them. They wanted me to work from 4 A.M. to 11 P.M. They just gave us a little bit of food to eat. When I picked my food I cried.

One day my brother and I were very hungry because we didn't have food for two days. So we tried to find something to eat. In the night time around 12 o'clock, my brother woke me up and he said, “Let's go to find something.”

“What are you going to look for?'

“We are going to the field to pick some rice,” he said..

I was afraid. I said,” We don't have much time brother.” He pulled my hand and ran to the field.

It was very dark. I couldn't see anything, so I didn't know where the Khmer Rouge were. When my brother and I reached the rice field, we didn't know that a Khmer Rouge was waiting there. We picked the rice and put it in our pockets, and I heard the sound of a gun right behind me.

I turned over. I saw a Khmer Rouge standing and pointing the gun to my head. He called me and my brother to come out.

If I try to imagine the past, nothing appears in my mind. Only my brother's picture is possible to dream about.

He died during the Communist revolution that took place in Cambodia. He disappeared from this world ten years ago. But his picture is still hanging alive in my imagination. His name was Noun Sam Nang. He was born in 1963. He was my best brother.

My tears will trickle when I think about his picture, because he died with misery and starvation. I hope he has a good life in his next reincarnation. I hope he is born in a peaceful land with plenty of food.

My brother always had good ideas and gave me good advice. Before he died, he told me, “Believe me brother, life is unpredictable. Life in the world is like the water in the river. You can not measure it. But don't let your life pass away without receiving advantages from the world and nature which surrounds you.” My brother was patient, polite, and very responsible. He took good care of me and my brother, my sisters.

My family tried to keep his picture, but it vanished almost six years ago. It was lost when we escaped from the Communists.

But I still remember it.

He is standing in front of my house with a tree, holding his girlfriend's shoulders. This makes tears in my eyes. It seems to be recently, not long ago. He seems to be with me and still alive. Whenever I saw his picture in my mind before, I lost it. But this time I see his character and the way he was in the picture.

Among that boys who grew up the same as his generation, no one was as beautiful as him. He was tall, and a little bit skinny. His mouth was not small. He had red lips and even teeth. When he smiled he could make all the girls crazy by his beauty. His cheeks were smooth. His eyes were big like marbles. He was strong. His body was full of muscles.

In the picture I remember he was wearing a white shirt with beautiful black pants made of nylon and silk. He always smiled. You could tell that he was kind.

His girlfriend looked like an Indian girl in the movies. Her hair was long to the waist. It curled like the wavy water. her face was a circle like an orange. Her cheeks and her lips were red as the rose flower. Her eyes were like the eyes of the eagle. When she smiled, you could see her white, even teeth.

In the picture, she was leaning her head on my brother's shoulder, and her arms were surrounding my brother's waist. She was wearing a pink shirt and red pants made of cotton fabric in Hong Kong. They were very suitable to each other.

I liked both of them. I wish I could turn the world back to the past and see them again.

Now after writing, his exact face has slipped from my mind. But I will recall it again and keep it in my memory forever.

If you can't imagine my brother, then dream of someone who is beautiful, like him.

My name is Qui and I'm seventeen years old. I am Vietnamese, but I come from Laos. I am in eleventh grade this year. What I want to tell you is not unusual at all for refugees in the United States, particularly in Philadelphia. I came to America without anyone to support me. My mother is still in Laos. I'm living on my own and am supporting myself.

I left Laos in 1979. I was ten years old. I followed my brother who had left before me. After one year in a refugee camp in Thailand, my brother and I came to the United States. I was twelve. My brother was fifteen. We lived with a guy who had been our neighbor in Laos. We received welfare and food stamps for about two years. After that time, this guy went to work and so our welfare got cut off. But this guy was not really responsible for taking care of us, so my brother and I moved out. We were on our own. My brother was seventen and I was thirteen. We were too young to get our own welfare, so we went out to work and have been supporting ourselves ever since.

Two years ago, my brother got married. I was in ninth grade. After he got married, he had his own family to support, so I moved out on my own again. I rented a room with a family in South Philadelphia. I was still too young to collect welfare, so I worked on the weekends to pay for my food, clothes, rent and tokens to get to school. After several months, I was able to get my name added to the welfare check of the family I stayed with and helped to pay the rent. But I didn't live with that family too long since it really wasn't like my home. Now I'm staying at my teacher's house.

But I'm not unusual at all. There are a lot of refugee kids living in the city. There aren't too many who stay in school. They don't really have the time or the mood to study. They hang out or they work. Some of them get into trouble. That's my story. Thank you very much.

In 1979, when I was 9 years old, there was a big war in my country. The Khmer Rouge came and surrounded our area. Then some of the rich families left the country. But my family stayed. Suddenly we heard the bad news that the Khmer Rouge were going to come to our home soon. We wanted to leave but we couldn't because it was too late for us. We hid our bodies like rats and waited until the sky was dark. We were lucky that we could get out from our place. We decided to try to cross the channel to go to Thailand.

My aunt was 28 years old at the time. After her husband was killed by the Khmer Rouge, she moved to live with my family. She had been pregnant for four months. Her story was so sad to me.

When we went to Thailand we took many days to get there, and my aunt went there with us, too. At that time, we didn't bring anything with us, only some clothes. That's all because we were so scared that we rushed to get away from the Khmer Rouge. We didn't even think that anything was important for us to bring.

At one o'clock in the afternoon one day it was so hot when we were walking on the flat land. There was no water, no plants, only soil. Our faces were red like tomatoes and our bodies so weak. We needed food and water, especially my aunt. She fell down and hit her stomach. When my dad saw her fall down, he rushed to get her up. But there was no hope at all.

My aunt said, “Please I need some water. Just give me a little drop in my mouth. I might feel better. I don't care if I die. But I don't want to see my baby die.”

And my dad said, “Honey get up. You're all right. Your baby is doing fine. We're almost close to the city. I hope they have water there

But she said, “there is no hope for me.”

When I heard that, I looked at her. Her face was so yellow.

She continued to talk with a low voice. “I can't go that far anymore. If I die I can meet my husband and my baby. We're going to live together forever,” she said. “Brother, take good care of your family.” Then she held my dad's hand so tightly and she died.

My mother dropped to the ground on her knees and cried.

Then I went close to them and said, “Mom, Dad, she already died. If you cry, do you think she can come back alive? I know I feel sorry about her too. She really loved her baby. The thing we have to do is pray for her and we have to continue.”

At the end of the afternoon we were walking in the sunset. We kept walking and the sky kept getting darker. My mother fell down and my two brothers got her up. It got dark so quickly. I saw only the bones of people who were killed. We couldn't even sleep because there were small insects biting us. We kept walking.

Suddenly we saw a light in the forest. There were a lot of lights around a house. My dad looked so happy and said “Everybody! We have a chance now. We're in a city. Let's go.”

We all looked so happy and we ran to that place. It was very quiet. Everybody was asleep. Then we saw a market where there was a lot of furniture. Dad said, “Let's stay here and I'm going to ask for some rice and water. I will be back.”

When he came back..nothing! My mom and brother were so sad. I asked my mom and my dad to let me go. Maybe those people would give it to me. After that, I went into the same house. They didn't want to give out their rice. I begged them and I told them about my family, so they gave it to me.

After we ate, we slept on the ground. Around three o'clock in the morning we continued to walk again. It was very quiet. We kept walking and saw only the jungle along the road.

Finally after three days and three nights we got to a small refugee camp. We were glad that we met a lot of people there. They were very kind. They cooked for us, and we ate a lot. But we still felt sorry about my aunt's death and I couldn't even eat because I missed her so much.

The explosions of bombs and the blasts of gunfire lullabied young Nov to sleep. The familiarity of these various echoes of war were sounds that had become more and more familiar to Nov and all others living in Phnom Penh. These were the same echoes that had driven Nov and his family from their nearby village with its school for Nov and his siblings as well as his father's grocery store. These were the same echoes that sent Nov's family to Phnom Penh where everyone was forced to live in cramped quarters…a drastic contrast to the spacious areas they had been used to in their previous home.

Phnom Penh became home to many Cambodians in the early 1970's. It's concrete walls, congested traffic, and fruitful business set it worlds apart from the rest of Cambodia. It differed greatly from the marshy areas which intermingled with the dense forests that characterized Cambodia's countryside. It contrasted the Cambodia that was currently being threatened by and dragged through the horrors of war which resulted from the conflict between the Cambodian Communists, or the Khmer Rouge and the Cambodian government. Indeed, Phnom Penh appeared to be one of the few places in Cambodia where peace reigned.

The search for peace drove Nov's family and scores of other families to the walls of Phnom Penh. They hoped to share in the sanctuary it offered from the war ravaging the rest of the nation.

Nov awoke on the morning of April 17, 1975, not to the blasts and explosions that had put him to sleep the night before, but to the sounds of cheers and celebrations. He awoke to a new Cambodia… one where the feeling of peace was finally omnipresent.

“Victory over Cambodia,” was being chanted throughout the streets of Phnom Penh. As the people filled the streets and formed parades behind the tanks and trucks that rolled throughout the city the notion of any form of victory wasn't nearly as important as the fact that peace had finally been achieved.

The Khmer Rouge first presented themselves to the people of Phnom Penh as the friendly bearers of a great gift…the gift of peace. The people accepted this gift in much the same way a starving man would accept a meal, and they promised the Khmer Rouge full cooperation in their endeavors. The people, after years of living in the shadows of war, felt they finally had an opportunity for survival, and to the best of their knowledge, it was the Khmer Rouge who had provided this opportunity.

In one of the first steps towards what they people thought would improve their situation, the Khmer Rouge ordered the evacuation of the city. They informed the people that this would allow them to rid the city of any members of the Democratic Party's Army that remained in hiding.

Nov's family was told that the evacuation would be for three days, after which they would be allowed to return to their home. Because they were under the assumption that the evacuation was going to be brief, they brought only enough food and clothing to last a few days.

Nov's family never returned to Phnom Penh.

The first day of the family's relocation involved their moving to an area on the outskirts of Phnom Phen. The second day they were pushed further from the city and the enxt day, even further. By the fourth day the soldiers forced the family to continue moving. This was, according to Nov, “the first strong sign that we would never return to our city…and to our home.”

The pains of hunger grew as Nov's family began to run out of the food they had brought for their supposedly brief journey. As the hunger increased in intensity, the health of Nov's sister, brother and grandfather decreased. The family was tired of their endless walking, and the people who seemed to hold the answer as to when the family would be able to rest were the armed men who so insistently urged them onward.

Occasionally the family would ask these soldiers when they would be able to rest, when they would be able to get medical treatment for the members who were slowly withering away, and when they would be able to get food. The soldiers would simply order the family further pointing them to their new home, a home which the family eventually found existed deep within the Cambodian jungles.

The Cambodian jungles are home to many of the nations people. In small villages located in the clearings o the jungles abide many who have little concept of a city and the culture produced in a city. Thus suspicion lurks in their eyes as they view the city dwellers and all others from the `outside' world. Nov's family was forced to live in one of these jungle villages after much wandering through the countryside.

The treatment of Nov's family by the townspeople was far from hospitable. With the belief that all city dwellers were rich, corrupt, and arrogant, the new `hosts inflicted harsh treatment on Nov's family.

The houses of this town were built on platforms suspended over areas housing cattle, chickens, and other types of animals. The family members were forced to live in areas used by the animals as toilets, feeding grounds, and resting areas.

Food was still scarce. Nov often found his family eating items earlier deemed inedible. Leaves, berries, and whatever else nature provided became the main focus of their diet. What they ate was not of importance…they only cared that they did indeed eat.

The vegetation that Nov's family found themselves eating during this period was not enough to save the family from watching starvation steal its first victim from their home. One family member was lost to one of war's allies, as starvation claimed the life of Nov's grandfather.

Roughly one year after arriving at the town, Nov's family received word that it was time for them to move on. What personal belongings they owned….photos, identification, jewelry, and medicine, they quickly packed… only to have them confiscated by the soldiers who did this in an attempt to cause them to lose what sense of identity they retained through their possessions.

The family wandered from place to place for four and a half days. Their journey led them to an old train stop where cattle had been loaded onto boxcars for transport throughout the country. There were no cattle that day. The `animals' that were to be transported were humans. Among them was Nov's family.

The boxcar in which the family found themselves stuffed was hot and extremely crowded. The stench of sweat, urine, and bodies cramped in areas that were simply too small permeated the lungs. After two days of being stuffed in the boxcar, the family arrived at a location that was to be their newest home.

This village was much further from Phnom Penh than the previous one. Thus its inhabitants were less aware of the ways of the city people. Because they had little information on which to base their prejudices, the inhabitants were far more hospitable towards Nov's family than the previous hosts.

The villagers' treatment of the newcomers, however, greatly contrasted that of the soldiers.

Work was a major focus of life in the village. Everyone had a duty which had to be carried out despite some of the worst working conditions imaginable. It was basic policy that those who did not work were those who did not eat. Even those whop did work, very often, did not eat. Food rations were low. The soldiers were certain to use any excuse they could find to prevent workers from receiving any food they were `entitled' to receive. The young, the old, the sick, and the dying were included in this work practice.

Nov's duties during this period were numerous. He carried harvested wheat and tools throughout the village. He also collected dung to be used as fertilizer.

The days were endless, always starting long before sunrise and ending long after sunset. The days when one was permitted to go without working were infrequent. When such days did occur they were spent resting from the sheer exhaustion that everyone endured.

Many individuals had to constantly stand on guard for their own safety in this particular village. Nov's uncles were two such people. One had been a dentist, the other had been a doctor. Both represented the educated class…the professionals…the class that often received the harshest treatment from the Khmer Rouge. Both were forced to pretend as if they represented the less educated if they wanted to live.

The bus is five minutes late or maybe my watch is fast. But that doesn't matter. The thing I still worry about is if I catch the right or wrong bus.

This is the first time I'm going out and catching a bus alone. I'm so scared and excited. The number on top of the bus is 35. Make sure I look at the paper that my mother wrote. She said I had to catch buses 35, 4, and 19. My mother was so careful. She even wrote down some English conversation I am going to use on the way.

The door is opening and a woman is getting on. She is putting 25 cents in a box and showing the driver a small card.

“Hi, how are you today, madam,” the driver asks her.

“Fine, but I worry about rain today,” the woman answers.

That's so easy. All of the conversation like that I had in English for Today in the refugee camp.

My mother told me to look for the box for money beside the driver. That's easy to see. I saw that when I came through the door. I put the money in and the driver smiles.

“Thank you,” the driver says.

Thank you. I hear that a lot. I can understand it and I know the answer. It's so easy but I can't control my tongue. I feel scared and start to tremble. It seems like it takes five or six minutes to try to answer. “You're welcome,” I say. Do I say it right?

The driver turns around smiling. Maybe, at the time my face looks so funny or he wants to make fun of me.

After that, I sit down on the first seat. An old man who is sitting beside looks at me and greets me with a nod. I feel shy and scared because that is the first time for me to meet American people outside my house. He looks at me and says, “Where are you from?”

Where are you from? I studied that a lot when I lived in the refugee camp.

I stood outside my house, staring across the field of rice, watching it sway back and forth as the wind sent its gentle breezes against the leaves of the grass-like plants. The water from the dampness of the fields shimmered brightly with the reflections of the sun, sparkling as I gazed upon it. As I turned east towards the rising sun of the newborn day, I could see yet another field. There, two water buffalo grazed on a small patch of grass, while their tails wagged back and forth, swatting flies. Even though I was only thirteen years old, I knew how to appreciate what I had. But from my parents' private discussions, I could forsee that something would draw me away from this peaceful setting.

My state of tranquility was interrupted by my brother's voice. “Anh Minh, Anh Minh, Mother wants to talk to you.”

I ran quickly into my mother's bedroom. The room was dismal and gloomy, as though there was a horrible shadow hanging over it, spreading it darkness. There, my father sat quietly and solemnly staring at the ground. Next to him, my mother lay in her bed, pale and weakened by illness.

As I knelt down to ask my mother what was wrong, I noticed a tiny teardrop slowly, hesitantly escape from her eyes. Soon, several others joined it, making a small stream of tears which flowed down her cheeks. Her eyes were ruled by sadness, with trouble hiding behind them, waiting to make its presence.

In a weak, quiet voice she spoke, “With your brother dead, you have taken on the responsibility of a man. You must now be strong like a man, not a boy.” You must leave this country. Escape from the dangers before its toolate–before they take you away!”

My father and I stepped outside, and he began to speak.” As the fruit of a tree becomes ripe enough it will fall off. Even though the tree has lost its fruit, it must stand strong and the fruit must seek safety in a place it can grow into a tree and bear its own fruit.”

We escaped Vietnam one morning in the fall of 1978. We had to pay the government for permission to leave. Our ship's captain paid gold to the soldiers who let our boat get out of Vietnam. It took us three days and two nights to get to Malaysia. Our boat was only nineteen feet long, but there were over three hundred and fifty people in it. We were packed so tightly that it was very hard to breathe. There was no place to sleep. We couldn't stretch our legs out, and for three days we had to sit with our knees tucked in.

We didn't have enough water to drink. People took a little sip of water each time they were thirsty. We had about one cup of water a day. Many people became ill and some people died. The people who died were thrown overboard.

On our second day of the journey, we ran into a big American oil ship. We asked the ship for help, but they ignored us. We asked them for food or water, but the ship just sailed away. Fortunately, we made it to Malaysia on the third day of our journey. Many other boats which attempted to escape Vietnam overturned and sank. Some boats were attacked by Thai pirates who took all the valuables of the passengers. Passengers who had no valuables to give the pirates were killed. The pirates raped any women they found, and often broke the engines and threw the water and food supplies overboard.

But we reached Malaysia safely. In Malaysia, our captain had to pay the Malay authorities to let us land. If we didn't have any money, we would be towed back out to sea. First, we were taken to a holding center on one of the islands. It was smaller than the gym at my high school, but there were over one hundred and fifty people placed there. We had to stay there for three days. After that, we had to find a place to stay on the island. There were areas set up that looked like big patios. There were roofs with wooden supports. There were no walls or anything like walls. Five or six families shared these areas, and my father brought about eighty square feet in one of these areas for our nine member family.

We had to climb the mountains of the islands to cut wood for fires and to make beds. There were no toilet facilities in camp. Instead, we had to walk about a mile or onto a walkway that was built into the ocean and raw sewage was just dumped there. It was really dirty. On day, the walkway collapsed and many people were injured. There were no hospital facilities in the island. The whole island was occupied by refugees with a few Malay officials to oversee us.

Our shelters were not strong at all. Sometimes, during typhoons, the wind blew the coconut trees over, smashing the shelters and killing some people. We were given limited amounts of food..just barely enough for survival. Many people became sick and developed diseases. We were very lucky. Within four months, our family had been interviewed and accepted for resettlement in the United States. We were lucky, because many refugees had to wait on the islands of Malaysia for two or three years before they were resettled.

We were taken to the city of Kuala Lumpur and put in a camp for processing. It was terrible. We didn't know anyone there and had no place to stay. My father bought some canvas and we used that for a shelter. It was pouring rain and we were wet constantly. There was no water supply in the camp. We had to line up for hours. After one month, we had our health screenings and were on our way to the United States.

Our family was sponsored by the Nationalities Service Center in Philadelphia. When we arrived in Philadelphia, we were met at the airport by a Vietnamese guy in a van. He took us to an apartment building in Logan and told us that this was where we were to live. It had one bedroom and one living room for all nine of us. There were nine beds there, but they weren't really beds…they were actually something like lawn chairs. There was a refrigerator with a few items and a gas stove, some canned food, and twenty-five pounds of rice. That was it. No chairs, no tables, nothing. The man gave our family of nine two hundred dollars and told us that he would come back the next day to help us and show us around. No one ever came back. After we were dumped in the apartment building, we were on our own. No one in may family spoke English.

Because the man never came back, we found ourselves in bad shape. We had never seen a gas stove before and didn't know how to light it, so we couldn't cook any of our food. In a few days, the little food we had ran out, but we didn't know where to go and buy food. We didn't know anyone in Philadelphia who could help us. My father wandered around the apartment building. Most of the units were empty, but he found another refugee family who helped us. They took us grocery shopping and they took us down to the office at Nationalities Service Center to find our caseworker to get our welfare started. If this family had not been there, I don't know how we would have survived. Our caseworker sent us to a church to learn English and got our welfare started.

The first one or two months in our apartment were ok. But then more and more refugees began being placed there. Our heat would soon be turned off, as would our cooking gas. By then, we didn't have hot water. The conditions in the apartment got worse. After about nine months in that building, my family, with the help of some friends, found another place to live and we moved out. Soon after that, our first building was condemned and closed down. No one lives there now.

My name is Thanh Chien, and I am from Vietnam. I am currently attending Central High School in Philadelphia. I have lived in Philadelphia for almost seven years now. I have four older brothers and two adopted sisters. I live with my parents and two brothers. My other brothers, as well as my sisters, are presently living in other countries.

Several years ago when my family and I left Vietnam, we had no idea where we were going to end up. We could have drowned, been terrorized by Thais, or picked up by American ships and other vessels on the way to their various sea ports.

My family and I, along with thousands of others, were very fortunate to have had a huge cargo ship from Hong Kong to convey us out of Vietnam. There were a total of nine smaller boats that transferred us to the cargo ship. From fifteen hundred to two thousand people were on the ship.

The ships operators were from Hong Kong. They had stolen a cargo ship and gone to South East Asia with the hope of making profits from the people who wanted exile. We all had to pay a certain amount of gold, especially those of us from Vietnam.

The Vietnamese government played a part in our arrangements to leave Vietnam. Soldiers were even at the ship's port on our day of departure. They were there to see us off, as well as to check our passes for boarding the ship. That day, I was wearing a three-piece suit that my cousin had given me. While I was getting onto the ship, the guards were laughing at me for some strange reason, I don't know why. My guess was that I looked silly in the suit.

At the port, there were hundreds of people saying farewell to their relatives and friends. For my family and me, it was farewell to friends, relatives, and a brother who had been given away as an infant.

During the course of our voyage, there were frequent food and water shortages. We often had nothing to drink other than a mixture of water and gasoline….that was when we had anything to drink at all. Food was sparse. Day after day, we were served small amounts of rice and noodles. Most of us still had cravings for more.

It was a dreadful experience for everyone. I don't necessarily blame the ship's operators for our conditions. I don't thank that they were responsible for our needs, except for those relating to shipping us out of Vietnam safely.

I witnessed several people die of hunger and starvation. They were thrown overboard in trash bags. I am sure there were hundreds of others who were starving as well, suffering quietly in a state very near death.

We reached an island off the coast of China and had to land because our ship had hit a rock. We were, therefore, prevented from moving on to Hong Kong, which had been our immediate destination. Because the ship was in need of repair, we had to remain on the island for three months. During the stay, we faced many challenges. Since most of us were from the cities, it was quite difficult to cope with the forest and the island environment. We had never experienced it before. We did, however, meet a lot of nice people from the island. I remember on our last day on the island, groups of Chinese from villages around came out to help us with our belongings and to transport them to our ship so we could be on our way to Hong Kong.

We unfortunately did not land at Hong Kong ports. Instead we arrived near the coast of Macaw, where the rich and famous of Hong Kong spend their time and money at casinos. The island looked very deserted when our ship first arrived. Finally the navy of Hong Kong came and transported us to their refugee camps in Hong Kong.

In the beginning of our stay in Hong Kong, we didn't receive fair treatment at all. We were treated like animals. We weren't given the freedom to do anything in the camps. For example, refugees weren't allowed to smoke and were forbidden to eat anything except for the food that the policemen distributed, usually instant noodles or rice and the Chinese dishes that came with it. If the guards caught anyone smoking, they forced them to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. If caught breaking other rules, people faced such punishments as having to clean the bathrooms.

Because of the poor, ruthless, and intolerable treatment by the Hong Kong police, the refugees demanded not only for better treatment, but also for the freedom to go beyond the camp area to find work sponsored in other countries like the United States, Australia, Canada, and elsewhere in the free world. Some people decided to stay in Hong Kong and work.

As a result, the Hong Kong government came up with a compromise which gave the refugees numerous liberties including the freedom to work outside of the camp. My brothers and my mom were able to find jobs in Kowlson, Hong Kong. They worked for about a year before my uncle from Texas sponsored us to come here to the United States.

We didn't come directly to the United States. First, we went to the Philippines for about six months. We stayed in a camp near the mountainside, about a five hour bus ride from Manila, capital of the Philippines. During our stay, we lived in row houses where everybody was surrounded by each other. Every Wednesday, trucks would come to the communities to distribute food and supplies; compact stoves that cooked with gasoline, toothpaste, sleepers, snacks for the afternoons, and other necessities. In the camp, there were Vietnamese teachers who taught English to the refugees. However, it was not mandatory for everyone to attend the classes. I, for one, showed up for only a couple of lectures before deciding to stop attending.

After the six month period, my family and I were flown to the United States in a 747 jumbo jet. We made several stops. One of them was Hawaii, of which we didn't get a chance to see very much, since it was only an hour stop. After Hawaii, we then proceeded to San Francisco, which was quite a spectacular sight. I think San Francisco in the evening is what impressed me the most. We spent a night there. In the morning, we were flown to Houston, Texas, where we transferred to a smaller plane to get to a town called Bryan, Texas, where my uncle lives. My family and I were greeted by my uncle and his friends at the airport. It was the happiest moment for al$ us.

We lived there for about four months until $$ parents decided to move to Philadelphia for reasons $$ are unclear to me.

Overall, my journey to freedom was an experie$ to be remembered for the rest of my life. My family an$ along with thousands of others who made it to freed$ have to consider that we are some of the luckiest peo$ alive on Earth. Many people didn't make it and drowne$ met worse fates on their way to freedom. I thank $$ parents for striving so hard in Vietnam to get us out. D$ down inside, I know that my brothers and I can ne$ repay my parents for what they did for us…but we $$ them for it.

It was daytime, but all around me appeared to be dark and somber. As soon as I could make out a big male figure blocking the straining light from the barred window, anger and a childish fear seized me. Even before I attempted anything, I knew that there was no escape. All the frustrations inside me gave me enough courage to try to hurt him physically, but something was holding my arms as if I were exerting energy against a plunger. I began to scream and cry until fear drove me into hysterics. But I never gave up. I was learning to deal with my unwelcomed past. The earliest years of my life were always dim. Perhaps, it was something I unconsciously chose to let fade.

The first vivid and positive memory was that of my parents' desire for education. I remember they used to take my sister and me to English class for foreign speakers. We would learn more than they and were often awarded candy by the teacher. When it soon came time for me to attend elementary school, I left my parents to struggle with a language that seemed impossible for my mother. However, having been educated in Vietnam, my father succeeded in learning basic English and was able to get a job.

My schooling went well, except for the fact that my parents could never come to Parent's Night because they felt intimidated by the language. I am still upset that the school did not provide interpreters for the non-English speaking parents. I sometimes wonder how I went so faithfully to an institution that excluded my parents. For that matter, did I belong? In school, my role model was a Caucasian adult and my accepted friends were “Dick and Jane”. Since my parents were kept ignorant of my school life, I felt distanced. Though there was not much verbal communication, there was a sense of protection and assurance. However, I was quite vulnerable to the kind of verbal and physical abuse arising from discrimination of “Chinks”. It took me a long time to come to terms with my identity, so much so that at one point, I felt like St. Peter. Only I tried to dent my origin and it took many years of pain for me to reach the point where I could look at my almond shaped eyes and snub nose and finally smile.

As I searched for people with similar experiences, I realized that I was not alone. It was also my responsibility, (for every man is his neighbor's keeper), to put my energies into helping others. Every one should be angered into action when there is an injustice. By becoming more of an extrovert, I have had the opportunity of meeting all sorts of people who have come to terms with their identity or are still searching for one.

Now while dreaming, I no longer envision a dark and somber room, but I see an endless and cloudless sky. I can feel the wind blowing. Suddenly, I am elated and in a few seconds, I am lifted off the ground, sailing through the air with one simple emotion-joy.

During the peak of the war, I was either unborn or too young to retell the following experiences. But the elders in my family knew what it was like to live through the nights of the showering artillery shells. The first vivid memory that comes back to my twenty-four year old brother is on the first night of the Vietnamese New Year at 10:00 PM. How ironic it is that on that traditionally peaceful and joyous New Year celebration, the Communists decided to deafen the blissful ears of the Vietnamese with bombs. It was the Tet Offensive of 1968. The bombardment of artillery lighted the portentous sky of My Tho for forty-eight hours.

The underground sand shelter could not protect us, so we and the rest of the villagers were forced out of our homes to seek a stronger shelter. Daylight greeted us with the diverse neighbors and strangers also evacuating their homes. Within hours of walking, we came to a village which seemed reasonably calm. A hospital family in the village took my family in. But by nightfall, the warning to evacuate had reached our ears again.

An old, French designed building then became our shelter for three months. In the past, our little sand shelters in our homes had protected us from the intermittent bombs threatening our lives. The sand shelter was a place where we would say prayers for an unexpected death. After thirty minutes to an hour, the attacks ceased and we all let out a grateful breath and then darted to the bathroom.

The big French shelter was considerably filthy, smelly, and overcrowded, but it was sturdy. For the first week, the volume and number of mortar or artillery shells had increased tremendously. In the day, it was civilized enough to go out and perform our normal activities, but the younger girls were still restricted to the sheltering building. The situation grew worse as people were restricted from moving outside. For my brother and other boys of his age, only one thought occupied his mind; it was of peace for Vietnam. Instead of being knowledgeable about different toys and candies, my brother knew the smell of death and the sound of bombs being set off. His young ear could distinguish between the sounds of an AK75 and an M60.

He remembers that in the second week, the bomb attacks decreased and people were allowed to travel back and forth to their homes. Even the filthy, dank air of the French building was better than the smell of the living dead. The ugliness that the attacks had created was devastating. Everything seemed so old, beaten, and lifeless. How could this ugly town be the same town that young boys used to explore? How could hate change something that love had nourished to a place of rubble?

In 1975, the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia. It was about two PM. I was playing with my friends at the back of the house. Suddenly, I saw a group of men wearing black clothes and they said everybody must get out of the city because they needed the city to put their soldiers in. They said, “You all have been rich and easy and now you must go to your home town or find some other village to make rice fields or work for us. Hurry or we will shoot you.” A lot of people got killed by the Khmer Rouge because they didn't do what the Khmer Rouge said. Some of the people were dispersed from their family. My family was very lucky because we didn't loose anyone from our family.

When my family got to our home town, the Khmer Rouge told us that the people from the city can't live mixed with the village people and they put us into one group. A few months later, the Khmer Rouge told my family to move from our hometown to another village. Everybody worked hard, twenty-four hours a day. The people were put into groups. If you were older than fifteen, you were separated from your parents. I had five people in my family- my parents, two sisters and one brother. I am the smallest.

In 1978, the Khmer Rouge changed a lot. They let us go to work day and night. They gave you food twice a day. A lot of people died because there was no food and people got sick. My uncle, my cousin and my aunt all died. The Khmer Rouge tied one of my uncles with a heavy rock and threw him into the river. People who knew how to read or write were all killed. Some of the smart people pretended they didn't know how to read or write and got out of it. They told you to sing for them first, and if you knew how to sing songs, they killed you. Even little babies were killed too. Sometimes it was easy to kill people. They just threw them into the jungle. No one could help them. If you did, you would die too.

Life in the United States is difficult, but not too difficult. We have enough to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to be happy. Day or night we do not worry about death or being hungry. In fact, the thing we fear is not death, it is when we do something new. In Cambodia we could be killed for doing anything that the Khmer Rouge disliked.

Before we came to America in December of 1984, I had never gone to school. I had never seen electricity, gas kitchen, T.V., or a car. I need to learn how to use all this new stuff. Especially a new language. But after three years everything seems good to me. I can get along with these new problems. When I compare now to the past, I can't believe my life. It is just like I was born again into a new world.

My first vivid memory was when I was four years old. Under the hot sun and the rising dust, my mother carried three children and escaped from the war with the Khmer Rouge. During the escape, the bullets flew over our head. My mother shouted, “Get down, get down.” My mother prayed to God. When there were no more bullets, we continued running to the river shore where the boat was. My father still fights against the Khmer Rouge. He told us to leave the camp quickly before we get killed by the Khmer Rouge. We went quickly to the boat. The boat took us quietly across the river. When the sun shines we get to Battambang. We wait for our father, but he does not come.

When Pol Pot ruled, we moved from place to place to be safe. The Khmer Rouge visits our family everyday. We were scared to be killed. In a concentration village, we ate together in a big building. The children eat first, then the old people. We only eat watery rice a few vegetables, but we worked hard day and night. I worked from five in the morning to five in the evening. I carried sheaves of rice. Its very heavy because the dirt and water were still on the roots.

No one could eat as much as they wanted to. A lot of people died from hunger, others go out and steal something so that they can eat. The didn't care what would happen. If the Khmer Rouge caught them they will die. We lived by eating tomatoes and other vegetables that my mother planted in the backyard. My mother secretly cooked at night. When the head of the village came by, my mother told him that she was boiling water. We put the tomatoes underground and put the kettle on the top of the fire. Sometimes after working, I went out to find snails, crabs, and minnows in the rice field at night.

I saw the Khmer Rouge kill only three people, but I know that they had killed many Cambodians during those years. A woman was cooking rice as we moved north. It was afternoon. The woman wanted to cook rice for her children, but the Khmer Rouge told her to go. She was slow to move from the fire. The Khmer Rouge shoot her. She fell to the side. I walk faster and look to what had happened to the lady. I still have the picture of the dead lady in my mind.

The second time I saw the Khmer Rouge kill was when I moved north. The Khmer Rouge stopped us in one big field, and the ask people who still has gold with them. One man refused to do what the Khmer Rouge told him to do. The Khmer Rouge shoot him with rifle in his forehead. He stood about five feet away from me. I can see very clearly and I close my ears and cried. Ho! pity man.

I saw the Khmer Rouge kill people a third time when we were walking to the north. The Khmer Rouge were killing people in front of us. I heard the gun and I saw many people falling. We hid behind a hill. Later the soldiers came to us and ask, “Where are you going?” Some of the old people answer to him in a sweet way, “The other brother tell us to keep going north.” He didn't shoot us, and he told us, “That way is to the north. If you come back, I will kill you all.” Some of the old people answer again, “No son, we all following you to wherever you want us to go.”

I am a Vietnamese who, by circumstance, had to leave his homeland to seek refuge in the United States, becoming a permanent resident on September 19, 1984.

Being a refugee in a totally different country, I experienced a so-called “culture shock”. At first, language was the hardest obstacle to overcome. I tried to keep quiet as much as possible, thinking that if I spoke, people would laugh at me because of my ignorance of English. In a group, I always had a feeling of being left out when everyone else was talking and having fun. Even shopping was a problem- I had a hard time finding items and then understanding their instructions.

I also did not have much understanding of the people and culture. It seemed to me that Americans weren't open or friendly. They lived next to each other not knowing who their neighbors were. I wondered how they could be so apathetic and uncaring.

In school, I was surprised and somewhat uncomfortable with other students' behavior. They talked with their teachers as they did their friends and that seemed disrespectful and intolerable.

In public places, I could see emotional displays, sex magazines and advertisements for x-rated movies which I consider immoral. I told myself that I had made a mistake coming here to live.

However, as I stayed longer, I began to change my attitude towards everything around me. I learned to speak better English, and I began to make friends.

I realized that I could not judge the new surroundings based on my own background. I became pleasantly surprised to discover that Americans are not only friendly, but also very helpful. I have never heard of a country that gives so much for charity and has so many aid programs. Not only do Americans help themselves, but they also care about those less fortunate in other countries.

I have experienced much in America that I have never experienced before. Hence, there is freedom. We can speak, worship, travel, etc., without being fearful of going to jail. We can go to school. We have equal opportunities.

Consisting of people from all over the world, America is a fascinatingly diverse society.

Even though my understanding about what America is is still very limited, I do not hesitate to say that this has been, is, and will be a great nation. The more I learn, the more I want to make this country my permanent home.

I didn't know this, but my mother told me about it. When I was a baby, I had a brother, and I was very skinny because I didn't have enough food.

One day, my brother got sick, very sick. My mother was far away, trying to get some food. My brother had to watch me. The house I lived in was on top of the water, My mother had to tie me to the wall because she didn't want me to fall into the water. There was no food to eat.

When my brother got very very sick, he threw up. He didn't have much food to eat. Then the following morning, my mother went to my father's friend to help her. She took her ring to change for food. When she got some food, she let me and my brother eat. She didn't want to eat. She wanted her children to get well.

The next morning when my mother woke up and she woke my brother up, my brother was still sleeping. She was getting scared because her son turned purple. My mother said that she would come back and take care of him. When she came back to the house, she saw that my brother was almost dead. She quickly took him to the hospital. She left him with the doctor and she came home to take me to the hospital. By the time she reached the hospital, she asked the doctor if her son was okay, but the doctor told her that her son had died. She fell to the ground and cried that one of her sons had died.

I was born in Lumit, Battambang province, Cambodia, on the thirtieth of July, 1965. Lumit is west of Sisophon, and east of Ochiol.

At nine o'clock in the morning on the seventeenth of April, 1975, all the people came out into the street and greeted the Khmer Rouge happily, thinking that Cambodia would be peaceful again. I didn't know they were communists at that time.

They were acting friendly, and speaking politely. The first thing they did was to change our traditional new year. Before they came, we had only three days to celebrate the new year. They changed that to seven days.

A couple of days after they took over my city, they told all of the citizens to leave and to go to the forests. They did the same with Ochiol. They announced that they were going to have a war with Thailand. They needed the land back from the Thai which was taken by the Thai in the early seventeenth century. The announcement was a lie. The Khmer Rouge just wanted to get rid of everyone in the cities and make them move out to the forest, They told us not to take many things with us, and not to bother to lock the doors; they would take care of everything. Most people believed them. They took only money with them. But soon we found out that money wasn't worth anything under the communists.

In a couple of months, we ran out of food, so we started to trade gold, clothes and other materials for food and rice. Later, all the people in the whole country ran out of food. At that time we couldn't pick any crops because it was only the growing season. The Khmer Rouge divided people into divisions or brigades of 30 to 40 people in each village. They collected everything we owned, such as spoons, forks, plates, and pans to put into communal living. Also, the Khmer Rouge collected gold, which was kept by them. All traditional greetings were abolished in favor of addressing everybody as comrade.

We had a new equalitarian rural society in which nothing was owned by anyone, and meager rations were eaten communally by brigades. No one was allowed to visit their families. If anyone disagreed, criticized or said anything about the Angka (the Khmer Rouge law), they were taken away to prison and eventually they disappeared one by one.

The Khmer Rouge forced the people to work day and night for nothing, and to work as hard as a machine. We worked building chains, and digging ditches, ponds, and canals. This was our daily activity. No one could stay home; they had to go to work even if they became seriously ill. If you could eat or walk, you had to go out to your job. If someone had a fever or was weary and couldn't work because of insufficient food, the bandits would send for him for purposes of punishment, or would tell him that he was too lazy to work, and would not feed him for the day. It was only if you could not move from the floor that you were allowed to stay at home.

Home was a place in the forest where two or three hundred people lived. There were no rooms or beds- there was only a roof and a floor. Some had only a roof, and some had to find their own place to sleep. All the people got thinner and thinner all the time, because they did not have enough food to eat. Rice became more and more scarce. The Khmer Rouge gave a two-kilo can of rice or less per brigade for one day. Some days we received none. No matter how much money people in the brigade had, they still received the same amount, so more and more people began to die of starvation.

Some people, during their free time, went out to find their own food, such as rats, insects, birds, wild mushrooms and leaves in order to prevent themselves from starving. We ate almost everything on earth that had meat, no matter how big or small.

During the communist years, the whole nation was growing rice and other crops- a thousand times more than they had grown during the Khmer Republic. They produced much more, because everyone was working as a farmer from the age of five. After the people picked the crops and rice, Pol Pot took most of it to support the Chinese communists. That left only a little rice for the Cambodians. Before the Khmer Rouge transported the rice out to China, they said they were going to trade the rice for China's equipment and materials such as machines and tractors, so that we did not have to work hard hand by hand again.

The Khmer Rouge also said they were going to have electricity everywhere in the rice fields and villages, and that we did not have to use moonlight again. No one believed this, but no one could say a word.

In 1976, there was the program of infanticide and killing their own people as enemies. This program was supported by China. First of all, they announced that those people who were formerly soldiers or captains in the army of Lon Nol could go back to Phnom Penh. Then they called a meeting and accused them of being traitors and took them away, and they never came back. We never heard anything from them again. Thereafter, the Pol Pot bandits separated husbands from wives, fathers and mothers from their children, and sisters from brothers. They were killed or sent to a faraway village, so that they never saw each other again.

Sometimes they killed a whole family together. They murdered people with sticks and bamboos by beating people on the head and neck. The Khmer Rouge always said, “If they are killed by the gun, we waste our bullets.” They also said, “it's very dull if we don't kill anybody everyday.” The murderers were the young people under 15 years of age who had been educated by the communists. They even killed their own parents, brothers or sisters. Most of the women who had been murdered were raped first. They killed the husbands first, then they raped their wives before they killed them.

There are nine members in my family but only four of them survived from the communists. My father, two sisters, and three brothers were killed by Pol Pot's soldiers who were Khmer. They killed them because they were Lon Nol's soldiers. My sisters were married to soldiers in the army so they killed them, too. I blame Sihanouk for all this because the was the one who supported the communists, helping them to grow stronger and talking to Khmer Rouge to fight against Lon Nol's soldiers. He was associated with Khmer Rouge at that stage, and continued to make successful advances against Lon Nol's army. He did this because he wanted to be king again.

She always stood out-from the first day I met my class. She was strikingly beautiful-dark skinned, long haired. A beautiful Cambodian girl, just entering adolescence. She was slim, almost too slim and so sweet.

In her journals, we talked about her mother. She loved her mother so much. A strong woman with cool hands for her forehead when fevers raged, with soft words for when a young girl cried. Her father had been jailed and nearly killed because he had been a school teacher, and so they fled, and Srey has never felt the joy of a summer rain splashing off her naked back as she giggled with her playmates. She says now, the rain is dirty and cold. Playing in the rain would make ice form on her body. The rain made her happy once, but now it's just dirty and cold.

In her journals, we also talked about her boyfriends. A Thai boy from her days in the camps loved her. And his mother loved her too. But Srey was too young. She hoped she'd see him again someday. Johnny was her boyfriend now. They went roller skating together. She wrote, “Miss Wei, I don't really love him, you know. I'm not like that. We're just friends….” One day, Johnny asked her to go skating and her mother asked her to go to Washington with her family. Srey couldn't decide and asked my advice in her journal. I wrote back, “Well, I think I would probably go to Washington. Now my mother is old. I often wish I had spent more time with her when I was younger.” I intended to send the journals back the next week, but the day I returned them, Srey didn't come to school.

I took her to my house and made some soup for her to try to encourage her to eat a little. She still looked beautiful, but she was wasting away and it seemed as she got thinner and paler, the light that used to shine in her eyes-the light of a young girl with her crushes and her roller skating plans and her little girl memories-faded and flickered and died. After a few mouthfuls of soup she pushed the bowl away and asked me to take her to the place to get some medicine so she wouldn't get pregnant. The woman at the birth control clinic gave me a knowing look. It said, “Ah, another sexually active teenager.” I turned away, ashamed because I couldn't scream to the world that it wasn't that way at all.

Srey told me everything. She told me how the deal was made. The man saw her one day. He followed her home to her house, saw where she lived. He contacted her parents, negotiated a deal, and the girl was married.

I was transferred from that school the next fall. I could not see Srey everyday any more. Months later, as I drove through a row-house lined street, negotiating litter and potholes, I saw her. She stood on a corner, her thin frame wrapped in a thick coat, trying to withstand the winter wind, I stopped that car to talk with her. She would not look into my eyes. She was still married and never and never talked about being happy or not. She was still going to school. She looked much older than I remembered her. And her eyes looked far away, as empty as the street corner on which we stood. I could not see the memories of the little girl dancing naked in the rain, water bouncing off her back. Maybe it was because the street was so cold and dirty. It was the last time I saw her.

On a hot muggy afternoon in March of 1976, in Laos, Knoan, my oldest brother was sitting in our bamboo home. He was sitting there fanning our baby brother, Latocke, who was sleeping.

Our home was made primarily of bamboo under a straw roof. It stood on pillars used to keep the neighboring animals from coming into the house.

My dad built our home when we moved there. Our village was known as Nom Thine. It was a small village, about 120 miles from Vang Veing. Vang Veing was the main concentration camp from where my dad had been transferred. It was located one hundred miles north of Vientaine, the capital of Laos.

Laos is a small country located in Southeast Asia. It is bordered by Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Burma, India, and China. Laos has not been at peace since the Communists began roaming throughout its territory within the last decade.

In his teens, my dad joined the Laotian Army. He continued being a member of the army after he married my mom in 1967.

A few years following his marriage my father was accused by other officials of being in a group that was anti-Communists. He was sent to the main concentration camp in Vang Veing and had to take us, his family along because he couldn't come and visit us as often as he would have liked.

After Vang Veing, we were stationed in parts of Laos that were undeveloped. A group of fifty soldiers and their families were sent to these little villages to live and cultivate them in a `help one another community', as they called it. These villages are high in the mountains and were inhabited long ago by the primitive Laotian mountain people.

While Knoan was babysitting at home, my parents were directed to work in the peanut fields. My three younger brothers worked with many of the other children in the village cleaning the peanuts. Different tasks were assigned everyday.

I was six years old then, and practicing my traditional dance to perform fro the high officials and generals. Their visit was one that we expected every year and we spent much time preparing for it.

Each afternoon at about five o'clock, my parents would return home, exhausted from the hard work. My father, however, would always go fishing afterwards.

One hot afternoon when the baby awoke, Knoan took him through the little garden that we had in our backyard. In it we grew a large variety of vegetables. About four feet from a stream that ran across the village my dad had built a well that was four feet deep and three feet wide. Knoan was going to take a bath with the baby in the stream, but he decided to go to the well for a drink instead. Knoan took a cup in his right hand while his left was supporting Latocke, who was on his back. As Knoan bent down to get to the water, Latocke slid off Knoan's back, over his head and down into the well. Knoan was terrified. He jumped after the baby and scrambled to find Latocke in the well. It was only a moment later when they surfaced. Knoan pushed Latocke up the side of the well. Latocke was crying heavily. Knoan hurriedly found his way out of the well while Latocke began coughing with saliva and water foaming out of his mouth. Immediately Knoan took Latocke home and dried him. After a while Latocke was asleep.

My mom came home late that afternoon from picking mushrooms and bamboo shoots and noticed the unusual murkiness of the water in the well. She didn't bother to ask what had happened. Later, my dad returned from his fishing trip and my three younger brothers came from their chores. Before long dinner was served. As we six children sat on the bamboo floor and ate, my parents reported on their day. They could talk only about the good aspects because it wasn't wise to report negatively due to eavesdroppers who often reported what they had heard to the high officials. This would lead to trouble.

Two days later Latocke came up with a fever. Earlier my dad had discovered a cup floating in the well. My parents knew, after putting their clued together, that Latocke had fallen into the well while Knoan was getting a drink. Latocke's fever worsened as the days went on, and his stomach bloated.

There wasn't a doctor in our village or in any nearby villages. My parents, therefore, had to ask for permission to take Latocke to Vientiane to be hospitalized. With his bloated stomach and pale skin, Latocke was in a deep sleep. The officials gave in uneasily, after my parents begged them and agreed to leave behind Knoan and Lohn. Lohn was a year younger then I.

My parents had to take me and my other two brothers along because we were young and couldn't take care of ourselves.

At early dawn, we started walking to the main highway which was thirty miles away. My dad carried the baby in his right arm and I tagged along on his left. The other two walked with my mom. As night fell, we came to the highway but had to stay overnight in the neighboring homes in order to catch the bus in the morning.

The next day we arrived at Vietiane Hospital, where there was only one doctor on duty. We had to wait in line for another day to see him. Meanwhile my mother went to see her sister who was a nun in a church to let us kids stay with her for a while. When the doctor finally saw Latocke, who was by then barely opening his eyes, he told my parents the sad truth, that there was no medicine around that could help Latocke. His lung was infected. Both my parent were desperate and confused. They decided that my father should go back to the concentration camp and bring Knoan and Lohn to Vientiane while my mother stayed in the church with the rest of us.

My dad told the officials that Latocke was now in the hospital and he had to stay there until he was well. He asked to take my two brothers with him to Vietiane. The officials were suspicious of the situation but they gave the permission. News had gone around that some of my father's friends were put in the underground cells because an official heard their conversations about escaping.

We went to Rarksane, which is 200 miles east of Vientiane, where my mother's father and brothers were living.

Since my father died, everything is changed. All the time now, my brother makes trouble for everyone else in the house. Every time I get home, I always have trouble, because my brother is a troublemaker. He wants to control my life, but I want to control my own life. I don't follow what he tells me to do because he wants me to go back to the old Cambodian customs. I do not want to do things the old way, because this is a different country.

Cambodian customs are different from American customs. In Cambodia, all the girls have their parents make decisions for them, especially about finding a husband. Sometimes if a girl is in school and her parents want her to marry someone, she has to get married, even if she does not know the boy or like him. In my case, because my father is not alive, my brother wants to choose who I should marry.

I don't want to get married because when my older sister was forced to get married, she had to quit school. She had to go to work to support her family, because her husband does not make enough money. I do not want this to happen to me. I love my sister, but whenever we talk, we get into a fight. Because she still has her Cambodian customs, and I am trying to be different.

When I tell my brother that this is America, and after I finish college, I can choose who I want to marry, he gets angry. He always beats me with a belt when he is angry. He once said he will kill me anytime, even if it sends him to jail.

Every time when I am not at home, my brother yells bad things about me. I only know about it because I know a friend who lives in the building, and she tells me.

Once I went on a field trip for a weekend. When I came home I was acting usual. But I could see that something was wrong because of my sisters' reactions. The house was very quiet. My sisters did not tell me that my brother had been yelling things about me. My mother did not tell me either. But afterward they realized that I did not know what was going on, so one of my sisters explained.

One day after that, my brother beat me really badly, and I left home. I stayed with a friend for two days. But my mother begged me to come home. She is a good mother, and I love her very much. Anyhow, after returning home, my brother beat me again for no particular reason. I asked why, but he just told me to shut up because he didn't want to hear anymore from me. He acts strangely all the time.

Every night, before I go to sleep, I get scared that if I go to sleep my brother might kill me. I pray that he will change.

One day, when I was three years old, my mom was carrying me in her arms. I saw many, may dead bodies, but I didn't know what they were. I asked my mom and she told me that they were dead bodies. I was scared and I asked my mom if we could go home.

When I lived in Cambodia I was two years old. Then the soldiers came to my country. Then they took my dad and my mom. And the soldiers took other people, too. They took them to be their slaves. Then my mom and my dad and the other people were starving. Then the soldiers just gave them a little bit of food. And then some people tried to escape from the soldiers. Most of them got shot. But some of them escaped to Battambang. My mom and dad escaped from the soldiers. But the soldiers saw my dad and mom escape. They shot my dad and they almost shot my mom. All my clothes got torn up. Then we went to Kao-I-Dang and there some people found a place for my mom and me to live. One day I was surprised. My name was on a list to take a test and have an interview. If I passed the test I could come to the United States. My Mom and I passed the test!

The little girl stands amid a sea of misery. Yet amid this sea, she casts a glow that acts as a beacon of innocence. She is surrounded by people such as herself; those who have no permanent homes, those who must struggle for food, those who must seek comfort from strangers as they are the only surviving members of their families.

Her story is similar to the stories of many others living in this particular refugee camp. Some have fled their native lands of Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos for any one of numerous reasons. Some have watched their entire families annihilated in the genocide committed by Pol Pot's forces in Cambodia in the years between 1975 and 1979. Many have watched their relatives die as a result of the famine that ravaged this region of the world in the latter 1970's.

Today there exist many children such as this particular child. Many have grown up in these refugee camps, as they have been literally stuck there with nowhere to go for the past decade. They are constantly joined by others who seek refuge from their native lands and the dangers created there. They have little hope, however they still wait for a signal that there is indeed something to hope for.

My first introduction to this little girl was in a UNICEF film I viewed several years ago, yet practically every night she visits me in my dreams. She says little, but often little is more than enough.

“My people have a custom,” she begins, “when a friend goes away, we give them a bracelet made of string for them to remember us by.”

She displays a string bracelet to the camera.

“This is for you…..remember me.”